Posts Tagged ‘sexual ideal’

Not Sure Where to Begin

April 30, 2019

But apparently I’m ready for dating.

I wasn’t expecting that when I told my therapist last Tuesday about some recent experiences doing inventory work.

Man.

I did some self-searching, some fearless and deep, and thoughtful, insightful thinking and writing.

I saw my patterns.

Especially my patterns around dating.

My ex fell into my patterns and completely obliterated them too.

He was much more than just another guy.

He broke the pattern.

He didn’t break me.

Although he did absolutely break my heart.

I seem, however, to be healing and the writing helps.

And the longer days of sunshine help and being busy as fuck wrapping up this semester of school certainly keeps my brain occupied.

My brain would like to create some trouble.

Like, Friday night coming home after work and seeing therapy clients it starts telling me this story about this place I used to go to on Friday nights.

Our Lady of Safeway.

This church on Church Street and Market.

I spent many, many, many Friday nights in that church.

It is in fact where I met my ex.

Oh how he used to shine at me.

Still makes me quiver thinking about that.

Sometimes the thoughts slip in and I don’t try too hard to keep them at bay.

Sometimes they are just sweet and sad and nostalgic, I find myself thinking about him as I fall asleep, the first time he said he loved me, the first time he brought me flowers after he had said he loved me, his face over the bouquet of flowers, so open and vulnerable and full of love, his eyes.

Oof.

Yeah, I might be getting through all of this but I’m still not over you lover.

And that’s ok.

I have given up on trying to be over you.

And as I mentioned, apparently I might be ready to date.

It just sort of popped out in my therapy session last week, all about seeing the patterns and seeing where I need to look at myself and what I want.

I have some very specific needs and wants and really being open and honest about them to myself.

As I expressed all of it my therapist stopped me and said, “wait, are you saying you’re ready to date?!”

“Yes!” I said without a pause and holy shit, I felt it, I am ready to date.

Oh.

I suppose.

A little weirded out by it too.

I basically haven’t dated in two years and over these last two years there were more than a few moments of me thinking, this is it he’s the love of my life, my soulmate, my best friend, he’s going to be the one, I don’t have to think about dating again or finding love.

I had found it.

But.

Well.

Though the love didn’t leave me, he did.

And that was his choice and I won’t disparage him for it.

So now I have to get the fuck on with my life.

To that end.

I wrote up my sexual ideal and really dug into it, basically coming up with a three page essay on what I am looking for in a partner, mate, boyfriend.

I really want a monogamous, committed, romantic, sober, non-smoking relationship.

And yeah, three other pages of things.

I read them out loud in my parked car on the corner of Cesar Chavez and Noe Street this past Saturday night to my person after we had done the deal up in Potrero Hill.

He then suggested I go home and read it out loud in first person.

See what I had to grow towards.

And the really awesome thing, I already have the majority of qualities I’m looking for in a partner.

I’m quite happy about that.

The surprise that came up for me is that I want to cohabitate with a partner.

I haven’t lived with a boyfriend in, wait for it, twenty years.

I’m ready to live with someone again.

Yeah.

I also had hopes that the person I was going to be living with was my ex, but that was just fantasy, wasn’t it.

Everything was just fantasy, beautiful, romantic, lovely, fantasy.

Exquisite in the night, sweeping, and intoxicating, but in reality, the light of day, it fell short and left me with such a hurting heart all the time.

I want reality now.

I am ready for that.

And I’m not expecting a Knight on a white horse, I’ve never needed a man to rescue me, but I do want a partner to compliment me.

Someone to travel with!

My person really made a point of that, “I see you going to Paris and staying in that gorgeous apartment in the Marais with a boyfriend,” he told me after I had finished reading out my ideal.

Me too!

I booked it thinking about how romantic it was and yeah, I certainly have some big high hopes that I will be traveling with a partner this Christmas.

My birthday and Christmas in the City of Lights with my boyfriend.

I know it’s a little early to ask for a Christmas present, but well, when you know you know.

I can’t quite envision it, but I can feel it.

