Wanting Isn't Having, Needing Isn't Getting

Me: I feel fat today.

Mr. S: You have pretty eyes.

* * * * * *

Mr. S: How are you today?

Me: Depressed, but slogging through.

Mr. S: Why?

Me: Death by a thousand nibbles.

Mr. S: *nibble*

* * * * * *

I wonder if it's time to step away a bit from this blog. My original intent was to chronicle my pathetic attempts at connection with the world . . . lately, though, my posting has become more and more sporadic because there simply isn't anything to post.

I have no energy for reaching out. There are no more Mr. Marines, or Lawboys, or anyone else waiting in the wings. Just getting through the day takes what little give-a-shit I have, and then carves off a sliver of my soul for additional satisfaction. I am consumed by daydreams of love and tenderness, someone to caress my cheek or stroke my hair. Someone with a little give-a-shit to spare in my direction. Behind every business call, every conversation, every moment, I am just inches from crying. Hysterical, soul-wracking tears.

Tears for what never was, what never will be.

Somehow through this emotional (and financial) maelstrom I am supposed to reach out? To "date"? To "enjoy" myself? Relief these days consists of laying very still in a dark room. Realistically, what do I have to gain by putting myself through the dating wringer? I am a deeply broken woman. Wanting isn't having, needing isn't getting. Persistence, in this case, is unlikely to payoff.

My angst has been said, phrased and rephrased over the months with all it's pseudo-teenaged unoriginality. It can't be fixed, this angst of mine. The perfect Catch-22: a little love, a little give-a-shit is the salve I need, and yet so long as I need it as badly as I do none will deem me worthy to receive it.

Time to immerse myself in blackness.

And I Don't Love You, Either

*sigh*

I was just beginning to get comfortable with some unfortunate warm-and-fuzzy feelings towards Mr. S, when of course he through a wrench in the works.

I have seen a fair amount of him recently, and it's been nice. He has been more affectionate of late, and the sex is fun despite being uneven. I never did say anything to him about the not-really-a-girlfriend thing and it has faded nicely away; he even introduced me to someone as his girlfriend.

I knew the rules when we started this: fuck buddies, friends with benefits, no strings, no drama.

The tricky bastards, they let you tie the rope you're hanged with.

And then came spring and camping season. Some chick from "too far away for a quickie" caught Mr. S's eye at a camp-out. *sigh* I have no claim on him, I know. I have no say in who he fucks. Nowhere, though, did I agree to have to like it. I find myself turning into Cool Girl again, as he regales me with the details of their intimacy and how she's sexually high-maintenance (can't touch her here, or there, or can't do this, or do that . . . I am baffled as to what he enjoys about that) and how many times he got her off. Of course, I can't say anything about how knowing all this turns me into a Psycho Hose Beast on the inside -- that would be too High Drama because . . . wait for it . . . I knew the rules when I got into this.

The last time he even *tried* to get me off more than once in a night was months ago. Why don't I rate that kind of effort?

I want to be enough for someone. Am I really so horrible that that's too much to ask?

Spinsterhood

I'm not dead. Life sucks, my writing sucks, and I haven't been up to completing a post. Many unfinished blog posts later, I am going to just throw something out to you.

I came upon this by way of Figleaf and it really struck me. The author says this about a Spinster she meets:

" . . . I wonder if she actually wants to be loved by someone who can say it and mean it, and if it’s just as selfish to want that as to buy yourself a pet that has no choice."

The same site also has this post by someone who questions whether anybody wants The Single Life, citing the example of a formerly proud Singleton who grabbed on to a relationship as soon as one came along.

I think what both these authors miss is that Spinsterhood or the more-temporary Singleton is not at all about the rejection of relationships, but about the rejection of individual prospects which leads to a continued lack of relationship.

Being lonely doesn't mean you have to lose your self-respect in choosing a partner.

Secondhand Jane

Sorry for the silence. Feel free to blame that thing called Real Life.

I have seen Mr. S a few times, I am sure there were a few things I wanted to post about each time but they are long gone from my head now. What brings me back to you is something that happened last night.

