Epic Battles on Ugly Sweaters!!!

Have you heard of this Coke Zero: Sweater Generator thingy? Well, I've created an ugly Xmas sweater that I'm calling "Epic Battles" -- it pits dolphin against robots, unicorn against ninjas, Sasquatch against snakes, and of course T-rex against narwhal. Who will win? ME! If you go vote! I think I win the sweater itself, and you know you want to see me in that! And in that case, we all win!

VOTE HERE.

Engine Engine #9

Over on that Facebook thingy, a friend of mine played one of those old numbers games -- "tell X number of things about yourself, and pass it along -- so I played along. I was given the number 9, so I'm going ahead and passing it along here, too. Without further ado, here's 9 facts you might not know about me:

1. I don't talk much. People who only know me either online or one-on-one are always surprised to find this out. But I'm actually very, very quiet.

2. The quiet doesn't mean nothing's going on inside. On the contrary, I'm usually having elaborate tales and conversations inside my head, which helps to drown out all the excessive talking others do around me. If I don't hear what you say the first time, it's usually because I was listening to something else inside my head.

3. I really do like bacon, unicorns, and Star Wars as much as it seems. I just don't have as much bacon and unicorns in my daily life. Star Wars is ever-present, however.

4. I don't have any tattoos, but I came very close to getting a giant Mothra tattooed across my back about a decade ago -- had the money saved and everything. Then I realized I could go on a really neat vacation instead of getting some skin art, so I did that.

5. I've had a lifelong crush on Jack Lemmon that has never abated. The crush may have even kept me from being in serious, long-term relationships throughout my 30s. (No, I do not make Scott compensate by reciting lines from Some Like It Hot or dressing in drag. Speaking of drag...)

6. My "thing" for beards is really just an overgrown (pardon the pun) fascination with something I can't do/have myself. I don't actually want one -- especially not after wearing one for half the day this past Halloween. Itchy and sweaty! How do you beardy gents do it?

7. I have a mild, but visible phobia of escalators. I'll take the stairs or an elevator every chance I can instead of getting on one of those. When there are no other options, you may see me do a little hesitant two-step as I get on, and freeze before getting off in a way that makes me stumble as my feet hit the end.

8. I have a mild fear of elevators, too, but only when they're crowded. It's actually the people that give me the discomfort, not the small, falling box. This has made riding the bus and train very difficult for me, but I'm using it as a challenge to stay focused.

9. According to my mother, I was likely conceived at the drive-in. Pretty remarkable, considering that it was early March in Chicago ... a little too briskies for friskies, you'd think!

This entry has been brought to you by Wilson Pickett, the number nine, and random image searches for combinations of the words: unicorn, bacon, star wars, jack lemmon, beard, mothra.

Make It S.O.

I guess I still have an imaginary boyfriend.

But it's not all it's cracked up to be. 

On the Run

I just realized something... I run like Robin trying desperately to keep up with Batman.

Since I last wrote -- *GASP!* -- six weeks ago, I've amazingly continued running.

Yes, it's still more like "not dying" than running, per se, but the point is that I've persisted with it. And the good news is I've actually succeeded at something! Sure, I'm so slow that even a guy wearing flip-flops was able to pass me. Take that in a moment: a guy was running in flip-flops. And he passed me. Twice.

Maybe he needs a pair of these?

But despite those kinds of crippling emotional setbacks, I've somehow managed to officially make it all the way around the park. Three times! Without dying!

No, it wasn't three consecutive times around the park -- just once on three separate occasions. And once around is only slightly over two miles ... but there's sun and hills and bugs and shit. That's a lot to ask of a person who only ever ran ("didn't die") indoors on a flat treadmill before this.

Rule #1: Run hungry.

Here's what I've learned so far:

• No matter how good of an idea it seems to eat ice cream before running to give yourself a little sugar burst of energy when you're lagging after work, it never is. You will end up making embarrassing noises during your run and feeling miserable. This goes for pretty much any eating, frankly. You're no marathoner ... run hungry. 

