Posts Tagged ‘asking for what I want’

You Look Radiant!

June 13, 2017

My neighbor said to me as I was parking my scooter and securing her for the night.

He’d just open the door to the fenced gate and perhaps it was the sunlight hitting my face, or the big smile on it, but it was sweet to be acknowledged and I smiled harder.

I’m happy.

I feel really good.

Today was a good day.

Most days are, let me be honest, but I had just secured a new person to work with this evening after work and I feel like she and I are going to be a really great fit and I was relieved and happy and felt like I was being carried and taken care of.

“God has not brought me this far to be dropped,” I told myself this past weekend when I was still processing all that had happened, the what’s and whereof’s and why’s of being let go when you have been told that you’re the perfect, well fill in the blank.

When someone tells you you’re doing it perfectly and then let’s you go, it stings a little.

Be that as it may.

I am not perfect.

I fuck up all the time.

I’m human.

I am a spiritual being having a human experience.

And humans are messy and silly and stupid and hard-headed and stubborn and crazy, at least this human is.

I’m grateful for all the messy and the learning, especially learning how to communicate and not to take myself too seriously.

I heard something amazing today.


From my supervisor while we were in session.

Slight sidebar.

Nothing says starting a busy week at work and internship better than getting up extra early to go to school to get that one piece of paper that the supervisor has to sign so that I can be registered for another class this fall semester.

And I went back to school after meeting with my supervisor to make sure it was filed correctly before I went into work and did my full shift.


Like that.


We were talking about communication and how a client communicates with us and my supervisor quoted Lacan to me.

It just about fell off the couch.

My supervisor quoted, “every time we speak we communicate less than we want and more than we know.”

Holy shit.

Story of my life.

I had never heard that before and it resonated with me on a very deep level.

I am communicating all the time and most of the time I’m not saying what I want.

I have spent years, decades probably, trying to say what I want and so often I am not getting it all out.

I am afraid to say what I want for fear of not getting it, so I’m not going to ask.

That, however, presumes that the person whom I’m engaged with can read my mind and well, that maybe magical thinking, but it’s certainly not logical thinking.

No one can read my mind.

And yet.

There are clues.

There are clues in my voice, in my body, in the way I respond to someone.

It’s pretty obvious if I don’t like you and I want to say it’s very obvious if I do.

There are grey areas and I have found that when I don’t like someone it often times has to do with seeing some characteristic in the person which reminds me of something I don’t like about myself.

Which, I just realized, makes me realize what I do like about myself when I think about people in my life whom I do like, they must represent parts of me that I like.

I have smart, capable, hard-working, brilliant, funny, loving friends.

I must have some of those qualities myself or I wouldn’t be involved with such high-caliber people.

I just wouldn’t.

Like attracts like.

So I was happy, so happy, to get to hear this woman tonight who has what I want and is smart and busy and educated, grateful and full of solution.

I’ll take some of that please.

And then happily pass it on.

That’s what I do best.

Share my experience, strength and hope with another person so that they may do the same and the learning deepens and the love grows and my life expands and grows and it is extraordinary.

I have extraordinary people in my life.

I also have an awesome job.

It was so good to see the family I work for today, I missed them and was grateful that everyone was feeling much better.

I got lots and lots and lots of hugs and I got lots of compliments on the food I cooked and loads of snuggles and it just filled me right up.

So much love.

I am loved.

And I get to love right back.

It’s a pretty amazing job.




Full of light.

Oft times full of bullshit too and perhaps a touch of crazy, but for the most part, I really do feel the grace rather than the drama.

Grace over drama is one of my favorite acronyms for God.

Great out doors is another.


Good orderly direction.

There’s a few more, but those are my tops.

I feel grace.

I feel full of grace.

I feel graced.

And am.

I’ve not been dropped.

I have just been carried somewhere unexpected.

It’s so lovely I don’t always know what to do with it.


I am happy.

And that, in the end, is all that matters.





April 15, 2017

And over it.

I have had so many suggestions about dating.

“You have to ask for what you want,” a friend said.


I fucking get that and when I do, I still don’t get what I want.

I’m not bitter, but befuddled.

I had a guy friend break down the whole “we should hang out sometime,” as a really weak way of asking a girl out and that it’s quite prevalent in the dating culture.


Good to know.


When complaining, yes, I do complain, I am not a fucking saint, if I was I wouldn’t need y’all and I still need you, despite my weak protestations, to another friend, I was told, “you have to get clarification.”