We've gone out a couple of times recently to a 24-hour diner for a post-coital meal and were served by the same waitress each time. The first time, he joked with her enough to be a memorable customer. The second time, it really was quite cute when she did a double-take at seeing him again. The third time, well . . .

She really is quite cute in a quirky and unconventional way, and I don't begrudge her that at all. Nor do I begrudge being co-opted into acting as Mr. S's wingwoman. Well, not really. And I was actually a little amused by the mind games being played out in front of me when Mr. S mentioned Mrs. S several times to her and she kept checking me out for a wedding band.

Sturm Und Drang

Steff said, "It's amazing how much life can go off the rails when you spend a couple years just hanging on for all its worth, while everything else starts going off-kilter a little as a result of the lack of focus on basic maintenance."

The other day, I said, "I've run out of energy for anything beyond the most basic survival efforts." And my friend replied, "I think sex is a vital part of one's existence. "

* * *

I got to spend the last two weekends in a row with Mr. S. It was great, for what it was. But what was it? He has gone out of his way several times since the beginning of this sexual thing to point out that I am not his girlfriend. That this is not emotional for him. That I have no hold on him.

Each night, after fucking our brains out, he'd pull me close and wrap his big, strong arms around me. He held me until I slept . . . and he was still holding me when I awoke in the morning.

I am not satisfied to sleep in the arms of a man who loves another woman.

When, Lord, will I be the woman who is loved? I am impatient.

A married friend, on marriage: "The only thing separating us is a random coincidence."

Is that what relationships are? Winning the emotional lottery?

Incoherence + Femdom = This Post

Having taken more or less permanently until the end of the year to my bed, I have had an awful lot of time to think about things. My relationships, relationships in general, people and their expectations.

I count myself (mostly) a submissive. I respond to strong, decisive, capable men who know what they want and include me on that list. While I am no shrinking violet, it would take about 1000 years of being desired (because ugliness loneliness compounds at a rate that makes loansharking look like debt forgiveness) before I might feel up to being assertive or Domme-ish about my desires.

Since no such man has stepped forward, I have no choice but to be a strong, decisive, capable woman in my own right. I do many of my own buidling repairs, I move furniture (china cabinets and armoires, people, not carrying a clipboard and saying "put that there"), I run my own business. My work underlings are all men -- there has been no small amount of tension over taking orders from a woman, and one who is younger than them to boot. When I first took this job, I learned quickly that the mediation and inclusion that is most women's method of communicating ("*giggle* well what do *you* think?") would not get results. I have learned to speak confidently and authoritatively in order to get done what I need. I don't expect these men to love me, but I know for a fact they respect me. In the work world, that is all that is required.

Personal relationships, however, are something altogether different. Yes, there are men out there who claim to want a strong-minded woman, but the reality is these men go home with bimbos. Most men don't want a woman who is demonstrably more capable than they are. It is threatening. And frankly, I don't blame them. Being myself a woman, I don't want a man who is more feminine than I am. (Sorry, crossdressers; that's just the way I am.) Were I a man, I wouldn't want a woman more masculine than me. And yet, turning off the "mannish", opinionated, capable qualities work leadership requires is not so easy as flipping a switch.

When I was in high school, my female friends would drive me absolutely batty with the pickup ploy of parking next to the target boy, leaving their car headlights on at lunch so they had a dead battery by the end of the day, and then employing the "*giggle* *bat eyelashes* I'm so helpless!" routine in order to get target boy to jumpstart the car. Invariably said boy barely knew a dipstick from a shift stick and the operation would take an hour or more, all the while girl is plying him with encouragement ("oh I'm so glad someone knows about these complicated things") and posing against the car. *gag* *hack* *walk home* ... But then, maybe that's why I'm your Spinster and they're married (happily or otherwise).

Even so, and quite without intention, my online coterie has developed in the last few months a sizable segment of submissive-minded men. I don't quite understand this, and I don't know what to do with it. I have no problem with the Honey-do flavor of submission in relationships ("Honey, do the dishes" or "Honey, take out the garbage") but I don't want to Domme a relationship. I don't want the responsibility, even if I have the inclinations that (occasionally) may sate someone else's desires. "You want me to whip you? Really? Ok!"