• No matter how good of an idea it seems to run with an excitable, untrained dog, it never is ... especially when your dog doesn't know how walk on a leash. You will end up doing a bellyflop onto the pavement when you're running full speed downhill and he decides to cross in front of you. 

• No matter how good of an idea it seems to run at midday, it never is ... especially when your wardrobe consists almost entirely of black clothing. You will come close to heatstroke and think you're dying for really real. 

• Bugs will always aim for your eyes, nostrils or, most often, gaping mouth. But hey, remember how hungry you were before your run? Bonus protein! 

• Water is your friend. Invite your friend into your daily life as often as possible and your run will benefit. 

• Morning runs are the easiest: less bugs, less people, less heat. Pre-dusk runs are a good second choice: still less heat, but way more people and bugs.  

• A supportive running bra and well-fitting athletic shoes are your best investment. So why are you still putting those off? Go invest already, jeez! 

• While you're at it, get some compression socks, will ya? You're not getting any youner! 

• I still hate running. 

I Heart Not Running

Mostly, I've learned that I'm not a runner. Not yet, at least. I'm not ready to start putting numbers on my car. 

Damn, now I can't have this sticker anymore either.

And old injuries plus a mild, underlying heart condition might keep me from ever being the kind of "athlete" that wants to sign up for races ... or at least I'd use those as my excuses. Remember my mention of the flip-flops runner? I wasn't kidding. This is more likely what would really stop me: 

Most humiliating part would be that it's not even me in the orange.
Look in the far left background. That'd me in the blue. Walking. 

Here's a little test to see if you're really a runner. If you answer yes to any of these, you can get yourself the appropriate numbers oval: 

(1)

Nope.

(2)

Double nope.

(3)

Also nope. Still not really a runner.

(4)

Hmm ... now you're talking!

Lastly, and maybe most importantly, the thing I've learned is I might need to invest in one of those fancy iPods and fill it full of rhythmically and lyrically inspiring music to keep me going. Every time I see a truly fit, determined runner, he or she is wearing some sort of MP3 player. There might be something to that, because most days I feel like my brain DJ isn't doing me any favors. 

You see, the first time I made it all the way around the park, I had one song stuck on repeat in my head. Was it the theme from ROCKY? No. It was this ... 

The second time I made it all the way around the park, THIS was stuck on repeat in my head, and for half the day afterwards ... 

But wait, it gets worse. The third time I made it all the way around the park, this was stuck on repeat in my head -- and STILL IS ... 

You know what this means, right? I mean besides the fact that I desperately need an MP3 player. It means that my brain DJ strangely believes that songs that involve afro-headed white dudes are the most inspiring and motivational songs ever, that's what. 

I'm afraid that also means this is the next song to take me around the park, and possibly follow me into a week-long extended-remix mania ... 

Don't judge me until you've run a mile in my brain.

You Better Shape Up!

I'm a runner.

Let me rephrase that.

I'm a "please don't die"-er. And I'm a "just make it to that next curve"-er. And I'm also an "ow, ow, ow, ow, holy crap, ow"-er. And somewhere in there, I've been becoming a runner.

Actual action shot of me running. Taken yesterday.

I'm not gonna sugarcoat it. I hate running. But lately I've been running anyway, and most surprising of all ... NOTHING is chasing me!

My runner boyfriend is excited, because he thinks we'll be running races together someday soon. To that I say, "Ahahahahahahahhahahahhahahahahahahahaha *cough* hahahaha!"

Running sucks.

It started when I went to my beloved gym one night, only to find the doors locked and a sign up saying, "Closed - Sorry for the inconvenience." The next night, I returned to find the doors menacingly chained with a thick padlock, the same useless sign, and another next to it saying, "If you're upset about the closing of this gym, come try ours. We have Polynesian Zumba!"

WTF?

Aside from being confused and a little scared by the idea of whatever "Polynesian Zumba" might be ... which, frankly, sounds like a more exotic form of West Nile Virus ... I had the sinking feeling that my gym might be closed for longer than just a night or three.

You can hear it, can't you?