And I have done so much work.

God, I have worked through so much grief over this break up, I could use a break.

So.

Yeah.

Hey God, it’s me.

I’m ready to date again.

Really.

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What Other Secrets

April 1, 2016

Do you have?

He asked.

As though the sexting wasn’t enough?

Ha.

Oh.

Fuck me.

I just so don’t want to think about school and work and school work and all the things that I need to do this weekend, but I’m not going to be able to do any of, well, just not on Saturday anyway, because I have committed to going to this birthday party.

I am going to have fun if it kills me.

Yes.

To get back to the first part, I have been sexting, heh, I might be doing it while I write this blog.

I should say sex-mailing.

I’m not on my phone.

I got rid of Tinder on my phone, but I did make one interesting connection before I took it off my phone again.

And yes.

We were sexting.

Like mad crazy sixteen years olds.

And it was fun.

And it was a release.

But when dude cancelled on me I was a little miffed and said, fuck this, I ain’t got time for this shit.

That was a few weeks back and I’ve been moving and shaking and getting stupid anxious about getting my papers written for school next weekend and all the reading.

And.

Well.

Hello.

Look who sent me a message.

And.

Yes.

I did respond.

I’m not right now, in case you were wondering.

And he is sending me the e-mails.

I’m a writer, I’m good at the sexy e-mails.

But.

I also know it’s just a way to blow off some steam.

I don’t intend to meet said paramour, I don’t have the time to work that out.

Should some sexy action happen to sneak into my schedule, I am not complaining.

But I am not going to go out of my way to check out around it right now.

I will keep on keeping on.

And.

Yes.

I did let my other little secret out.

Shhh.

I watch videos after I blog.

Yeah I know.

Crazy.

My secrets.

It’s this sacred time that I have, a little unwinding time.

The blog is necessary and vital and I don’t want to give it up, at least not right now.

But my secret half hour to forty-five minutes of down time at the end of the night is something that I have been contemplating giving up.

Focus more on school work, maybe get up extra early and go to an earlier yoga class and then come back here and do more school work before I got work proper.

And no.

I am not giving it up.

I am keeping it.

And I am just going to let the clickety clack of crazy thoughts roll their stupid way through my brain and out the other side.

I have nothing to be so fretful about.

Yeah.

I am busy.

But I am going to be ok.

I really am.

I am also not going to get up early tomorrow and go to yoga and do homework before work.

I am going to get a proper amount of sleep and get up and read the rest of my Psychodynamics class reading, half of one article to go, read the uploaded article for Multi-Cultural class, figure out when the paper is due for Dubitzky, and do as much of the Ethics reading I can get my brain wrapped around.

Then let go of the rest.

Saturday is a no fly zone.

I have decided.

I will do yoga, I will do the deal, because that’s what I do and I also get to finish up with my person and go over my sexual ideal with her on Saturday, a manicure, some eyebrow waxing, lunch out, run some errands, get dressed up, and go hang with the ladies.

Sunday I have ladies to work with and I am hoping to sneak in a yoga class, but I will drop it if I can’t get the papers done.

I won’t let go of taking care of what I need to take care of, sit in a chair, get comfy in a church cafeteria, but I might not venture far from home.

Plus, groceries, food prep, ugh.

I got a handle on laundry, that’s happening right now.

It got a handle on it all, the crazy making brain just wants to tell me it can’t be done.

But it can.

I can do this.

I am up for this.

I don’t got this.

Though.

I don’t got nothing, really.

A lot of attitude.

I’m just fucking fumbling right along, tripping over my toes.

But hey.

I’m honest, I’m up front.

I’m crazy.

But at least I know it.

I realize also that I don’t have time to date.

Fuck, yes.

I mean.

I have time for sex.

Fucking.

Just not dating.

And on my schedule at my time.

On my terms.

Safe terms, hello.

Which means.

Either negotiating some sexy time with someone I have had sex with before and who is not in a relationship, because I don’t deal with that, no, or just holding out until I get done with this semester of school.

My person was right on the money with me tonight.

