spring clinging or cleaning?

Ahhh, the air is fresh and washed with rain, and I feel anew. Except for the cleaning of my basement that I never got to this winter. As I poured through the boxes of fabric scraps, costume pieces, and old sheet music, I came across a GINORMOUS box of wedding pictures. Not an ounce of my soul longed to go through them, looking at how pretty the dress was, or how the guy in the monkey suit looked like he actually was in love, or how two very different families both tried to understand the un-understandable--each other. Hooray! That's new.

It must be like a traumatic accident, this wedding. I read in my abnormal psych class that persons who'd experienced something awful like a dog attack, rape, or near drowning, continued on in a traumatized state or even developed PTSD as any time they were triggered into remembering the event, their bodies re-experienced the stress response. That's how I had felt about my marriage for a while. The treatment? Just like one would do after an attack, I told and retold and retold again the story. Over time, it stopped feeling so stingy and I started to tell it in a more positive light. Amazing, I can now tell it without feeling, period. Trauma over. YES!

So, whadda I do with all those pics? I want to acknowledge that this event shaped my being, but I am sooooooooooo over it.

Spring is in the air, and along with dusting off the pollen currently coating my car, I must dust off the weight of an oppressive, yet mild winter. Why is it that we get this "spring fever"? Is it the suggestive nature of the many blossoms opening their petals to catch every ray of sunlight? Is it the longer evenings making for lingerings over a glass of wine to watch the sun set? Or is it just that we've stayed indoors so long that now that we are out and about, we look up from under our rain hoods to realize that there are a ton of GORGEOUS human beings.
Okay, so amid those gorgeous human beings, how do we signal our availability? I don't want to run around like a baboon showing my pink bum to all males in search of a mate. No, it's not that desperate... at all. I would just like to be able to give off a whiff of my singleness and openness for companionship in the same subtle way that the cherry blossoms are letting the bumble bees know it's time to come out and play.
Off for a walk in the sunshine to contemplate the subtleties of nature and attraction; a girl, her chihuahua, and a smile :)

But my health/heart is at stake!

So, the lovely and talented Corey lent me the book "The Brain in Love" by Daniel Amen, MD. This guy looks at brain images and then uses that data to assist those figuring out their relationship woes. Now, I know this was not the entire point of this book, but at one point he links a lack of rollin in the hay with all sorts of illnesses, depression, cancer, cardiovascular disease, etc. {insert audio of woman screaming, AAAAAAHHHHHH, oh NOOOOO!!!}
Just when I thought that I was doing myself a favor by, uh, only doing myself favors, I began to think that maybe, just maybe, isolating myself until I felt okay by myself may actually cause me to lose touch with myself (no pun intended, well, okay, maybe) as a vibrant sexual being.
What if I forget how to "do it"?
Plus, if I take a lover, what if I/we fall in love and it's sheerly a chemical thing and we are completely incompatible???? I remember a little wooden hand-painted sign that hung in my parents bathroom when I was a kid that said, "I believe in a little incompatibility, especially if he has income and she is pattable." Um, I think I'm looking for something a bit deeper than that in a relationship when it comes. But, until then, am I going to rot away and die because I snuggle up with my dog, cat, body pillow, ugly sweats, and thick socks every night? {insert audio: sigh}

Date-able

Remember the debate about whether to call those with physical limitations disabled or "differently-abled?" I just wonder if I'm undate-able or differently date-able. Just curious as I sit on my ball, crutches to my right, my three legged dog on my left, my right eye swollen shut with some mysterious infection, a raging case of icky face, and my poor little heart on my sleeve. Just curious.
And if differently date-able, what does that mean? I can only date the dungeons and dragons guy again? Sigh.

Must win, repeat MUST WIN!!

