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"It is better not to offer than to offer too much, for a gift demands a gift."
- The Poetic Edda
I was six when my mother first taught me how to cast the runes. One of the runes that I was most fascinated with - and also picked out most frequently - was Gebo. For the record, Gebo looks like a large X:
At times Gebo represents partnership, but its main symbolism is for gifts and sacrifices. When I was a kid, I found this apparent dual-nature fascinating and more than a little odd. How can something be both a gift and a sacrifice, I asked? Gifts are wonderful happy things. Sacrifice is painful and often bloody. Who would want to be given something that causes the giver pain?
As I grow older (and at least attempt to grow more mature), I understand this a little better. In the last ten years I've learned a lot about relationships (although only a fraction of what I'll learn in the next seventy, I'm sure). One of the things I've learned is that there are two main sorts of healthy relationships: the symbiotic and the epiphytic. (There are also the parasitic ones, but those are unhealthy and I'm not getting into them here.)
I understand that this classification sounds a little too scientific, a little too cold, but bear with me. I *am* a scientist, after all.
In biology, an epiphyte is an organism that lives off another organism. In some ways they are like parasites, but where parasites damage the host organism, epiphytes do not. Nor do they give anything back to the host. In comparison, a symbiote gives and takes, forming a mutually beneficial relationship with the host. (Actually, sometimes symbiotic relationships are balanced enough that neither organism can truly be considered the host.)
Day in, day out, we form epiphytic relationships with people. There's nothing wrong with that - indeed, it's the way things need to be. Some of these relationships are fleeting enough that you wouldn't consider them relationships at all - they're merely instances of human contact. In some cases you'll be on the taking side, and in others you'll be the giver, but never both. There's give-and-take, but it only goes one way.
That's not to say that there's no value in these relationships. Example: I walk down the street, and I see someone who looks a little frustrated, or sad, or just tired, and I give them a nice smile and hold the door open for them when they enter a shop. The smile makes them feel a little better, even if just for a few minutes. At the end of the day, maybe they forget - but maybe they remember that someone was kind to them, and it gives them a little glow of warmth, even if it's just a tiny one.
Epiphytic relationship. There's value there, but the important point is that it's a subjective value - it's only of value to the recipient, not the giver. To me, the smile and the door-holding is worth nothing. It cost me nothing. I chose to do it, but I could have chose not to and I'd have felt just the same.
As I say, there's nothing wrong with epiphytic relationships. They are both good and necessary, if we're to succeed as a species that intertwines as much as humans do. The whole concept of "Pay it Forward" (nice movie, terrible ending) was based on epiphytes. Do a nice thing for three people, even if it's just holding a door or helping an old person across the road, and then they'll do a nice thing for three more people, and so on ad infinitum. But what a person has to remember is that they are, by nature, shallow.
In a friend, or a lover, or especially a life partner, you need a symbiosis. To have any kind of meaningful relationship, you need to have a system of give-and-take that works both ways. It doesn't have to be completely equal all the time, but there needs to be some. All healthy personal relationships (as opposed to impersonal ones, with strangers or distant acquaintances) are symbiotic, although you non-scientists may not think of them this way. A true friend, or good partner, is someone you can lean on when you're weak, and cry on the shoulder of when you're sad, and ask for help when you need it - and who'll do the same with you.
I recently got out of a relationship that didn't have this. I loved Oli a great deal, and we had some very good times, but much of the time I felt unsatisfied. Because Oli was a giver, but completely incapable of taking anything in return. He wanted to take care of me, and give me everything I needed - or at least what he felt I needed - but couldn't ask for anything back, or accept it when it was offered. I don't know if he was just this way with me, or if he was like this with a lot of people, but I'm convinced that it's this, more than anything else, that wrecked our relationship.