I don’t have it in me to really pursue a romantic dating relationship, as much as I want one.

Ultimately that is the goal.

Being in a loving, committed relationship with someone who can keep pace with my bohemian, eclectic, high energy, sexual self.

But until then, and really if I barely have the time to give my girl friends time I don’t have time to give to another man romantically.

It’s just not fair to expect that from anyone right now.

So.

Sex.

Make out.

Pressure release.

Something.

And.

If sexting seems to be it at the moment, so be it.

Better than nothing.

I always get what I need.

The time it happens.

The writing will get done.

The homework will get worked out.

I would love to grind out my anxiety with partner.

But do I need to?

Nope.

That’s why this lady has more than one vibrator.

Heh.

Hell I just got most of my vitriol out here.

Sometimes the writing is the release and I don’t have to take it anywhere else.

I just need to pretend that I am.

And that helps out a lot.

More so than the sexting.

More so than the fantasy of hooking up.

Just showing up here, to this page, and dumping out the anxiety of the day.

The rest will follow when it follows.

Until then.

I have a video to watch and some tea to drink.

And sleep.

Yes.

Some of that too.

Please.

And.

Thank you.

 

 

I’m Sexy

March 6, 2015

I’m not stupid.

I know I’m sexy.

I said this out loud to a group of fellows and outed myself as a self-confessed fraud.

Half the time I walk around wanting to embrace every sexy curve of my body and the other half I’m like, I’m too sexy, too over the top, too much, I have to tone it down.

I know there’s a balance and I want to be everything that I have been given, but I struggle with it, I am still wondering, what the fuck do I do, what do I have to do to get asked on a date.

I got another soft turn down.

Which, FYI, dude, too much explanation.

I don’t care what your reasons are.

Who cares?

I don’t.

In fact, I respect the “no response” response.

It’s a no.

When you say I want to take you out for dinner and then you don’t ever get back to the woman, she, I sort of figured out there’s not that much interest there.

I had forgotten, pretty much, when I got a long-winded text yesterday about how the person is this that and the other, dude, I repeat, I don’t care.

I don’t need the explanation.

I suppose when it comes right down to it, I don’t ever need an explanation.

I am getting exactly what I am supposed to be working on every day and when I get caught up in why aren’t I dating more, I’m focusing on the external.

I’m doing the compare and despair.

But.

There really is a very curious woman inside me wondering what I could be doing different.

I’m not looking to self-improve.

I have tons of self-acceptance.

I love myself.

I take good care of myself.

I’m pretty damn good company.

So like, what the fuck God, can you break a girl off?

I’m confused and I don’t care for confusion.

I don’t know what actions to take any longer.

Stay online.

Quit online.

Ask a guy out.

Not ask a guy out.

It’s all too much.

I’m tired of the struggle.

It’s a pain in the ass.

I suppose it’s just my brain looking for something to obsess on aside from my taxes, whether or not I am going to get a return after the identity confirmation thing (which apparently takes six weeks to process? What is that? I’m me, I swear), and graduate school.

I have not heard yet whether or not I am in.

And that pisses me off.

Come on.

I got things to do and plans to make and well, geez you guys said it would be less than a week, so does that mean I didn’t get in?

Yeah.

I’d rather obsess about why I’m single than that one.

If I don’t get into the program I’m not sure where to turn my attention next.

I know that rejection is God’s protection, I know that hands down, so Mister Text me long unnecessary texts, it’s cool, we weren’t a great match anyhow, I’m not upset by the rejection.

Not at all, not one bit.

I am a little frustrated with God and I yelled at him, for lack of a better gender I don’t really think God is a man, it’s just short hand for the higher power I work with—I grew up with a patriarchal idea of God as the Father, so what ever, it works—as I was riding my bicycle home through the park.

“What do you want me to do?!”

I might have been that crazy person you see on the bus, but I was on my bike.

Sometimes, most times, I pray out loud, they are just conversations with God and usually they are little prayers of gratitude.

Thank you God for not having me drink today.