Okay, short entry here. I was kinda, sorta, maybe casually "hanging out" with this guy late November/early December. Okay, truth is, sometimes you just need a cuddle, or at least, that's how my dog explains it. Let's call him Bartender Bob. 'BB' and I hung out a few times, nothing crazy, nothing serious. He often ended the evening with a sweet smooch and letting me know that I should not fall off the face of the earth. Well, I often did.
So after several cuddly reunions, I really fell off the face of the earth. I saw BB on facebook one day recently and said "hey". After the obligatory "I didn't call cuz'..." blatherings, I cut BB off mid-sentence and just said, "No worries, I don't think we are actually that into each other anyways, so let's not try that any more." Pause.
BB then had to peel his smooshy ego up off of the floor to come back with a "I am so glad we are on the same page." He then didn't reply to my offering of a drink and book discussion, both of which, I still genuinely want to share with him.
I just want to point out, that even with a 'we' phrase inserted to allow for no hard feelings, boys don't seem to do well with being dumped and like to find ways to make it seem like it was their idea. San Diego dude from over the summer did the same. After inviting me to spend the weekend with him in San Diego on our first (and only) date, I declined a dinner invitation admitting that there was no spark (he was one of those guys that only asked questions that he could then turn into personal experiences of his own, and boring ones at that). He said that he felt the same way and was going to let me know of his feelings at dinner!!!!!!! Bull.
Show me a man who can accept a dismissal humbly, and I'll show you a rare, rare gem. Not saying they are not out there, but gosh, you gotta dig deep to find them, and then hope that they don't also play dungeons and dragons online (yes, that has happened too but deserves its own blog).

Changing my vibration? ...Or just the batteries?

So, I know I said I don't believe in Santa anymore but that's not necessarily true. Like the Jolly old Saint Nick of yester year, my Santa is serving a purpose by instilling a sense of hope and a reward for "good" behavior.

Please, do not be alarmed! I have not decided that the debaucherous New Year's Eve behavior was acceptable nor will I be a fool who will just lay my principles down out of the sheer joy of being paid attention. I'm just saying, I've given my Santa a new place in my heart. You see, he's been absolutely dreadful and spotty with communication and organization for us to meet up in the past, but, there has been a pattern. It go like this homey. Hang out and have a blast, thank you correspondence post-hang out, gut-wrenching wait of at least 2 weeks for another form of communication. Now, during those awful waits I go through a hilarious ride of elation, contentment, insecurity, despair, and then a good ol' pull myself up by the bootstraps. Every time. I don't ever hear from the big elf up north until I hit the bootstraps part. It's eerie because it's always that I hear from him within 24 hours of hitting that stage, always.

This tells me something about the energy we put out into the universe. That energy, or, as my good friend Carolyn (queen of the awful setups) puts it, vibration, is what determines our attractions. And like attracts like. So if Santa is an independent kinda guy (duh! he lives in the North Pole!), he gets the inkling to contact me when I'm feelin' groovy about my independence.

So, thank you Santa, for this lovely lesson. I like being in that independent space. And yes, Santa is trying to get me over to his workshop again...but this is one smart reindeer who still needs an apology.

The crush hangover.

Hmmm. I'm still pulling the Ginni from the movie "He's just not that into you." I jump when I hear the text alert from my phone, I keep a candlelight vigil with my email, and yes, my hair looks as though you could find a partially eaten breakfast muffin hiding in the disheveled and slightly dirty curls. Unfortunately, the only texts I get are from friends telling me how great their friggin' day is going (not from Santa sending slightly naughty references about jingle bells), the emails are late notices on my VW bills (not promises of future foot rubs and plans for cuddly outings), and my hair is not the cute "bed head" one associates with a tumultuous love affair, it's more like what my cat looks like when she gets caught in the sprinkler and then rolls in the garden. Not to mention I have a new and particularly nasty carb addiction.

When I drink too much, I load up on emergen-C packets, greasy eggs, and a good long cardio workout to cleanse the liver and rejuvenate the spirit. But what does one do when they've OD'd on romantic notions and wishful thinking? I feel wiped out from cultivating all of these happy thoughts about something that could be and now definitely will not. My intuition says, "get excited about something else," but what??? Getting excited about work opportunities and friend time is great, and I feel like I can and do do that, but it is not the same chemical high that one gets from stimulating the love center of my being (thanks Cory for that idea). Suggestions? Comments? Anybody have any German chocolate cake?