As strange as it sounds, giving can be a selfish act if you do it exclusively. For one thing, when you only give and never receive, you keep everything on your terms. As a giver, you can choose to take away, and even if you would never do that the choice is still there. If you never take anything from the other person, they have nothing to offer you, and this ensures that you hold the balance of power. There is no equality. But that's not the only selfish thing about it. People need to give love - that's a simple fact of life. With very few exceptions (sociopaths, psychopaths, extreme narcissists), most of us need to give love more than we need to receive it. Watch a child with a teddy or a doll, or any person with their pet. (More examples of epiphytic relationships.) The child loves the doll, and gives that love in the form of hugs and playing and putting it to bed with a warm blanket. The doll doesn't love the child back, except in the child's mind, but that doesn't matter, because the pleasure is obtained from giving rather than receiving. With pets it's much the same story; while some of us will claim that animals are capable of love (and you can argue this until the cows come home - it's an argument that I'll stay out of) few of us will claim that pets, with the possible exception of dogs, are as loving towards their humans as the humans are towards them. Do the humans care? Not in the slightest, because like with the child and her doll, their pleasure is derived from giving love.
After spending three years as the receiver in an epiphytic relationship, I can tell you it's not a fun thing to be. For a couple weeks, even a couple months, it's pleasurable. It's nice having someone call you in the evenings to ask you how your day went, and having a person who'll make sure you're happy and taken care of. For me it was especially nice, because I've been the caretaker for my whole life (although my Mom always took care of my physical needs, when it came to emotions I've been responsible for her since I started walking and talking) and have had all too few people who wanted to look after me. But after a couple of months that role started to feel itchy, like a skin that didn't fit me, and since then I've struggled through a friendship - and sometimes sexual relationship - with a man who I loved dearly, but who made me feel totally superfluous.
The funny thing is that Oli would never have seen his behaviour as a form of selfishness. He honestly believed that he was giving me what I needed. He gave me attention and love. He provided someone to rant to or a shoulder to cry on when I'd had a bad day, and he found solutions to any problems that I had. He made sure I had enough money and he took care of all my sexual needs. He was an all-round decent, kind man - and not once did he ever cotton on, despite me telling him several times, to the fact that despite everything he gave me, I was thoroughly unsatisfied. What I needed from him was to BE needed. I needed to be useful.
Oli and I were very alike. Both of us were used to being the strong one. Neither of us liked letting anyone look after us, or see us vulnerable, and both of us found it very difficult to admit that we needed help. But what tore us apart was the fact that I was willing to bend, to compromise, in order to give him what he needed - the chance to care and protect and nurture - and he wasn't.
Gebo is the rune of gift and sacrifice. It now seems so strange to me that there was a point in my life when I didn't understand this. Of course gifts and sacrifices go together. They have to. Shallow, epiphytic gifts are all very well - they're the bread and water that the human race needs to survive - but a true gift, a gift with value to both the giver and the receiver, includes some sort of sacrifice, some surrendering of something important to you. A true gift costs you something.
A mother who has plenty of money and buys her children nice Christmas presents is a lovely thing to have, but a mother with limited money who gives up her daily frappaccino - her one indulgence - from August onwards so she can put the money in a Christmas present fund is a treasure. A friend who'll come over and hold your hand when you break up with your boyfriend, when she was coming over anyway, is nice. A friend who'll drop everything, including a hot date, to come on her only evening off and do the same is a rare gem. Our sacrifices allow us to show the people we love what they mean to us, to say without words that we are willing to give up something we want in order to make them happy.
I usually write an "In conclusion..." paragraph at the end, but this time I don't think I have one. I've said all I wanted to say. I live in hope that one day I'll meet a man who will give me what I need (and let me give him what he needs) rather than what he thinks I should need. A man who'll love me and trust me enough to allow me to see when he's hurting, and let me help if I can, or just be there if I can't. Of course, it would have to be the *right* guy. With a man who doesn't feel right to me, the best I can hope for is to improve his life just a teensy bit while remaining at a distance.
And I thank Oli for teaching me the value of compromise, and how much I'm willing to give up - a lesson which is precious beyond words.