Thank you God for not having me use today.

Thank you God for this beautiful body you have given me to walk around in.

Thank you God for not having me smoke yet today.

Thank you God for not having me be homeless yet today.

Thank you for the trees in the park, the smell of clover in Kezar Triangle as I ride to work, for the smell of blooming jasmine, for magnolia blossoms, for the full moon in the sky, for the honking of geese two days in a row as I ride my bicycle up Lincoln Avenue to work, thank you for my awesome, amazing, wonderful life.

Thank you.

I mean I do that all day long.

But tonight, grateful though I am, I did have some words with God.

What the fuck?

What do you want me to do?

I’ve been working my ass off, what else should I be doing?

I’m tired of figuring it out, you figure it out, what can I do to best be of service to the man you want me to be with?

How do I move toward that man?

Give me some signs!

Ugh.

I mean, really, it’s fucking laughable.

It’s just life and there’s nothing wrong.

I just realized that I really liked having a boyfriend.

It was fun.

Until it wasn’t.

And I want to try it again.

I have a full and wonderful life.

Being in a relationship is not going to make my life better; it’s just going to make my life different.

Change.

I know it’s always happening.

But sometimes it just seems like it’s not at all.

And I’m stuck again in this space of being in the hallway, and damn it man, sometimes that hall way is fucking long.

Anyway.

I do have a great weekend coming up.

Plans to go to the East Bay and see some lovely ladies and do some celebration of life and I don’t need to be coupled up for that to happen.

I will get dressed up though.

And be sexy for myself.

That’s the person, ultimately I have to seduce and love.

I’m sexy for me.

And I know it.

That Didn’t Last Long

February 9, 2015

Tinder me no Tinder.

This thing sucks ass.

Not for me.

Less than twenty-four hours of using the app and I am burnt out on it.

I have not been obsessively using it, I just don’t care for it.

It manages to suck me right into my phone, which no way man, not on my day off, I have things to do, books to read, walks to take, women to sit with in my kitchen and be present for.

I have food to cook and things to write.

And I just don’t like it.

Partially because it just seems so patently surface.

“I don’t like it,” I told him today on the phone, “I want it off my phone, but I haven’t figured out how to get rid of it yet.”

I have turned off the notifications and I haven’t used it in a few hours and I am going to get it off my phone.

Online dating seems one thing, this random roulette of photographs and profiles apparently works for someone out there, I know lots of folks are using it, but it turns out, not really news to me, I am a little more old-fashioned.

But not too old-fashioned.

I managed to knock another one off my list of ten.

And I replaced one of the guys on the list with a more viable option, if I suspected I was not going to want to go out with the gentleman from last night because he’s a heavy smoker, he should never have gone onto the list.

It was a cheat so I could cross it off without having to do the actual work.

And it is work, let me tell you, asking someone out without hiding behind the screen of my phone, rather actually using my phone.

Not sending a text.

But actually calling a live human being.

Who’s voicemail, of course, I got.

And I flubbed it so bad.

Oh my god.

It’s funny, it was funny when I was doing it, it was the most artless, graceless, idiotic, could be made into a bad dating comedy movie script, of an ask.

In fact.

Ugh.

I called him an asshole.

I meant, I am the asshole, because I can’t quite cleanly articulate what I am saying.

Shocker.

I haven’t gotten a response.

Oh lordy.

But you know, I tried.

And he’s actually a friend, someone I have known for years and off again, on again, wondered about whether we might have some chemistry–it seems we do, but sometimes that’s hard to tell.

My picker appears broken, so I could be wrong.

He also has a sense of humor, so I’m sure he will actually find it funny that I called him an asshole.  I also said I was practicing and in the spirit of taking suggestions I was asking him out to coffee, not as friends, but to see if there was a click there.

Then I laughed maniacally.

Dating.

So much fun.

I have decided that I am going to let the OkStupid profile stand, although I am not a huge fan of it, I prefer it leaps and bounds over Tinder.

And I am going to continue to knock of the names on the list.

One by one.

Each day.

