Okay, I had one. First one in a long long time, and it was on Thursday night, and it was because, of course, I was drunk off my ass. Do I regret it? Yes and no. It was with someone I know as a friend, not a close friend, but more than an acquaintance. A drinking buddy, I guess. And obviously I wasn't planning it and I am really surprised at myself; I've been totally celibate for about 7 months and intended to keep it that way.
Tangent: When I think about it at all, I kind of think of my life in relation to other people as being kind of organized like a solar system: I'm the sun, and then there are these orbits of people around me. Not that I think I am really the center of anything, you see, but solely in terms of myself and my relationships. So there are really close orbits: my family, and my closest friends, like J. & C. in Baltimore, and then there are other friends who are a little further out, like D., and then there are friends still a bit further away, like the guy I had the ONS with, and then there are just acquaintances, and then there are work people, who have a differently shaped elliptical orbit which swoops in close from 9 - 5 and then swoops way out again. /tangent.
Anyway. This guy's orbit collided unexpectedly with mine; we were both drunk, and it happened. It was okay; I'm not all damaged or in love or anything, just a little bemused and hoping I'm not pregnant, although that's very very unlikely, still, when you're kind of a walking incarnation of a fertility goddess like I am, you worry. I'm a little angry at myself for letting it happen, and I'm getting more than a little angry with him for not calling me since. Not that I want him to, particularly, this is more wounded pride: he ought to call. It isn't okay to sleep with someone and then disappear. Not unless you've both discussed it, and we didn't. He should make a humble gentlemanly phone call and I could then say, hey look, we were both drunk, it's no big deal, and then we could both forget about it and get on with our lives. Not calling is bullshit, it's mean, it's a low thing.
It takes me back to exactly a year ago, when I got kind of seduced and dumped, and it hurt very badly. I don't know why what happened then cut so deep, but it did, and now I'm kind of feeling like it's happened again, except, of course, in this case I'm really not interested in a relationship for a variety of reasons. In that case, I was; I fell in love at first sight, never a good thing, and he told me a lot of sweet lies, and then vanished, and I went into a long deep dark funk. Since then I've been wary and I've been mostly celibate except for a couple unthreatening times with a close friend, but I stopped even that when I thought it might break through the wall.
This didn't break through the wall but it does stir up the bad old feelings. The ones that say: You are old, you are fat, you are ugly, you have baggage, and the only way you will ever matter - or even appear - again in a mans mind is as someone to fuck when he's dead drunk and all the other more appealing options are not available. I feel like this a lot and so I have put up a lot of barriers to having anything to do with anyone, as much as possible. I have too much stubborn pride to be that - so I don't let it happen.
Until Thursday. Thursday I let it happen, damn damn damn. It validates that view of myself, and I don't like validating that. I'd rather be stubborn and proud and totally alone. Every time over the past few years I've even expressed any interest in a man he's been totally disinterested (except for seduce & dump man) and so I've learned my lesson: I stay away from such things, it's really gotten to be a little too painful. Karma or whatever: I'm slow, but eventually I see reality, which in this case is that I need to be alone for some amount of time. Possibly forever.
Now, why do I care what the fuck I matter in a man's mind? I don't, really - just thinking like that gets me mad at myself, and them too, furious, fuck men, fuck you all - I start to shout and stomp my booted feet. Get out of here you evil fuckers! I hate you all! That's helpful - not. When I'm feeling mentally healthy (which obviously is far from all or even most of the time) I know that it's stupid to think anything at all about what anybody else thinks. I also try to think of right now, and my feelings now, as a transition, a necessary growth period, where I'm going from having been what I thought was a kind of very pretty girl to being, well, a middle aged woman. Middle aged women are invisible and it's a different world, and I haven't been aging into it gracefully, but kicking and screaming like Dylan Thomas' fondest dreamchild. And then, to torment myself even further, I think that maybe, all those years ago, when guys fell for me on a regular basis, and told me how beautiful I was, and all that nice shit, it was all lies then too, but I was just too dumb to see it. That makes me even angrier at myself, angry for being SO goddamn stupid. So stupid -
The problem is, I miss it. I got used to it, pretty lies, whatever - being the pretty party girl, the serial monogamist, and sometimes, let's be honest, not as monogamous as I could/should have been. But it's almost as if I defined myself by that more than I knew, and now that it's all gone, I don't know who I am anymore. That and the kids being gone - I had two things in my life, being attractive and taking care of my kids - and they're both gone now. Well, I had being weird and smart and the fastest reader in the world and funny too, and those are still there. I think. Maybe not the funny part. Once there was this boy named Butt Itches. . . but redefining yourself without any mirror, any Other, to do it in or with, is hard sometimes. That's why, I think, I probably started this blog.
I know about self fulfilling prophecies, thanks, and I know about patterns, and I'm not stupid, just occasionally self destructive. I've been alone a long time and I've mostly (I really need someone to deal with the mice/rat/dead bird issue, yes) done well at it, and, in fact, I like being alone and every time I was in a long term relationship I started feeling like I was shut in a cage and had to get out. And I always did get out - but I used to end up in another one, and now, whether by virtue (or unvirtue) of age or smartness or fear - I don't know - I don't. I stay alone. So, fine - I am nothing if not stubborn. I will walk away from the male/female dance and stand by myself. Which I have done, and done well, until a couple days ago, damn damn damn. But this is just a momentary setback, I know, and I'm back into myself again - deeper than ever now, with a little luck. I don't want to go out again any time soon, that's for sure. So I'm holed up again with piles and piles of fantasy novels, black coffee and cigarettes, and I want to stay here.
So. . once there was this boy named Butt Itches. And one time his mom went to the store and he was supposed to be waiting for her but he got tired of waiting so he went after her but he forgot to look both ways and he went out in the road and his mom saw him get hit by a car and she ran out and she ran to him and she yelled "Oh oh my butt itches! My butt itches!" - funniest joke in the world, told to me by Katie, aged 6, many years ago. And proof, I guess, that there is always darkness under the laughter.
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