Returning home with the sad "Charlie Brown" music playing on repeat in my head, I found an email from my gym's management saying that they'd lost a battle with their landlord, and were hoping to have a resolution ... "meanwhile, feel free to use the gym that's 6 miles and 30 minutes of shitty traffic farther away." Um, no thanks.

So after a week of being totally bummed, picturing myself getting heavier and sadder until my entire life would be shattered by this turn of events, I finally forced myself to take drastic measures: I would have to make laps around a local park.

Running with me convo #1: Why the hell do people run marathons?

It's not a bad park, mind you ... I don't know why I haven't spent much time there before. It's always buzzing with activity and, for some reason, disc golfers. Why not? And while I'm at it, maybe I'll give this running thing a try again.

Running with me convo #2: I'm too out of shape for this.

Now, I have not run in a decade (once upon a time, I was kinda good at it) ... not for more than a few minutes at a stretch and on treadmill, at least ... and definitely not since I've seriously damaged both knees in equally painful (both physically and psychologically) falls ... both captured for posterity here and here (with a bonus follow up here). Those injuries' remaining twinges and "sitting in a rattan chair while pulling apart a pop-pearl necklace" sounds are not helping to rekindle a love affair with running.

Running with me convo #3: I need to walk. Wait, why does that hurt more?

That doesn't mean I'm not doing it, however. I mean, I hate it ... and I hate most of the people around me who are doing it, like they invented running or something. But I'm DOING IT.

Speaking of hate, can I just take a moment to ask one thing ... what the hell is up with all the shirtless running dudes? Stop it! Just. Just. Stop. It's not turning anyone on. No one. But it is making the rest us all realize how disgusting we all look under our clothes, drenched in sweat that's running down our flabby bodies. And did I feel some of your droplets hit me as you splashed past me? Gah! Please, for the love of not-vomiting, keep your shirts on!

Don't be THAT guy!

Despite the gross, shirtless dudes ruining it for everyone, I will say that I do enjoy when my park will have the occasional dude with a giant afro, skipping rope around the park...

He was way more adept than this, but I imagine this is how his practice went.

Or another dude wearing all purple, hula-hooping his way around the park...

Or a random hipster kid in a giant stuffed animal head hat, shuffling aimlessly around the park (I keep wanting the disc golfers to take aim at those giant hats).

Damn, hipsters!

I enjoy all of those things very much. What I don't enjoy are the times when a bug goes down my gasping pie hole, or up my nose, or in my eye. Those things do not happen at the gym!

One night, the bugs were particularly bad ... probably because I'd cut it too close to dusk, which is when they all come out, along with other sorts of creepers ... the kind who look at you like they're sizing you up for something. The bugs, along with my deathly gasping for air and loud knee-popping, may have saved me from harm that night, because after an especially stingy-juiced bug committed Hara-Kiri in my eye, I ended up running the rest of the way around the park in the near-dark like so:

Not shown: The snot running from my right nostril, thanks to the stinging bug juice.

The creepers actually stayed waaaay away from me. I can't imagine why!

So when I say I'm a runner, I'm using the term loosely. I am getting better, at least. And I haven't died! The complaining in my head, however, hasn't really relented much. My daughter has started running with me lately, and I've come to realize that bringing her is like bring along a loudspeaker for my inner dialogue:

"I hate this. I can't breathe. I think I might collapse. Can we stop? I really hate this. Why did I come here? I never like doing this. I'm stopping. Can we at least get ice cream afterwards?"

At least it's a good reminder that I need to tone up my own flabby inner dialogue, along with the outer flab. Maybe if I just focus on looking up at all the lovely rainbows and moon and clouds and shit, that'll take my mind off of possibly dying.

Ah, that's better!

Tonight's blog has been brought to you by the letters R, D, the number 3 (as in the three Bartles & Jaymes coolers that I drank while writing) and the sound of awesomeness. More specifically, the whole first album of Brazilian Tropicalia glam rock gods, Secos e Molhados (Dry and Wet). Seriously, these guys are the shizz!