I ate a bag of potato chips yesterday. I know, newsworthy, right? *rolls eyes* Finished my chips, read my book. (I tend to eat while I read - food just tastes better when you have a good book in front of you.) Ten minutes later I felt what I thought was an eyelash on my cheek, right underneath my eye. Went to brush it away - and ouch! Not an eyelash at all, but a tiny sharp piece of potato. I thought nothing more of it until I realised a half hour later that it still hurt. So I went to the bathroom to look in the mirror, only to find a nasty red scratch under my eyelashes, with just a teeny-tiny bit of blood on it.
Yup, first blood by potato chip.
Sooo, I thought about putting an antiseptic cream on it, but I can't, because it's too close to my eye. Same goes for a bandage. When I'm in the house I just leave it alone, open to the air, but I've been spending a lot of time in the garden over the last few days, getting muddy and dusty, hauling wood and turning over soil and fighting with the spiders who think that the whole world's their territory just because they have more legs than I do. (Well, I only have two arms and two legs, but I have a pair of double-Ds - beat that, Arachne.) So when I'm outside I have to wear an eyepatch. The ones the doctor gives you are no fun - they're all medical and sticky and pink and not even remotely sinister - so I sewed my own cool black one to wear over the top. If I get a sunny day when my camera'll work well, I'll get you all a picture and you can laugh at me, although I might end up tossing you to Davy Jones' Locker. (Is that the right usage of thst term? I'm not really up-to-scratch on my pirate lingo - last time I talked Pirate was in college.)
And that's all I have to offer today.
Ugh, just when I was getting all smug and self-satisfied about dodging the bullet that is also known as a visit to the doctor's, the sleep problems started up again.
Last time Oli and I broke up, I stopped eating. This time I appear to have stopped sleeping. *rolls eyes*
For the second half of last week, I had major problems sleeping - more major than normal, I mean. Since Thursday evening, I managed to sleep:
- 2 hours Friday morning
- 2 hours Saturday morning
- 6 hours Sunday evening
And I was thinking that I was going to have to concede the battle, and go see my doctor for some serious drugs. But then I went into town and looked at dresses and sweaters in Smooth Criminal, and bought comfort food - ie high-sugar, high-fat stuff that I hardly ever allow myself to eat - and when I came home I ate a chicken and stuffing sandwich (twice the calories and 5 times the fat of my usual ham salad...I guess stuffing has a lot of fat in it) and a chocolate milkshake, and wouldn't you know it? Fat and sugar did the trick, and I slept for eight hours Monday afternoon and evening, and another eight yesterday (Tuesday) afternoon.
So I was really pleased with myself...and now it's 6.50 Wednesday morning, and once again I've been awake for the last 14 hours. *sigh*
I know a lot of my fellow bloggers are also fellow insomniacs, so any coping strategies that worked for you would be welcome.
I know a couple of people have done this, and plenty more make regular pimps of blogs and posts, but I thought I'd give you a one-time post of my whole watched list. Because a) I'm too absent-minded to make a weekly pimp post and b) it always annoys me that I can't see who people I watch are watching. Because I like to be the supreme watcher, who sees all. *laughs*
So here you go. My watch list is separated into two sets: people who post (either frequently or occasionally) and people who haven't posted in forever, but I did enjoy reading back when they did.
Oh, and this list is in the order it appears on my page, meaning the blogs I've read most recently first. Which generally means they're active.
Last blog I checked out was the lovely Sasha_Hampshire, who I've been happy to discover in the last couple weeks (due to a pimp on a different blog, so these things DO work!) Plenty of amusing anecdotes about love and life, a couple of debates and a handful of lists of interesting facts (I have a passion for Sasha's lists, hehehe).
Next up is LadyUnlaced, who I've been reading for most of this year, and boy has it been an eventful year! LadyU is one of the most prolific bloggers I've seen, and posts several times a day, so if you're going for quantity (in addition to superb quality) she's one you want to be reading. She's also everyone's favourite (super-organized) librarian, so she's great about collecting interesting posts and directing you to them. If you're new to blogland, or haven't been on here much, or don't know what you like, this is the blog to start with - I guarantee you you'll find another dozen interesting bloggers just by stopping in.