That is my goal anyway, one name a day.

One phone call or one message.

Of the ten on the list the guy I called today is the only one who I actually have a phone number for.

The other guys I’m going to have to message on Facebook or ask out in person.

One of them I will see tomorrow and I have been trying for the last couple of weeks to get up the gumption, but I believe I was still clearing out all the stuff from my previous relationship and I was stymied whenever I got close to saying anything.

But I am sick of the fantasy.

I am a dreamer, but I want reality.

I’m going to kill the fantasy with the guy I usually see on Mondays.

I don’t think there’s interest on his part, but I have to get it, him out of my head and out-of-the-way.

I am not obsessively thinking about him, but he’s there and every Monday for a little while now, I have thought, I really should ask him out for a cup of coffee.

He’s not on a Facecrack as far as I can tell.

Two of his close mutual friends are and I have done enough Facecrack stalking to ascertain that he probably does not have an account.

This is a good thing.

That is one thing on my ideals list, someone who can be present for me and I for them and not interfacing via social media.

It’s too one-sided.

I want to be with someone who wants to be with me, not my profile picture.

Anyway.

That’s the plan.

Ask one guy out a day.

Get dates set up.

One a week, just like I was trying to do before I got into the relationship with my ex.

It worked then.

And as I have learned so much about myself and dating and romantic relationships and breakups and being human through that experience, I can only have faith that it has made me a better woman to date.

I have grown toward my ideal.

Beyond grateful for that.

I have so much more clarity around what I want it is refreshing and I know that God will do for me what I cannot do for myself, that God’s plan is so much better than my plan.

I mean really.

It is.

I don’t want to be alone, though I isolate at the drop of hat, so I’m fellowshipping and seeing ladies.

I got a ticket to Basement Jaxx to dance, I’m not going to wait for someone to take me.

Although not a single person I know is now going.

Which is ok.

I can still go and dance and if it gets weird being there on my own.

Well.

I leave.

Novel idea that.

And who knows.

Maybe in the work of doing this, in the changing and growing I will, without even meaning to, stumble into the exact place I am supposed to be.

That’s what I suspect.

And I’ll be ready for it when it happens.

Because I am not sucked into Tinder.

But present to be in the gift of the moment.

With whomever God wants me to be with.

I suspect he’s dreamy.

I am.

Simultaneously*

February 6, 2015

Too much.

And not enough.

I am too flamboyant.

And I am not kinky enough.

Now if you know me, and a few of you do, you know that though the latter is not true, and so too is the former.

Yet.

I am critical of myself.

I am not enough.

And I am too much.

There is no middle ground, there is no one who is going to put up with this and there is not enough for me.

I am too much to handle.

But not enough heat in the kitchen.

I mean, really, I could go on in this vein for some time and not get myself anywhere but perhaps in a head ache state of mind.

I had a really good talk and a great check in tonight and I was informed I am more than enough and I am perfectly, imperfectly, my sexiest self.

Let me remind myself that I really am in the best place in my life.

I am honest and open and communicative, I am learning where I can be more of that, mostly through not with holding my honest response.

I can be manipulative and a bit of a people pleaser.

Which is never in anyone’s best interest.

Oh.

God.

I love me some house music.

Sorry, just got totally swept up in the beat on my stereo, I’m even typing in rhythm.

Haha.

This lady needs to go out dancing.

I’m this close to getting tickets to Basement Jaxx at Public Works with David Harness opening, next Saturday, the 14th.

I don’t suspect that I will have a Valentine’s date that night and I could really use a shake it out on the dance floor evening.

Fuck, I’ll even get dressed up for it, sexy for myself.

That’s where I have gone back to, again, and again as the process of the break up spools it way out.

Be sexy for me.

Dress for me.

Dance for me.

“You are magnificent,” a friend commented to me recently after expounding on my sexuality and expressions thereof.

Thanks man, I needed to hear that.

I believe it, I do, even when the doubts try to crowd into my head.

I have had such a habit of hiding my light under a bushel that when I do let it shine I tend to be rather overpowering.