What a Girl Wants...

*swoon*

Kisses on the hand.

Silly little notes to make her laugh. Just because.

Love letters that arrive mail that punctuate what is cherished most about her.

Reminders of her found while surfing the internet, and shared to her page.

Doors held open.

"Good morning," and "good night," texts, if not together ... or even if they are!

Flowers, but not necessarily bought. Picked and handed to her is lovely, too.

Attempts at fixing something around her house.

Handmade gifts.

Shares with the world how proud of her he is, like picture posts or life moment brags.

Holding hands during long walks or short car rides. And not letting go.

Hugs. Just because.

Getting surprised with a dinner (or dinner plans) already made for her.

Hearing the words "I love you" said (or whispered) daily, if possible.

These are but a few of the things we girls want more of.




What a guy wants... 

Blow jobs.




Conclusion... 

Ever wonder if the frequency of receiving those things is directly proportional to one another?

(Answer: It is.)

We girls remember those romantic gestures that you couldn't help but do in those early days. We also wonder where they went, and why you wait for a "special occasion" to dust them off. They're not "sweet nothings" -- they are "sweet everythings"!

Sure, grand gestures are awesome, but it's the small, creative, day-to-day romantic gestures that truly keep our "home fires" burning. We girls love being reminded that we inspire those actions in you, even the smallest ones -- so much so, it just naturally "inspires" frisky reciprocation from us! We don't even consciously realize it, but it's true.

Basically, this is Mother Nature's way of making sure that everyone wins!

Now get out there and pave the way for more blow jobs, fellas!

You were staring at my boobies, weren't you? 

Can't Touch This!

Sometimes I think I shop late at night for the same reason that I used to go on ill-fitting dates: for the stories.

So I'm standing in line at the (super giant chain) grocery store, and a guy comes up behind me with little ones in tow and only about five items in his cart. I ask, "Want to go ahead of me," like I often do, because I often have about 250 things in my cart, and I like to be conscientious of other people's time.

He graciously accepts, and now I'm still standing in line, but with sense of "all is well with the world," since I just did one of my favorite things.

After we continue to there for about 15 minutes for just one woman to discuss with the cashier (who is indulging her, mind you) the finer details of the stitching on the 3 items she's buying, the man that I let go in front of me begins speaking to someone apparently just to my right?

"Oh, I don't think I can. I was allowed ahead myself."

I look to my right and there's an exceedingly skinny, shaky "gentleman" swaying back-and-forth while hoisting up a pair of flip-flops in a "May I?" gesture. Now he's hoisting them at me.

"Yeah, sure. Go ahead," I relent.

"Oh thank you," he bellows.

Without missing a beat, flip-flop guy is suddenly squeezing me close. As if that wasn't freaking me out enough, he turns and puts his mouth right up to my ear and sort of low giggle-growls, "You know you don't want me smelling like a liquor store standing at your backside."

It went from feeling like this...

...To this. Really quick.

Then he squeezed me again for good measure, and hopped up to the front of the line.

As I'm standing there trying to shake off the willies that I'm feeling, a woman pops up behind me screeching, "LEON, GET ME DEEZE, TOO!"

I turn to see an equally skinny, equally shaky woman waiving bikini bottoms in the air. Not whole swimsuits ... just the bottoms ... and she looks at me and adds, "They're for my dancin'!"

As if that were not not enough of a visual for my brain to try to purge, she proceeds to then show me her dance moves, which were seriously inappropriate for doing in a grocery store, much less in front of that other guy's little ones!

After about 2 awkward minutes of her punctuating her dancing by repeating the phrase, "You know what I'm talkin' 'bout," she then slaps me on the back (although in retrospect, I think it was an attempted hug that I shied away from just in time), and hops up to the front of the line, where she proceeds to hug the guy ahead of me, one of his kids, the lady who was still discussing the stitching, our lane's cashier, and the cashier for the lane next to us.

That's when I notice that somehow "Leon" had been hiding several other little things behind those flip-flops he was waiving -- cigarettes, lighter, batteries, crackers, some sort of ... ointment. Or maybe he just managed to grab all of those things in the checkout lane? I don't know. I'm still in some amount of shock.