Third on my most-recent list is the absolutely delicious ThomBombadil, someone who I only discovered 24 hours ago, but am already a dedicated fan of. Some general news posts, plenty of essays and debates (whoo, debate gets me hot) and a bit of soul searching to boot. What more could a girl want?
Then we have the spectacular calmlys, definitely (or at least IMO ) one of the most interesting male bloggers on the site. This one has the slightly annoying habit of deleting all his posts and starting fresh every year - so read him quick, before they all vanish forever! - but we'll forgive him since he's a dear friend of mine, and he's just so darn GOOD. This year's blog is mostly dedicated to kink, but don't be put off by that - he makes the subject interesting and accessible, and I think we can all learn a lot.
The next one is the beautiful Cozy_Red, another recent discovery of mine (I see these people around on other people's blogs all the time, but it takes me FOREVER to actually check out their blog) who I'm enjoying very much. Lots of life updates which Cozy usually manages to turn into a question for us to answer, prompting us all to share our own experiences, which is usually fun, often a learning experience, and always interesting.
Moving along, we have the lovely InnerPeace07, who has sadly slowed down her posting schedule a lot, due to personal circumstances, but is still a great read, and has a huge backstore of posts to keep you happy. InnerPeace is one of those bloggers who really seems to put her feelings out there, so reading her can be a very emotional (and usually uplifting) experience. Her life updates are always delightful, and her frequent polls are really fun to answer - let's hope she gets them up and running again soon!
Next up is Wordsmith2004, a spectacularly funny mix of actor, poet and comedian, whose blog posts always have me in fits of laughter. Light and airy, usually without seriousness, Wordy's blog is without fail a happy experience. As addictive and comforting as your favourite snack food, without the health concerns that it might carry. Don't forget to spank his adorable ass before you leave.
Our next blogger is the very tasty evil_lolita, yet ANOTHER recent discovery for me, and I haven't got as far into her blog yet as I'd like. What I have seen, though, is a delightful blend of deep-thinking, cynicism and biting wit. I need to set aside some time soon to try and read at least a bit of her back catalogue, since she has a LOT of posts to keep you interested!
When I want a man's perspective on things, there's no better blogger than BlackProfessor, who's always ready, willing and very able to tell it how he sees it. Super-smart, often very funny and completely lacking in BS, the Prof is a must-read for any woman who's wondered what men think about. A lot of guys will enjoy his blog, too.
One of the first bloggers on my watchlist when I joined the site, and the only one who still posts today, is the gorgeous drunkat, a yummy mix of sexpot and geek who's always happy to give his unique (and frequently hilarious) perspective on things. Of all the blogs on my watchlist, this is one of the ones that most makes my eyes light up when I see a new post by his name.
And last, but by no means least, we have templar_s, who I've been reading for a couple years. He seems to comment more than he posts on his own blog these days, but when he does post it's always stuff that makes me think. Seeing things from his viewpoint is always an intriguing experience, and I feel like I learn quite a bit about myself (and others) from reading him - he has the knack of nudging you towards introspection without you realizing he's doing it.
There you have it, my golden list. These are the ones who post - at some point in the future, I'll give you a list of the ones who are dormant, although as none of them have posted in a couple months I don't think there's much of a hurry. 
Hope you enjoyed, and feel free to share your own with me! I'm always on the lookout for new reading, especially now that I have reliable internet service!
...on a fellow AFF member, that I just realised today.
And that's all I'm going to say about that. :D
Just because I'm a tease.
I saw this on a couple people's blogs recently...if I can remember who I'll pimp 'em. Don't hold your breath though, my memory's not great.
So, without further ado...
10 things you may have not known about Sati (or you may have, but that's not my problem, sorry.)
1 ) I used to be able to curse in 16 languages, but now I have trouble doing it in English and Spanish.