I am finding a balance, a fabulous one, I am fabulous, I am, and I won’t argue that limitation.

I love clothes.

I love makeup.

I love dressing up.

I wish I did it a little bit more.

I’m not the greatest at shopping, but I am getting better.

All these things running around in my head and really, they do me no good up there.

What actions can I take?

That’s where I need to go, my thoughts are not my person, my person is made of my actions.

And I know I can take action.

Yesterday my actions were really simple, sit still, don’t respond, hold on tight to your chair and keep your counsel.

Not reaching out was the action.

Acceptance, awareness, action.

Or lack thereof.

Sometimes its hurry up and wait.

I am so glad I did.

I still had some moments of sadness and a couple of moments of hot-headed anger, but for the most part I rode them out.

I kept my side of the street clean.

Squeaky motherfucking clean.

Bitches.

I was thinking tonight as I wheeled through the park on my way home, what actions do I take next?

Get out there and date it up lady.

That’s the answer I got.

Now the question to myself is do I get back on the interwebs and do the OkStupid again?

Or do I just look within the fellowship and communities I am a part of?

The key is not to think too much about it, but to take action.

If I get back into online dating, cool, open the account back up and post and see what happens.

And I also realized after I turned down the inquiry last night about hanging out at the cafe and going to fellowship, that yes, damn it, I have to do that too.

I turned down two invitations this week to do just that and I realized after both that I don’t have to go crazy with it, if I have been invited to dinner and have already eaten, I can still go.

I just don’t eat.

Have a cup of tea.

If it’s a late night go out on a school night for me.

I can still go.

I just stay for a half hour instead of rolling for two hours.

I can squeeze it in.

Besides if I’m not out there, I’m not out there.

I also have to look up and out and not navel gaze.

Who is looking?

Take my blinders off, really pay attention, there are people, guys looking, and they are not always the skeezy pants ones that I notice, there are guys out there, decent, smart, cute guys, I know it, who see me.

But maybe I am too busy being in my head.

So look up, I admonish myself, look out.

See what there is.

I’m not banging my head on the closed-door.

I am walking through to the open door.

And it may be that the hallway is shorter than I think, I just have to walk the walk.

Not talk the talk.

Willingness without action is fantasy.

A girl can fantasize about Mister Right, or Right Now as the case may be, but if I don’t accept and acknowledge to myself that I am Ms. Right and a damn fine one at that, Mister Right is going to walk right by when I am focusing on what I think I don’t have.

I am so grateful for this dating experience with my ex, in case you were wondering, he’s a great guy and I hope the very best for him, he’s just not the guy for me.

And I wasn’t the girl for him.

But I am for someone and I know it.

So I get to act like it.

Embrace it.

Be it.

I am my own.

Fuck Yeah Girl.

 

 

*This blog officially written evening of 2/5/2015, pesky internet went down last night.  There will be another blog to follow today.  Thanks for your patience!*

All The Pretty Sunsets

January 26, 2015

In the Sunset.

I live in the Outer Sunset of San Francisco and today was the kind of day that everybody comes out to the beach for.

Clear skies.

Sunny.

Great waves breaking.

Warm.

Not hot.

But warm enough for flip-flops and grilling out and playing Ultimate frisbee in the sand, for tall cans and high jinks, to go cups of coffee from Trouble Coffee and Coconut Club, sandwiches wrapped up in white deli paper from Java Beach Cafe, and the ubiquitous joint or three from a kid on the MUNI who “lives” in the park.

It was as if the entire hipster nation came in from the Mission.

Not that I mind sharing the beach with the rest of the city, the Mission shares its burritos with me, but that I am not always used to it being so crowded.

I did want to be down at the beach, though, it was too pretty to stay at home for the sunset.

I had myself a really lovely, low-key, mellow day.

I had two ladies over, back to back, for tea and writing and reading.

I did my laundry and changed my sheets and took a nice shower and ate a good breakfast, wrote lots long hand, went grocery shopping on my bicycle.