Their little "may I skip ahead" stunt ended up going on for 15 more minutes as they stood there making friends with the cashier -- who, again, was indulging them -- before finally making their exit ... but not before telling everyone in our line that they will remember us all and, "We're friends for life now! We don't forget!"

For some reason, this feels more like a threat than a promise.

Strangely enough, just two nights earlier at the drive-in for the big "Monster Bash" event, I overheard in the restroom some girls chatting about buying "bright colored bottoms at [mega chain store] for go-go dancing" -- that must have been exactly what this woman was waiving around. Maybe I spent too much time with that info in my head and I drew this to me? I dunno; I'm still confused.

I think this shopping experience officially beats the time that I was there after 1AM, with two "gentlemen" standing in line together behind me. One kept repeating over and over, "gon' kill dat dawg - gon' kill dat dawg," while the other stood eerily silent. They were only buying one item: a hammer.

Please, hammer, don't hurt 'em!

Up to Me

Don't get me wrong. Lemonade is pretty good. It can even be great, especially on a hot day. But lemonade with vodka mixed in? That's a whole different happy fun time, am I right? 

No, this isn't an entry about drinking. This is an entry about why I drink.

(Kidding. Sorta.)

When I was 7, I wanted a boy to hang out with all the time. Girls were okay, but they didn't quite get me. Boys, however, did stuff. It seemed they were perpetually moving, and that intrigued me. I tried to keep up with them, sometimes with tragic results (tales for future blogs, perhaps). But when I could keep up with them in the right balance of ideas and physicality, it seemed magical. I also had a huge crush on magicians in general--and Harry Houdini in particular (along with Luke Skywalker, Mighty Mouse, and Tom Waits, who all seemed to possess some magic)--and it seemed like all the magicians were males. So when I was 7, I guess what I wanted most of all was to be closer to more of that male-magic.

When I was 14, I got my first boyfriend and finally got a glimpse of the magic from the inside ... or at least from the perspective of French kissing at the skating rink, the mall, or the hallways at school. It felt electric, like having everything turned on at once, senses heightened, and every distraction outside of that muted. The best part was that it seemed to turn off my brain and all of its own buzzing thoughts. It was calm and it was excitement. How did that happen? I had to know more! And then began a lifetime of seeking the ultimate version of that sensation. I was certain then that it couldn't come from myself, and again boys must have had something to unlock it. 

When I was 21, a boy took me to the circus ... not just any circus; that magical Cirque circus. He delighted me in ways that I'd never known, but he was always just a little out of reach. He also gave me another magical experience that scared me more than anything in my life to that point. I had to make a decision that forever marked the turning point from when I had been a carefree girl to suddenly realizing that I was an adult woman with big decisions to make. He told me, "I dig you, but I don't love you.," and he meant it--honestly, deeply, and with our any judgement. And yet I felt utterly alone. At that point, I only wanted to be inside that aloof place that had been kept just out of reach from me up to that point ... a longing to feel part of something bigger than me ... something that I hadn't been worthy of to that point ... and for some reason, it felt like boys held the key to that longing.

When I was 28, I had faced down that previous situation three more times, each time holding on and allowing the rapids to take me quickly down a stream of life that I may not have been prepared for, but had already pre-decided that I would accept the challenge anyway. This time I was with a boy who had no way of understanding emotions the way that I did (before the days of Asperger's common knowledge) and although I was inside that "part of something" thing that I'd longed to have, I still felt utterly alone. It only felt bigger than me in the way that a steamroller feels bigger than you, as it's rolling over you and trapping you in the freshly laid tar. Although seemingly bleak, I thrust out a deep desire for happiness to the universe ... asking for a chance at it for once, not knowing how big those ripples would get.