2 ) I'm a terrible ice skater, but I feel more at peace on the ice than anywhere else in the world, except the beach.
3 ) I love pantomime. Like, really. I'm quite happy to take just about any children to go see any panto as long as I get to yell, "He's BEHIND you" and "Oh YES HE DID". Hell, I'd go on my own if I didn't think people would think I was either a pedophile or a kidnapper.
4 ) I have insomnia. You all know that. What you don't know is that since Thursday evening (right now it's Sunday night, nearly Monday morning) I have spent 10 hours asleep and 71 hours awake. That's how bad it is. However, I can't get any help on the NHS unless I start exhibiting mental symptoms, and I can't afford to go private, so I'm kind of stuck.
5 ) I'm addicted to Farmville on Facebook.
6 ) I like all times of year for different reasons, but my favourite is Halloween. Halloween is the only time of year I take risks or do anything even slightly daring. When I was 14 I dressed up as Princess Leia, in that gold bikini. I don't think anyone else at school would have gotten away with it, but all the teachers thought of me as a good girl and I think they were too surprised to react. *grins*
7 ) As long as I have a recipe (and usually without one, too) I can cook just about anything except rice. Rice beats the shit out of me every time we battle.
8 ) If health and energy were no object, and I could have any career I wanted, I'd be a neurologist and neurosurgeon who moonlights as a rap-video groupie.
9 ) I have synaesthesia, which is a condition where your senses get mixed up. I hear smells and see sounds, amongst other things.
10 ) In my head, all people come with their own song, and I actually hear the music playing when I'm around them. And I'll post more on this particular subject if I can ever get my thoughts together on it.
Share yours?
What do you call a girl who finds a new possible date 36 hours after being dumped?
Really, I want to know.
I didn't get much sleep last night - two hours at most - and then I had to haul my butt off to Currys today to look at DVD players.
So I got dressed. I found that my apricot suede jacket has once again shrunk over the summer and is tight in the shoulders. By mid-winter it'll have stretched again, but of course by that time I won't be wearing it much anymore, since it's primarily an autumn jacket. I wonder if there are people you can hire to stand around and wear your clothes to stretch them out for you?
We missed the bus going into town so Mom and I caught a cab. In town we waited at the bus stop for the next bus - which was naturally running way late - so while Mom looked around I sat on a bench and listened to my iPod and had a semi-coherent, sleep-deprived rant with myself about pigeons and how easy it must be to be one. White pigeons don't get given shit from everyone for dating black pigeons. Pigeons don't assume they're automatically entitled to another pigeon's love because their feathers match. After ten minutes of this I realised I was sounding both self-pitying and ridiculous - the ridiculous I can handle, but I hate to be self-pitying, even in my head - and came to the conclusions that a) pigeons don't really date, which is probably a good thing since they don't have wrists for corsages; and b) most pigeons are pretty much gray anyway.
We got to Currys. And this is going to sound terrible, since I just broke up with Oli less than two days ago, and I'm supposed to be all bruised and weepy and shit, and I AM, but...I kind of met an interesting guy.
Unfortunately, his name is Olu. Yeah, that sounds like a good idea - get interested in a guy who almost certainly has the same name as the guy who just broke my heart 36 hours ago. *sigh*
Name aside, though, he was very interesting indeed. And cute, did I mention cute? Little goatee - I don't usually like facial hair, but it suited him - and sexy glasses and these wonderful twinkly eyes. And he was so friendly and sweet that I couldn't tell if he was flirting or not. Mom thinks he was, and just didn't say anything because she was there, but Mom's already into matchmaking.
Considering I only told her about Oli today, that has to be a record. I didn't even mean to tell her about him, except that the phone rang thirty times this morning, and neither of us answered - I was in the bath and she apparently didn't hear it - and when I asked her if it was him, she said she didn't know but probably not, because why would he let it ring that long, and why ring the home phone anyway? And I told her he sometimes called the home phone instead of my cell when he was being an ass - presumably so I couldn't refuse to answer when I saw his number on the screen. And she said, "Being an ass as in being silly?" And I said, "No, as in being the biggest dickhead in the planet. On the planet. In the whole federation of planets." And of course after that slipped out, I had to tell her the whole story.