It was the grocery shopping on my bicycle that both confirmed for me that the entire city was ocean side, and also sealed the deal that I would, despite the crowds, go down too.

It was just dreamy.

Riding my bicycle on the Great Highway and the sun warm on my face, the breeze, yes cool, I didn’t want to be in the shade today, which in San Francisco is its own mircro climate, but gorgeous, truly.

January 25th and the temperature was in the mid sixties.

I’ll take it.

Although my preference was to take it easy.

I haven’t had an easy Sunday for a while.

I have been coming and going and doing and being and breaking up and having feelings and you know, stuff.

Today.

Well.

It all fell away, like a dream, I woke up and there was the beach beckoning and my back yard beckoning and I could not but heed the call.

I had lunch on my patio and sat with my feet in a chair listening to Coleman Hawkins on the stereo and dining al fresco in the sun.

It is just protected enough by the houses surrounding it that it tends to be just a bit warmer than if I was outside in front of the house.

It soaks up the sunshine and reflects it back.

When it’s hot, it’s not too pleasant, but it is infrequently hot.

I read a magazine.

I closed my eyes and drifted in and out.

I read more of my Stephen King novel, Doctor Sleep.

I drank some tea.

I listened to the birds.

Ravens.

Finches.

Gulls.

I heard the scream of a hunting hawk.

I heard the faint shush of the sea.

During the day it’s a lot harder to hear, too much back ground noise, but in between the birdsong and the N-Judah train running, occasionally I would catch just the barest hint of surf crashing.

Muffled.

Yet joyful.

When I first moved out here and it was suggested that I take Sundays and allow myself to have some down time and to not make plans, I got really freaked out.

Spend time with myself?

No way man.

I might have feelings.

I have places to be, things to do.

I have to get ahead, man.

However, I am a suggestion monster, and so I did.

I sat.

I got still.

I listened to the sea.

I listened to my heart.

I did cry.

And then something happened.

The stillness sunk in and I started to need it.

I started to crave it.

And then I forgot, sort of, all about it, when I got into the relationship.

I do recall having thoughts about going down for a walk on the beach with the ex-boyfriend, but he wasn’t much for walking on the beach.

I don’t believe I ever asked either, I’m sure he would have been game, but we never did.

Add to ideal.

Ugh.

Yes.

I would like to go for walks by the sea.

I mean, yeah, it’s a stupid cliché.

But it’s also my back yard and I like walking and really, when I live so close, it seems silly to not enjoy it.

I mean.

Come on.

It’s gorgeous.

Sunset Ocean Beach

Sunset Ocean Beach

I had made a few resolutions about today.

Deal with my taxes, meaning, contact my families from 2014 and find out what they are claiming for child care, if they are claiming, and request that information by the 31st of the month.

Done and done.

I sent out the e-mail earlier.

Order a pair of jeans online.

I know my size, I know what kind I like to wear, so order them.

Thanks Ebay!

I found a pair of the normally $175 jeans for $19.99 plus shipping.

$25.88 and I have a new pair of jeans coming to me in the mail.

Next.

Walk to the beach and watch the sunset.

Allow myself to enjoy my neighborhood and not be wary of running into my ex.

Then it happened.

I realized I wasn’t afraid to run into my ex.

It wasn’t like I wanted to.

It was more that, as I was walking down Judah toward the beach, that I suddenly knew that whenever we saw each other next, it would be alright.

The thought of seeing him didn’t make me want to cross the street to avoid him.

Which is a good thing since he lives four and a half blocks away.

I didn’t run into him, in case you were wondering.

But I’m not afraid to.

And that felt nice.

Like.

Oh.

The world.

It has moved on.

And so have I.

I am back into my groove.

I have my jazz on the stereo, my face full of sunshine, my belly replete with tea and good food, the weekend was restful, I got to read, I accomplished the basic household stuff that needs to be done, grocery shopped, and did the deal.

And I got to go for a romantic walk on the beach with the best girl in the neighborhood.

Me.

 

“To love oneself is the begging of a life-long romance.”

-Oscar Wilde

 

 


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