Ask the person when do you want to hang out.


I did.




I got the intuition, I know you’re interested, I can see it in your eyes, you’ve got some mojo I’ve got some mojo, let’s get together and have some fun.

He gave me his number.

He said, “call me,” in fact, he repeated it twice.

I said I would.

I, in fact did.

No response.

I started to second guess the whole thing in hindsight today, but then I rethought it again, it’s not my issue.

I got clarity.

That’s all.

I called.

I left a message, I said, “let’s nail down a time to have a coffee date,” and truth be told, I probably bumble fucked my way through it.

Not even a text back.



I just wrote “dud,” before correcting it to dude, but maybe dud was not quite the Freudian slip I thought it was.


Drawing a blank, dum dum bullet, faulty switch.

It’s you not me.

I insist.

I know you find me attractive, I’ve known since I first met you and when I saw you yesterday and we slipped right back into the easy, intellectual banter that I have come to hallmark our few conversations, I could feel it.

I gave you my phone.

You put your phone number in it.


I had asked for a speaking engagement, it’s not like you were putting your phone number in my phone because we were going to get it on later that evening.


I asked you to do service.

And you said yes.

And I said super.

And that was about it.


You caught up with me a little later and we conversed, and conversed, and conversed, until the room was empty and everyone was walking out the door.

That’s when you opened the door to the phone call and said, “we should really get together, hang out, talk, call me, really, call me.”

I replied “I would love to hang out.”


Maybe this is where I fucked it up.

Maybe, the friend who gave the advice about guys motives when they say “hang out” was not an ask for a date and I should have clarified immediately.


I went from the gut, the feeling, the look in your eyes.

Because I’m gullible sometimes.


I’m not stupid.

I also have a lot of experience now seeing when men are attracted to me and nothing happens and then years later I find out they were attracted to me and that I was right.

I’m right.

You’re attracted to me, you weren’t asking for a friend hang out, I know it.


I don’t know which one of my guy friends to slap.

And then.

I think.

Ah, fuck it, I killed the fantasy, which in the end is always so super valuable.

He didn’t call back.

No response is a response and it’s about as good and obvious as a flat-out no.

And frankly.

I’m fucking proud of myself for sacking up and calling him.

I didn’t text.

I called.

I left a message.

It may have been awkward, but I did it.

I took action.

I remind myself, that the results are not mine and I have no regrets.

I wouldn’t change the sequence of events to “I wish I hadn’t bothered to call,” because I am so super glad that I did.

I mean.

Good for you, girlfriend, another one out-of-the-way between you and whomever is next.

I’m really ready for next.

I’m not actively searching, no, I’m just ready.

That’s all.

I’m happy about that, that I’m not looking, I’m not trying to get on some new dating app, although the brain flirts with it once in a while, no, I’m just ready, available.

I’m proud of myself.

I keep trying.

That says something.


I experience frustration and sure, this is a thing, this thing I keep writing about, but believe that all is not for naught, that there is learning here, that I have to keep changing and growing and loving myself for who I am.

I really am not looking for a completion.

I complete myself and I won’t be complete until I die.

I am excited to keep growing and changing and loving and trying new stuff.

Life is fucking amazing and awesome and I’ve come so far and have so much further to go.


I long for someone to walk along with, carrying a conversation with, have fun with, connect with.

It is natural to want to partner up, it doesn’t mean I know how to do it, or am upset with myself for being single nor am I in self-pity.

My life is good and my growth, astounding.

I just find myself a bit bewildered.

It is my growing edge.

The not knowing.

And also the ok with the not knowing.

I like to say I like surprises.

But that’s a fucking lie.

I do like anticipation.

But not surprises.

Perhaps this is God’s way of getting me ready for a surprise I will really cotton to.

Who knows.

I obviously don’t.

Getting down with the unknown.

Throwing my own dance party to a soundtrack that is in another language.

God’s time.

God’s will.

Not mine.



Oh, resignation, look at you.

Or shall I say instead.


Over and over and over again.

Powerless over it all.

Fucking all of it.

Help me God.


Way Past My Bed Time

August 15, 2015

I am so busted.

Up late on a school night.


I had to do it.

There was a social event, a sort of talent show that the students put on and I was persuaded to do a piece and then I was persuaded to stay and hear a piece and the next thing I know it’s 11:30 a.m.