So yeah, she seemed to think that this guy looked interested, but who the hell knows? After the last couple of weeks I don't really trust my instincts when it comes to male interest. I'm sure that sooner or later I'll trust them again, it's just going to take a little while.
So he showed us vacuum cleaners - which Mom wanted, but the one she wanted wasn't in stock - and then DVD players. We managed to find a fairly decent Sony player for £49.99 - bear in mind things cost a lot more in the UK, so this was a good price - and that included 3 years insurance. And Mom found an electric steamer she wants for Christmas, and a breadmaker that she wants asap. She wasn't sure about the pros and cons of a breadmaker at first - although I think I was convincing her with my talk of no icky additives - but as soon as she found out it also made cake, she was a goner. My Mom has a passion for cake.
Olu gave me the number to call to find out when the hoover comes in, but silly me, I forgot to write down the make and model number, so I'll have to go back to the store. *innocent face*
After that I slipped into Matalan to rethink a coat that I'd liked last time I was there. I couldn't justify buying that particular coat, as nice as it was - it was hot pink, and there are so many colours that I couldn't wear it with, especially in autumn - but I did find a beautiful 3/4 length double-breasted wool in petrol blue, with military-style buttons and epaulets. Military-style coats seem to be back in fashion, which is awesome, because I have an absolutely gorgeous navy-blue velvet cropped military jacket, which I try to wear every autumn (although for a couple years it needed repairs, and then last year I was just a little bit too fat to do it up) but even though it always looks great, it's nice to know that it's cool again. Except it's UBER-cool, way cooler than most of the jackets I see, because it's such a wonderful quality of velvet, and because I got a great deal on it when I bought it. Clothes always feel better to me when I get a really good piece for a bargain price.
But anyway, yes. Petrol-blue wool. I didn't buy it, but probably will go back after next payday (this coming Tuesday), if I have the money left after paying this semester's tuition. I do need another winter coat - aside from my autumn jackets, the last winter coat I bought was in 2001, and while it still looks good (when it's just been cleaned, anyway) I get tired of wearing the same thing. And this was such a lovely coat. Double-breasted styles always look good on me, and I never understand why because it seems like they should make me look extra-chunky. But whatever, it works, and the colour goes with most of the things in my wardrobe.
The teeny thriller / horror books (which I love to read in September-October, for some reason) that I ordered from ebay came today, too, which made me happy.
So yeah, that was my day. And it was a lot better day than I had a right to expect. Life without Oli is hard - even though I knew we weren't meant to be lovers forever, trying to exist without him in my life is still like trying to breathe without lungs - but I'll get there.
What's been your quickest rebound period between relationships?
WARNING: This post contains sexual references.
It's rare for me to make a post that's particularly sexually explicit, but it's 7.30 am, and I haven't slept, and perhaps my inhibitions are a little lower than usual. Plus, this is a subject that's always fascinated me.
I have a particularly beautiful piece of blue calcite that I bought a couple weeks ago. It's about the size of a golf ball, except the sides are flattish and vaguely triangular, although it keeps the rounded edges. (If I were asked what the shape resembles, I'd say a lung, but that's just my scientist's brain at work.) It's a lovely stone, palest blue with white striations in, and no matter how long you hold it in your hand (or other places) it always remains cool. For the last twenty minutes, I've been running it over my body: over my stomach and arms, down my neck and throat, around my nipples. The coolness and the smoothness is delicious, especially on a morning like this when my skin feels too tight.
And of course, as I rub it over my body I can't help wondering what it would feel like inside.
Oh sure, I know the health "rules" about putting things inside your body that you shouldn't. But how many of us abide by them to the letter? How many of us have used things to pleasure ourselves that were not quite made for those purposes? How many of us have used food, or candles, or a hairbrush handle, or anything else that came to hand?
