The Not A Date

Date.

I mean.

Fuck.

I thought it was a date.

But.

In the end it just seemed to be hanging out as friends.

Note to self.

Clarify.

44 fucking years old and still learning how to communicate.

Ah well.

I had a nice time going to the Summer of Love exhibit and my friend was a good friend, just not the experience I thought I was having.

I didn’t have expectations about it, in fact, when he’d asked me out I was surprised, but I had said yes, trying to keep my word, promising that I would date, I would try.

I am tired of trying.

I am tired of dating.

I don’t want to do it.

And yet.

Here I am trying.

Frustrated pacing the walls of my head, the walls of my room, and just trying each moment to be as honest and upfront as I can.

I can’t have what I want.

I get what I need.

Isn’t that the trope?

Learning, always this learning, this experiencing and I’m not mad or curious or, what resigned, resigned isn’t the right word either.

Acceptance tastes like it.

Humility, most likely that, a tasty snack, a tidbit of humility, mmmm, here, wait, have another helping.

I made my friend feel bad, well, take that back, I’m not that powerful, I can’t claim to be responsible for anyone’s feelings, but I was surprised at the laissez-faire approach to us hanging out together, which clued me into it not being a date.

I expected to be picked up at noon.

I was picked up at 1:45p.m.

UGH.

I have a life, I have things to do, I am important, don’t you know who I am, I don’t want to go on this date.

Oh.

Hahahahhaahahahahahaha.

Joke’s on you lady.

It’s not a date.

My brain.

Oh how it likes to tell me some stories.

I have another “date” tomorrow, but let me tell you, I bet it’s just to have coffee and go do the deal.

It’s not a date either.

Clarity.

I have to ask for clarity.

I have to know that I am beautiful and worthy, that my time is valuable, that I am worth making the attempt for.

I fucking deserve to be courted.

I mean.

That’s what I believe, but maybe that’s a fallacy too, an expectation that I am to be pursued in a certain way by a certain type of man, it just doesn’t seem, after many years of trying to figure this out, ahhaha, ugh, I have not done it any favors, my romantic state or lack there of.

I am still just bumble fucking along.

I get to change.

That’s the only thing I can do.

I can change.

Or not.

I mean.

What is wrong with my life?

Do I need to be in a romantic relationship?

Throat strangles with sadness writing last line, note to self, write about that tomorrow morning.

Fuck.

I wrote a lot this morning.

Eight pages?

Yes.

Eight.

Just wrote and wrote and wrote.

Had a nice breakfast, drank some good coffee, wrote, and waited for the date not date to show up.

And the thing that happened is that I got work done that I needed to do.

So.

A gift, the tardiness of another, my powerlessness over others and their actions held true.

What can I do, how can I use my time and not be mad, not be pissed at my friend who was just taking care of stuff that he had to do.

I set up my voicemail for my internship.

I activated my e-mail account.

I set up my phone line.

I read through the employee hand book.

I discovered I have to also pay to get liability insurance, another unknown out-of-pocket school cost, which makes sense, but was a cost I wasn’t expecting.

Anyway.

I’ll be getting a little bit of money back from the financial aid I applied for, most of it goes to paying for my practicum supervisor, but I’ll get a smidgen that will help with my out-of-pocket therapy costs and this insurance and whatever else comes up.

I still have secrets thoughts and desires about getting out-of-town sometime during the three weeks my family I nanny for will be traveling.

I have a $480 ticket voucher and if I hold steady with my expenditures I might be able to pull off a short vacation, four or five days, somewhere the airlines fly.

I had been thinking San Juan Puerto Rico as a friend does a lot of business there, but I’m not sure I can make Puerto Rico work, maybe.

I don’t know.

I do know I have to use the voucher by October.

I also don’t know when I will get the opportunity outside the three weeks in July.

I guess that’s what bothered me the most.

Having set time aside to go on a date, ok, not a date, I wanted it to go my way, on my schedule, so that I could do all the other things I was going to do, like I totally fucking skipped yoga to get ready.

Note to self.

Don’t do that.

Gratefully.

Tomorrow is a holiday and I’m not working and I will go to yoga in the morning and then to lunch with my person and dump my stupid emotional juju ass baggage about dating and being stupid and annoyed with myself and get it off my chest and then go on another date not date for coffee and laugh at myself.

LOUDLY.

Because I am funny and my little plans and designs get nowhere.

Show up, be of service, stop thinking about myself.

And life will be just fine.

It already is.

I have fucking luxury problems.

Dating is a total luxury problem, I am alive, sober, housed, clothed, fed.

In other words, totally fucking taken care of.

So what?

I have problems in areas I used to never have.

I am lucky.

I am graced.

I am happy, motherfucking free, and joyous.

Most of the time.

And when I am sad or in self-pity or whatever it is, I’m more important than you and your agenda and needs, I see that I am not in humility and gratitude and I can change.

I can awaken.

I can say.

How may I serve, how may I help.

And take the motherfucking focus off myself.

That usually does the trick.