Batting Zero

Where do I go wrong?

Self-absorption is an inevitable side-effect of a diaristic blog like this one, but I think it is not a trait that infects my daily life. From my close friends, I am forever getting gruff about putting others' well-being before my own.

And then there are times like last night, when I wonder if I'm experiencing the same world as everybody else.

First, Mr. Crash & Burn came out of the woodwork to rub a little more salt in my wound, and he said part of his disinterest was that I seemed self-absorbed, that my interests were all related to my own life. Huh? Of course, this is from a man who gave a 20 minute monologue (albeit entertaining) about the Grossness of Mushrooms.

Then I had a conversation with LawBoy that really upended my view of things. Now, I am a pathologically shy person in certain ways. I never reach out to touch another person - if there is any contact they have initiated it, and that holds true for each time I see them. The same thing with flirting. Despite this, it just so happens that nearly every time I've gotten together with LawBoy, we've had sex. Therefore I was quite baffled when LawBoy announced that we should only be IM friends from now on because he felt "expected to put out" when we got together. Huh?!?!

Were I a better person, I might take from this that shyness is a waste of time. Were I feeling Zen, I might accept that rejection is just how things are. But I am neither of these things, so I simmer in my shame and humiliation in not being someone these men want.

Crash and Burn

So I went out on a date Friday night. Yay for The Spinster, right? Not so much. I thought this was a Nice Guy, and from our chats online he seemed to have an intelligent head on his shoulders. He matched my self-employment and unconventional life -- I hoped there'd be a better chance of connection than with some of the cookie-cutter people out there.

The weather having turned absolutely frigid this week here, I opted to skip girliness and dress for warmth. Perhaps that was a mistake, but I am not a big fan of frostbite. We went to dinner at a restaurant halfway between our cities, and convenient to neither of us. I found his conversation charming, although a bit heavy on the interview style. On the way to our cars after dinner, he gave me one of the more lukewarm hugs I've ever had. You know the "dead fish" style of handshake? This was the hug version.

Still, it was something of a surprise when he IM'd me today saying it was nice to have dinner, but he wasn't interested in pursing anything due to a lack of chemistry. Hmph.

The Road To Hell . . .

. . . is paved with good intentions.

I'm sorry I haven't posted lately. I haven't had much time for introspection because work has been crazy. I am trying to finish two huge projects before I take my yearly vacation next month. Gaaaah!

Today I was talking with one of the gentlemen I work with, a flamboyantly gay man in his late 50s with a heart of gold. Apparently there is some concern in our little work community over the fact that I don't date. My initial reaction, as yours should be, is that my relationship status is nobody's business. However, these people do genuinely care about my well-being. So Mr. Gay thought he would help my plight by trying to set me up with -- get this -- his handyman.

While I have nothing but the utmost respect for those who do manual labor, I really don't think there is much basis for me to choose one as a life partner. The philosopher-carpenter is a Hollywood creation; in reality the vast majority of these men do not have a life of the mind.

Thus my response to this overture was politely tepid. I hate with a passion the concept (and reality) of dating. It is by its very nature a job interview. What can I bring to the company, what can I offer the relationship. I don't bring anything. I am not interviewing with your company because I care about your bottom line, I am here because I need a job. I am not dating because I care about fulfilling your fantasies or being your dream girl, I am here for the cuddles and the sex and the occasional good conversation.

On one hand, I wish men were not so selfish in their wishlists. (You know, the whole 20 yr old supermodel there to fulfill every fantasy with no expectation of reciprocation thing). On the other hand, I wonder what I do offer, were I ever to be in a room with a man who happens to be the unicorn of both single and under 50. I happen to think I look alright, but the very obvious lack of male attention proves that unfounded. Despite my pretensions of an intellectual mind, there are gaping holes in my knowledge. My conversation does not contain witty repartee or entertaining anecdotes. My hobby-ish interests are diverse, arcane, and solitary. I wonder then, where a man might make a connection.

And yet, I like me just as I am. Why must life give me the option of being who I am or being what a man wants?