I have to be in bed in a half hour, I need to wash up, brush my teeth, contact a few folks.



Write my blog.

I don’t know that I am going to write a very long one, just a heads up, it’s been an extraordinary day, however, I have a lot of work still in front of me–two more days of classes and 9 hours tomorrow of T-Group.

Which is intensive group therapy training.

Eleven of us in a circle confronting each other and learning how to do transference and stay in the emotional middle of the boat and not get overwhelmed and also provide a mirror to the other students, to see, hear, and feel what is happening.

Suffice to say what is said in T-Group stays in T-Group.

Except that I am allowed to talk about my experience as long as I name no names and don’t talk about anything specific in relation to another member.

I have had plenty.

And I do mean.


Of working in  groups and listening and sharing experiences.


I have never experienced people saying stuff back to me, confronting me, then sitting still and working through the conflict.

I had a lot of fight or flight come up.

And yes.

I did cry.

I just oozed tears all day long today.

I suspect I will again tomorrow.


And I did it.

I asked for what I want.

I asked my employers to give me off August 27th and 28th so that I can go to Burning Man and do the early arrival thing with my people whom I am helping out.

I wrote a lot about it this morning, I read some things, I asked some stuff, I did that thing I do, I kneeled down, heck, I even asked for a sign.



I did get one.


It was so obvious it was like I was being directly spoken to.

I opened up my morning reader, or at least one of them and the suggestion to do something uncomfortable just for the sake of practicing doing something uncomfortable was the topic.


Fuck me.


And yes!



I figured I didn’t have to do anything right away and I also really wanted to have breakfast before contemplating asking for time off on short notice, though, it’s not too short, it’s close to two weeks in advance, and how I was going to ask for it.

I made the decision though to ask.

You know what they say about willingness without action, though, right?


I forgot about it by the end of the day and was dropping off books and notebooks and grabbing other notebooks and going to the next thing when I realized, as I booted up my computer.


I have not taken that action.

All the bravado of I’m going to ask for what I want had not gone completely out the window, but it was a challenge to gather up my momentum after such a full, overwhelming–but I did not die from my feelings, though I thought I might at one moment–and intense day of school work and therapeutic learning.

I sighed.

Am I going to do this or not?

I am.

I can ask.

They can say no.


I sent out an e-mail and I asked off for the 27th and 28th.

It felt good to ask for what I want, this psychology stuff must be rubbing off.

Scary too.

But I am letting go of the results.

Fact is.

I’m going to Burning Man no matter what.

I have the 28th through the Labor Day weekend off from work and I am going.  I have a ticket, I have the early arrival pass.

I may have to negotiate a different ride if my the folks I am going with decided to hit the road before the 28th and that’s ok.

A ride will coalesce.

It always does.

In the mean time.

I am going to cut this brief.

I need to hop, skip, and jump to bed.

I am exhausted and I still have two full days of school to go.

Get thee to bed ladybug.

You got T-Group bright and early.

See you in class!

I Gave Myself Permission

August 14, 2015

I let myself get into the hot tub and join the party tonight after class.

It was intense.

As I joked with someone just a moment ago via e-mail, the intensive, is well.



I didn’t stay long.

I knew I wanted to do this, this constant showing up lets me show up elsewhere and I find the strength to continue writing helps me find a grace and peace that I can carry with me while I do the school work.

Truth be told.

I am almost caught up on the reading.

I have more to read, there is that, but I have been carving out little pockets of time during the day.

A half hour before breakfast, fifteen minutes here, fifteen minutes there, a ten minute flip through and skim of an article.

I also have recognized the burying my head in a book is a way of checking out from a social situation that is sometimes challenging for me to navigate.

I mean.


I am at school with 31 other people who I will travel the next three years with and we all want to be therapists.

That’s something.

And being as emotionally available as I have been in some of my classes and showing up for my classmates and trying to carry love and compassion through it all with me, gentleness for myself and for the group.


I succeed.


I do not.

However, I keep showing up to class and meals and trying to meet my fellows where they are and also myself.

I was happy coming out of class tonight.

It was extraordinarily challenging and I felt such evocative emotions come up that I just wanted to pat myself on the fucking back for doing the deal and being there in the chair and creating a space, a frame, a working notion of what is happening for me.

A language of the heart.

I suppose is one way of looking at it.

I mean.