When I was 35, I was completely adrift from any relationships whatsoever ... and even from my relationship with myself. Years away from the relationship that had left me wanting so much more, years away from anything that would feel substantial, and coming out of the only life that I'd known for over a decade (academia), I felt lost. It seemed that the universe had forsaken me and given me instead some difficult, solitary path, full of false hopes and dead ends. I was grasping at whatever flotsam and jetsam floated my way, hoping something might stick ... thinking that I'd been too narrow-minded up to this point and had missed some great ships that I let sail without me. I made a film about what I might be like when when I might finally found my way, or when my way might finally find me. I didn't know who or how or why or when, and I was trying not to lose hope, but it seemed that all I could do was sink a few more seeds into the garden of future happiness that I was hoping would germinate someday.

Now that I am 42, I've experienced cultivating some of those seeds at last. I've intimately felt connected with that male-magic even before having an actual physical partner. I've unlocked some (though not all) of the aloofness, and discovered that much of it was coming from myself. I've discovered that my compass is only within myself and will not allow myself to forget it ... and yet, I still have some sort of longing that has been unmet. Something that makes me sad at times when I'm having trouble keeping aligned with what I want, and hopeful at others when I remember that I have more control over this than I'd previously known. There's a thing that's alluded me my whole adult life ... that feeling of growth that can come from being in a mutual, loving partnership. I have a glimpse of it right now, but I don't really have it in a tangible way. I feel like I get to take it for 2 or 3 night rentals, like a movie on weekends. But why would I be allowing only limited bites right now? The universe isn't Blockbuster ... it's a whole smorgasbord! I expect that I'll find myself lined up with nothing less than the whole shebang, as soon as I can get used to the idea of not having to give something back so readily. 

Will this new sense of ownership of my life come from the location that I'm renting from now, or will it come from some other location? I can't say from here. I just know that it's coming, and I've got some decisions to make in this pivotal year. Apprehension is diminishing, and eagerness is taking its place ... an eagerness to know the perspective that my 49-Up me will have of this time. 

Hmm ... come to think of it, maybe I do need a drink? 

Bless This Mess

UNDER CONSTRUCTION: PARDON OUR DUST!

I'm not even going to sugarcoat it, folks. I'll just be blunt...

I've had a history of dating men who entertain dalliances and distractions that they claim are merely friends, but to whom they're clearly attracted and cling to like safety nets, in case it doesn't work out between us. As a result, of course, it does not work out.

And I've attracted these insecure, unsure men because of my own insecurities ... ones which most definitely date back to my earliest relationship role models: my parents. Their mistakes and angsty vibes did not need to stick to me. I could have shook them off by not noticing them from the get go, but I didn't know that noticing things was a choice.

As a result, I felt fragile ... vulnerable to the whims of others, and fearful of any signs of those whims. I wondered why those things happened "to" me, what was it "about" me that brought repeat experiences with the most significant of significant others. I felt "not enough" and "defective" because I unable to keep a man's affection, and felt his gaze upon all the other more suitable models out there.

Did I need to play more mind games, like other girls? Did I need to dress more feminine? Did I need to lose weight? Did I need to take more interest in his interest? Or maybe less interest in his interests and more interest in what I wear or how I look? Was I just not girlfriend (or wife) material?

Occasionally, I even began to fantasize and even flirt with my own "safety nets" before he could dump me, thinking it would hurt less when it happened. I never followed through, however, and it never hurt any less.

I'm done. I renounce that girl and her silly thoughts.

I took nearly three long years to work on reshaping that brain of mine to be ready for a joyful relationship. I created an imaginary boyfriend, who had all the qualities that I ever wanted -- and only those qualities. It was utterly fantastic, and it brought me into alignment with new, and newer, and newer still real-world examples of this delightful creation.

It brought me to where I am today, actually... seven months into a relationship that is quite literally the best that I've ever experienced. You may say, "Ah, but it sounds like your bar has been set pretty low," and to that I say, "Why you gotta go harshing my mellow?"

The biggest thing that I've come to realize is that the imaginary boyfriend did not prepare me for dealing with my own thoughts and observations of things. And when those little things started to creep in, I found that I was still exactly in that same place emotionally where I left them years earlier ... and they were ready to run wild again when that floodgate got opened.