In this age of sexual freedom, there are so many toys that are made expressly for sex play, it's almost senseless to use anything else. Yet I feel there's something deliciously naughty about the thought of using everyday objects to pleasure yourself. It makes me feel like I'm back in the olden days, back before vibrators and weighted balls and love eggs, experiencing - or at least thinking about - the same things that our ancestors thought. Because many of them did think it, you know. Not all women (or even men) from ages before ours were as repressed as the history books would have you believe. Certainly my ancestors weren't - I remember one story from my maternal grandmother, about how she used a taper candle to masturbate one day when my grandfather and the kids were out, and then accidentally mixed it in with the candles for the dinner table. When my grandfather lit the candles, he sniffed the air curiously, and then looked at my grandmother and smiled, because he knew exactly what she'd been doing.
Most of the women here - and perhaps the men - will have at least one toy made expressly for sex. Personally, I have a couple of vibrators - one large, one small - and I want a Rabbit as soon as I can afford it. (My last one broke a couple years ago.) Plus a set of weighted balls for Kegels exercises. And even with those couple of things, I think I'm fairly conservative compared to the average woman on here. But I do wonder how many of you have ever used a household item - or even thought about using one.
So, thought about it? Done it?
What have you used / thought about using? Fruit and veggies? Shower head in the bath? Something else entirely?
Do you consider it objectophilia to be occasionally aroused by inanimate objects, if it's not all the time? Or is it just another chapter in a healthy sex life?
WARNING: This post contains sexual references.
So, The Man Who Is Not My Boyfriend (Oli) and I are no more. He's decided to stop talking to me so he can get back with his ex-girlfriend - yes, the one who, last time he and I were together, stalked me everywhere around the internet and got me fired from my last job, thus precipitating my dropping out of college (since I could no longer afford the tuition).
I could write pages and pages on how much I loved him, as a friend if not a great romance, and how much I'm going to miss my best friend. But that will come later, I'm sure. Right now I'm just a bit numb - an hour ago I was showing him my boobs on webcam, and talking about sucking him, and now I'm lying here wondering what the hell happened.
Although I shouldn't be wondering, since this has all happened before. Admittedly with more tears on my part. Men don't get to make me cry more than once.
Truly this has been the most appalling summer. The man I've loved since I was 17, the man I was supposed to marry, decided to marry someone else rather than let her go home when her visa expired. I've admitted that to only one person, and now you guys. My brother's been in and out of hospital with suspected Crohn's Disease, although now they're thinking it's just colitis, thank God. I've put on a horrible amount of weight in my stomach, and I suspect that the ovarian cysts have come back, which means I'm gonna have to go see the doctor about having yet another operation. Mom's still not back at work, and trying to support a household is getting harder and harder.
Of course, there have been some good things. I've spent more time with Christie and Becki than I usually do. I reconnected with Christopher Robin, and we're both hoping to start up with Japanese again next month. I bought a couple of awesome dresses. I met a couple of really nice people from here, and a couple of (I hope) nice guys from the gym.
It's hard to concentrate on the nice things at the moment, though. Right now I just feel very sad and very stupid, because I knew that he still loved her, despite her (IMO) capacity for cruelty, and I knew the instant he started getting interested in me on a daily basis that something was wrong in his life. He doesn't pursue me that relentlessly unless he's having woman problems.
You could call him a user, but it was a mutual thing. I went into it with my eyes wide open, and I'm fully responsible for my own actions, even if they were stupid.
Blue is a good colour for this post. I think I'm gonna go take a bath, listen to some Joni Mitchell and contemplate becoming a lesbian or a nun. (Not seriously, I'm not one of those people who turns against all men because one of them screws her heart around, but it's nice to pretend that I could consider it, if only for a few hours.)
Hugs and cookies would be appreciated.
What about you? Have you ever let a partner fool you more than once?
WARNING: This post contains sexual references.
There's something faintly unsettling about having cybersex while you're listening to Bach's Goldberg Variations.