I’m getting a Masters in Psychology and I am going to be exploring feelings and emotions and all the feelings and emotions that it elicits from me as well as learning about how to be there and present in a safe way for others too.

I don’t, also, expect that I will get this overnight.

I mean, it’s what day 4.5.

I’m half way through.

The retreat, not the course work.

I’ve only just begun.

There is so much more to discover.

I just felt really content with myself and appreciative that I could let go a little, get in the hot tub a little, sigh a big sigh of relief and let the hot water burble about me.

Someone draped the lights over the communal tub, it’s a big guy, there might have been 15 of us in it and more room was available, and suddenly the stars bloomed and I could see Cassiopea and the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper and the Milky Way.

I had left my dorm room last night after my bed time on a brief excursion up the hill to see if I could catch any of the meteor shower.

The Perseid’s meteor shower, which supposedly peaked last night or actually in the very early hours of yesterday morning.

I did not catch any falling stars, the mists came in and there was cloud cover last night.




I got one.

I wished for love.

It just came right out of my heart and I sighed loudly, “Oh!” when the star streaked across the horizon.

No one else in the tub saw it and of course, it happened when I had stopped looking for it.

Which is always so much the case for me.

Stop looking, be still, show up to the page and love will be there.

Speaking of love.

I got an e-mail about departure dates to Burning Man and my heart is a little tender about having to be pragmatic, I am obligated to work through the 28th in Glenn Ellen for my family and I don’t want to.

I want to take extra time off and go to Burning Man.

I feel so much internal conflict.

I know I have to sit with it right now, this discomfort and the not knowing.

I can barely see outside of tomorrow’s first class and what that will look like.

And the truth is.

I don’t know what it will look like, I have to share my story at group level and not that I haven’t done that, I have done it so many times that I have lost count, but it is a different focus and a different set of people and I want many things to come across and some not so much and my head gets lost.


I think.


Reflect on what I can and can’t do.

But no decision tonight.

I had at least the wherewithal to look at myself having an emotional response to the when can you leave for Burning Man question.







I am still in school and I also have to work and I used my week’s vacation to do this retreat and I’m using the rest of my sick leave to do Burning Man and I can’t ask off for extra days.


Can I?

I really want to.

I can feel that intense desire to go as soon as possible to not be present with my job, to get out of fucking dodge.

I want it so bad.

I want.

I want.

I want.

Ah desire.



Let it go.

Nothing need be decided tonight.

And what if I asked to get out of work two days early?

My employers could dock my pay.

What would it look like to ask?

They could dock my pay and pay somebody else.

They could say no.

They could say yes.

They have a nanny service in Sonoma they use on the weekend when I am not there.

Can I allow myself that vulnerability to ask for what I want?

I mean it might even be a good exercise for me to ask just to see what happens.


All I know right now is that I am conflicted and don’t know what to do.

So pause and wait.

Sleep on it.


Love is what I wished for and I want to love myself enough to honor everything that is happening with me and to come to a place where I can express that and be for myself no matter what.

Because just in this space, just with this writing I can see that I am afraid of asking because I am afraid of judgement from my employers and that the answer will be no.

And so what if it is?

What would happen?

How to make a decision that is fair and just and right.

For me.

Not for the job.

Not for the people I am camping with.

Just for me.

More will be revealed.

But for now.

I wished upon a star.

And I suspect.

I will get my heart’s desire.

I usually do.

Although it never looks like how I think it’s going to look.

That’s ok too.

I’m open to the possibilities.

It’s a vast universe.

This love.

I suspect there is more of it for me to experience.

Good night my darlings.

I will see you tomorrow.

Sweet dreams.

Be they dusty or otherwise.


December 10, 2014

And ye shall receive.

Ask and you won’t get what you want is the lesson I learned and up until this evening I don’t believe I knew exactly how deep this erroneous way of thinking lived in me.

Humbly asked to have all these defects of character removed.



Take that shit.

I can and have been flippant about it.

I joke.

I jest.

I don’t take it serious.

Until there are things that just don’t serve me anymore and I grow tender and achy and rubbed my heart when I heard what was being read this evening.

It struck me hard and it struck my heart.

I don’t ask because asking is a risky business.

I learned a long time ago in a land far, far away, my childhood, that to ask was to only ask for it.

“You want something to cry about, I’ll give it to you,” my mother said to me.

“You ask too much,” my stepfather said to me, “you have too much pride, you need to be humbled.”