So me and my luxury problems are going to have a nice fucking day tomorrow going to yoga, getting to go to lunch with one of my most loved humans in the entire world, coffee with a friend, a gathering of fellows, some get right with God, and that’s my day.

Or not.

I can’t make plans to save my life.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring.

I certainly don’t.

Obviously.

 

Four Day Weekend!

No plans.

Well.

A few plans.

Meeting some ladies, seeing my people, doing the deal.

The regular.

And.

Buying books and readers for school.

But aside from that.

No plans.

I suppose after  great big trip to Paris I really shouldn’t have a care in the world about what to do.

I will sleep in.

I will not worry about work.

I will get my school supplies and do the normal weekend stuff I usually do, cook, clean, go to the market, laundry.

I can’t seem to get into doing anything for New Year’s Eve.

A.  I haven’t been asked to do anything, neither date wise or friend wise.

B. I’m not certain I want to be out on New Year’s.

C. After the shit show last New Year’s was, the beginning of the end of the relationship with an ex, I don’t have any expectations.

I can say that yes, I would love to be kissed on New Year’s Eve at the stroke of midnight.

But.

You know what.

I got that last year.

And it was awful.

And I’ve gotten to have a kiss at midnight once or twice before, but it’s never been much good.

I figure I’ll be hiding under my bed when the midnight hour strikes.

I briefly thought about working.

Not that the family asked me to, the mom and dad went out tonight for a dinner to celebrate, but I know that I could raise a tiny flag of maybe I might be available to nanny/babysit for New Years, and I’d have a gig.

I thought about it.

Some scratch for my school books.

But.

In the end.

No.

I don’t feel maudlin or sad, not having plans, although I did have a big wave of sad roll over me last night and I turned to doing a big review of my day and e-mailing my person about it.

It was basically a fears inventory.

I’m not enough.

I’m unlovable.

I’m going to be alone for always.

Blah, blah, blah.

Same old song.

Different night.

It just hit me harder last night for what ever reason, maybe watching the season finale of Downton Abbey where everyone is paired up and there’s babies being born right and left had something to do with it.

Or.

The season.

The time of year.

It’s not a feeling I’m unfamiliar with.

I have had it before and it’s just fear.

And fear is just another thing I get to walk through.

My heart felt tender though, and it was good to do the writing and send it out to someone with greater perspective then I.

I was also reminded that it’s the long, cold, dark days of winter.

And.

Holy mother of God.

It has been cold.

My bicycle riding has not been enjoyable.

Although it has been fast.

I have expended extra energy getting from here to there and back again just to keep fucking warm.

My fingers and especially my thumbs, have been just useless by the end of my ride.

Painfull.

I’ll be giving the bicycle a break for the weekend.

Hopping on the scooter tomorrow.

Not that it will be much warmer, in fact, it will be colder with the wind chill, but I’ll get where I need to go faster and I will bundle the fuck up.

My first stop will be Copy Central sometime before 3 p.m. tomorrow.

Got to get there and get my stuff.

I have to order books too, but I haven’t gone much further in my syllabi to see what I need or how much it’s going to cost.

Last time I think I dropped $350 on the readers and another $150 or so on books.

But I can’t remember and I am not going to worry about it.

I will just show up.

Buy the readers and get on with my day.

I’ll be getting some more of that famous perspective afterward at Church and Market, meeting up with my person and doing some reading and hearing what he has to say.

He always has good things to say.

Always.

We commiserated on jet lag today, which I had again, I really am surprised by it, today, but not as bad as yesterday and nothing like Monday.

I keep waking up too early and having a hard time going back to sleep, which is part of it for sure.

I think it’s going to pass though, and it certainly will by the end of the weekend.

And he commiserated with me about the sad and alone.

Which is fear and false and passing.

Grateful to know that it always does pass.

If I can hold it lightly and let it go.

I have been working on lots of surrendering.

It seems to be the thematic for me this last month or so.

Constantly giving up ideas, people, places, things.

Constantly seeing how I am not well adjusted when I feel like I am out of control of my environment.

Which is all the time.

You’d think I’d be used to it by this point.

Constantly surrendering the idea of requited love.

And constantly accepting the love that is right in front of me.

Tonight I was envisioning it all in white fur.

Being held in warm, soft, white fur.

I was cold, and I don’t usually meditate when I am that cold, but I also forgot my scarf and was in a hurry to get to be where I needed to be.
I worked a half hour later tonight then I normally do so the parents could get to have their own little New Years celebration dinner out, and I had to bust ass on my bike to get to where I needed to go.

Which at least kept me warm.

But once I was settled I realized how cold I was.

So.

Meditating became thinking of all the warmest, softest things.

Being held.

Being surrounded by warmth.

Being taken care of.

Being loved.

I can find it all there when I look for it.

Sometimes worldly clamor blocks it out.

But it is there.

Just on the other side of soft surrender.

An aquiescence.

A total letting go.

And sure.

It may be.

For just a moment.

Sad.

But it is sweet.

And I am held better than I can hold myself.

At least.

That’s what I believe.