I was also not prepared for my real-life boyfriend's insecurities to act as triggers for mine. My imaginary boyfriend did not have any fears. He confidently marched forward into every phase of our "relationship" in glee and enthusiasm for every new twist and turn. He had no past experiences to hold him back, to doubt his choices, because he had no past. Of course I wasn't going to create an imaginary boyfriend who was scared of anything life would dish out ... he hadn't lived! And yet, he felt more alive than anyone else I'd met.

A tough act to follow, you say? Well, try following the other kind act ... the highly contrasty kind I outlined from my past relationships. THAT is the real tough act to follow. And alas, it still haunts me ... and in turn, can trigger my real partner even subconsciously. And that may very well be the case.

He mentioned his hesitancy and fears early on, and that dam that I'd built to hold my own fears sprung a leak. I tried to patch it, but another trigger created another crack, and another, and next thing I knew, I was spending as much time repairing cracks in that dam as I was ignoring the dam entirely.

I may be in a relationship with the wrong person, if I look at it from the half-empty side. He's not going to be the person who is two steps ahead of my insecurities ... and that isn't his job; it's mine. As a matter of fact, he might always be two steps behind my insecurities ... running up to help smooth over the patchwork of my dam cracks while trying to get me to turn away from the blue menace ... but then my dam cracks remind him of his own dam cracks, causing him to focus his attention back on them.

In turn, his dam cracks then get noticed by me ... causing me to focus on more of the things that I don't want, rather than focus on all the wonderful things that are already here that I do want. And this vision of the unwanted in turn diminishes my joy and distracts me from living that life that I created in my imagination.

But does it have to be all bad ... just a chain of pain? No, on the contrary!

The half-full view shows that I have attracted exactly the right person for where I am right now. This is my golden, life-altering opportunity to figure out how to let go ... truly let go ... of the little demons that have been underfoot in probably every relationship I've ever had. It is not his job to keep me secure.

And should he choose to do or be any of the ghosts that rattle their chains in my head and heart, why should that worry me? My job is to remember my fantastic, vibrational creation... to live like he exists because he does in everything and everyone ... and to recognize every instance of him in whoever and wherever he may show up ... to focus on what I want and hold that focus to find more and more of that showing up.

As a result of this focus, I may lose touch with more people ... even those who are dear to me ... in the process of sticking to this ideal. People who cannot or will not face the direction that I'm facing. Either they will fall away on their own accord, or I will need to seek directions away from them, but it is for the best for everyone. If there have been past hurts, there is no need to invite opportunities for future ones.

And if there a current opportunities for joy, there is only need to invite more of the same. In the process of moving toward better feeling places, new opportunities will arise, and the people who are still in my life and who will enter my life will have plenty of room to delight me.

So if I lose touch, dear ones, please know that I am doing well ... really well. Know that I love you and always will, and we'll meet up again whenever we're vibing in the same place. I'm excited to be able to tell you about all the wonderful things that I've found along the way!

UPDATE: 

What a difference a day makes. We discussed this blog and these things. And what came of it was there was absolutely no reason to let go and all the reason to see how this goes. The discussion ranged the gamut of fear and bewilderment to happiness and warmth. 

I had held back for 7 months from talking in as much detail as I had today about my demons because I didn't want to feed them, but they were growing anyway. And now that discussed them fully and openly, I also swore to myself and to him as well that I won't talk about my demons beyond this. Nor will I talk about his beyond today's discussion. 

I feel good. I hope he does, too, but it doesn't matter, because I'm going to picture him feeling awesome about this ... even more awesome than he already felt. 

Then this evening, I thought, "I haven't checked Rob Brezsny's Free Will Astrology site in a while ... I wonder if he has his whimsical spin on life ready for this week now?"

Sure enough, he just posted the newest ones today! And wow, if they ever weren't perfectly timed for this post. 

Here's mine: "Divine Intervention" 

Click Sagittarius to open full size.

Here's his: "Passion" 

Click Taurus to open full size.

Just what the love doctor ordered.