I wasn’t humbled, I was humiliated, shamed, shown scorn for my dreams and desires.

What, I ask you, is wrong with asking to play cello, to study privately with a French tutor, to be in advanced placement math, to take the ACT early, to have a ride home from swim practice, to have a warm room at night.

I learned.

You don’t get to ask.

Because asking always leads to heartbreak and disappointment.

Better to not ask, to not desire, to not want, to be safe, to not be hurt, to not have expectations.

Guarding my heart, I didn’t realized how much I wasn’t allowing those things to be taken away from me, root and branch that no longer served me.

I have been stubborn and holding onto so much fear, anger, loneliness, anxiety, without even realizing it.

These things they go deep.

The thing is, there is a solution and there is something I can trust and start leaning into more.

I have faith, I have had it for sometime, it serves me well, but it has become more than apparent that there is a deeper level of belief that I can strive for, that I am allowed to experience.

I am granted that permission to be tender and reveal my heart and ask for what I need and allow room for the Universe to provide it for me.

I don’t know that I knew how deep the hurt runs in me.

This time, when the revelation was revealed, though, it did not feel like layers of skin being slowly peeled off me with hooks, it felt soft and tender and weak, but not weak as in I have no strength, just that I have no power, that of myself I am unable to take away those pains and defenses, I need help.

Of my unaided will, I cannot do anything.

Welcome to being in a relationship, ladybug.

No wonder I panicked when my boyfriend asked me what I wanted for Christmas, I was already unconsciously preparing myself for disappointment.

My heart aches now for myself, for this life, for this experience, but it is a sweet ache an ache of surrender.

I give this up to.

I can ask.

I am allowed.

I am perhaps, not going to have high expectations, but I realize that there is more than one answer to a question; there is more than one way to be supplicant and to receive grace and give away the garbage of poor upbringing and sorrow.

The Universe has two answers for me when I ask, “not right now,” or “not yet, there is something better.”

I am being heard.

I always have been and when I look back I can see so clear and distinct, the patterns in the grass, the wings of a dragon-fly, translucent and fragile, thinnest skeins of crystal cells battering the air under the diamond sun, the rustle of oak tree leaves in the summer wind, the smell of lilies of the valley and thick, juicy lilacs in summer—these strivings for beauty all about me, revealing a deep, full, abiding love of the world I walk through.

Despite myself I can learn to let in the world, the love, the light, the grace, and to ask again and believe that I will be answered.

Which, funny enough, led me to realize what I want from my boyfriend for Christmas.

As much as I like stuff, I mean, who doesn’t, I want an experience.

I want to drive down the coast to Big Sur and see the monarch migration.

I have never seen it and a lady I work with just recently was in Big Sur and said it was incredible and beyond imagination.

That’s what I want for Christmas, an experience beyond my imagination, my imagination is limited and I am afraid too often to ask, to be gentle in my remonstratings to myself when I don’t get what I ask for and know that I can still ask again, perhaps a different question or a different need.

Just because I was disappointed once, or twice or a hundred times, does not mean that it is unreasonable for me to ask again.

Do I know what it is that I am asking for?


But I do know that it is time for me to start all over and make a new beginning.

This life of constant and continual change and awareness is something I am in awe of, not afraid of, not in fear of, awe.


I fled the lights of the city toward the ocean on my bicycle, the lamps dreamy and smoky yellow in the wavering fog drifting through the park and as I wheeled around a corner and heard the echo of water rushing over the falls in the park, I felt it again, that ache, that tender sweet spot in my heart, not a hole to be filled by fear, but a silken cushion of faith and love, truth, surrender.

And lest you think that my life and my God are some deep mysterious thing, I mean, I don’t fully comprehend that grace that paves the path ahead for me, nor do I want to, but it does have a sense of humor and timing that is pitch perfect.

Note the early birthday/Christmas package from my mom in the entryway to my in-law.

Things do change and gifts fall from the heavens.

Or at least the USPS truck.

When I least expect them.

Filling that achy, empty spot with light and sweetness.

Things That Are Challenging

December 5, 2014

Wrangling four boys at the farmer’s market, feeding dinner, entertaining, and then doing the hand off of two to a mom whilst in the middle of Mission Mini birthday cupcake havoc.

I made it through.

And now it’s bedtime.

And I don’t have to do anything but sit quietly and relax.

I want to be doing something, tidying, picking up, laundry, but I also expended so much energy between 3p.m. and 7 p.m. with the four boys and then an additional amount of super hero nanny powers combatting post sugar melt down with pajama, story, and bed time, that I am not going to do anything but look at shoes on-line.

I’m not ordering anything.

I’m zoning out.


I know.

I am weird.

It happens to me occasionally that I zone out by looking at shoes, scrolling the pages of this site or that, I have large feet so it’s not actually something that pans out well for me.

I spend a lot of time applying filters and before you know it I have wasted a half hour finding a mythical pair of shoes that is out of stock anyway and I couldn’t afford it I actually wanted them.

I don’t want the shoes, I want the fantasy of what I’ll do in the shoes.

Because you know, if I find the right pair of shoes, happiness is guaranteed.

In case you were wondering, yes, I did grow up in the United States of Consumerism.

However, I don’t consume nearly that much, not as much as the average bear, that’s for sure, and I keep it fairly small when I do.

I spend most money on eating well, paying rent, repaying student loans, and experiences.

I do, don’t get me wrong, love a good pair of shoes or a new dress, who doesn’t?

But sometimes, I think I’m just checking out to give the brain a moment to pause and not think about what is happening or to take a break from the mental gymnastics I have a tendency to perform.

And too.

Today was just an off kilter day.

I didn’t start until 1:30 p.m.

I felt discombobulated from sleeping in and it took a while for me to get started.

I did write a lot this morning though and that felt good.

Four pages long hand and then, yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, I started writing out some Christmas cards.

I like sending out cards, it makes me feel good to take a moment, think of that person or persons or family, and wrap the card up with a big hug and stamp it and maybe put a little embossed sticker on the envelope and send it off in the postal box.

I dropped ten in the mail today.

I usually send out between fifteen and twenty.

Sometimes a few more.

I went through my first round of obvious recipients, now I have to dig out the addresses of those folks that I love to send a card to, but don’t have their address readily at hand.

Rather than in my iphone, I have an old address book in yes, my Filofax.


I have a Filofax.

I had two, but my first got so beat up some girlfriends back in Madison teamed up and got me a new one for Christmas or perhaps it was for my birthday, the year before I moved out to San Francisco.

My birthday is two weeks from today.

I got a text from the boyfriend earlier today.

Said text coming at a really nice time in the day, when I was getting ready to scoop all four boys up and head to the Farmer’s Market on Bartlett and 22nd.

I needed a pick me up and the Universe sent me one.

Basically it was to let me know that he would need me ready and in his car by 7:15 p.m. on the night of the 18th.

My birthday.

I guess I have a date.

I have a date on my birthday.

I went horseback riding last year with two of my darling girlfriends.

The year before that I was in Paris and got to get a jackalope tattoo from my room-mate and tattoo artist friend who was working at Abraxas, then we met fellows at the American Church and after went for a dinner at his favorite cafe in the Menilmontant neighborhood, the 20th arrondisement, or Belleville area or Paris (The Red Balloon was filmed there).

I don’t know where we’re going, it’s a surprise, but I do so like that plans have been made.

He also asked me what I wanted for Christmas.


For him to read my mind.

I had to sit on that text for a while.

I already have gotten him his Christmas present.

I knew it the moment I saw it and I bought it for him.

I got it at Paxton Gate.

I asked the sales clerk the odds of them having more of the item in stock if I did not buy it the day I saw it, would they have it available, would they be ordering more.

She said no and I said, ring up the sale.

To have my boyfriend ask me what I wanted was uncomfortable and I knew I had to actually give an answer.

I don’t like asking for things.

I never have.

But I knew it was appropriate to respond and let him know.

I gave him a short list, nothing actually very specific, earrings, perfume, pretty lingerie, flowers, things in the bunny motif, I like rabbits, things that are cozy.


I like being given gifts, don’t get me wrong, I just don’t like telling people what I want.

I want to make myself small and unnoticeable.

That is old hat.

And there is nothing wrong with telling the man I am with what I like.

He wants to know.

He’s under no obligation to get me anything and yet, I know he is and regardless of what I get, I shall be pleased.

It’s a nice feeling being with someone who wants to make plans with me on my birthday and wants to know what I like.

That itself is already such a gift.

It seems almost too much to ask for more than that.


I have already been given so much.

The awareness of my fortune may be enough.

Although I will happily receive presents should they coalesce.

It’s not nice to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Or a boyfriend.

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