The Man Who Is Not My Boyfriend (aka Oli) is on my messenger now, and is being very blunt about what he wants - for the fourth or fifth day running. This has to be a record for us, because for the last couple years things have followed a pattern - he gets all hot and bothered by me, and then leaves me alone for a couple days, even a couple weeks. On rare occasions he'll be a interested a couple times a week, but I don't think we've ever had a period where he wanted me 24-7, for more than a day or two at a time.
I know I shouldn't be overanalysing this, but I can't help wondering if it means things are looking up, finally. He's always run so hot and cold with me, and I've never been able to work out exactly what it is he wants. So even if this period doesn't last forever, it's very nice to have some sort of stability.
It's not Bach anymore - it's Myers' Cavatina, and He is telling me exactly how he wants me to suck his cock.
That's all I've got for you tonight - it's coming up 5am, and I'm tired and have a stomachache.
What's the most incongruous sexual experience you've had?
Note: I keep trying to edit this post, and it edits briefly and then goes back to how it was, so if it doesn't quite make sense, that's why.
Gentlemen: take note. When a woman asks how she looks, or if you like xyz, or if you think she's beautiful, or if an item of clothing suits her - or anything even remotely akin to this - she's not always fishing for compliments. Sometimes what we're fishing for is a little validation. An assurance that you still find us attractive, even though we no longer have the body of a pre-teen. We want to know that we're both loved and lusted after. That you think our best parts (legs, breasts, eyes) are beautiful, and that our worst parts (fat thighs, hairy toes, knobbly elbows) are things that you can overlook, rather than being deal-breakers.
Any strong, mature woman will agree that being comfortable and confident in herself is more important than what a man thinks of her, but most of those same women will also agree that they want their men to find them attractive and sexy.
So please, remember to compliment your women sometimes. I'm not talking about false compliments or endless sycophancy, I'm talking about remembering to say what you think, when you think something's good. If she wears a colour that looks great on her, tell her. If she cooks a meal that tastes spectacular, tell her. If you think that her kisses taste sweeter than honey, tell her.
And ladies - return the favour, yeah? :)
So much pleasure can be given, just by remembering to say it out loud when you appreciate something.
So, have you told your loved ones what you think of them today?
WARNING: This post contains sexual references.
If things had gone the way I meant them to, I'd either be having sex right now, or would be asleep, having exhausted myself doing so.
I would also have seen my Dad and stepmother this morning, checked in at work, and had dinner with Oli before following him to some (unknown) place where he would have had me on my hands and knees, begging for his cock.
Damn trains. My stepmother texted me just before nine this morning to tell me there was a tube strike on, and to check the overground trains 'cause they might be upset too. Sure enough, when I called the local station they told me that services were "experiencing some delays". On a standard day - especially a Monday - services tend to experience a lot of delays, so for them to actually ADMIT it means it must have been pretty bad.
Therefore, no visit to my parents, and they're going down to the new house tomorrow or the next day - they've bought a place in Somerset, and have been spending a lot of time down there, although they're not set to move until October - so God only knows when I'll see them. Whenever they're back in London and I have a spare day when I'm healthy, I guess.
No checking in at work...well, that wasn't a big loss. But no Oli definitely was. Not only have I been nonstop horny for the last week, but for the last few days he's been very forward about wanting me, and I think - I wouldn't bet money on it, but I THINK - he might actually be starting to let himself need me, just a little bit.
Maybe. Not that I'm holding my breath or anything.
After all, I have more important things to hold my breath for. 
I keep telling myself that it's a good thing I couldn't get to see him, as 1) I have a nasty mosquito bite on the corner of my mouth, and even opening my mouth wide enough to eat - let alone wise enough to suck him - is quite painful; and 2) We've experienced the frustration of London meetings several times. London meetings mean nowhere to have sex, since I live here in Alby, and I can't go to his place since his parents don't know about me. Actually, I don't think any of his family knows about me.
Unfortunately my arguments don't help much, since he told me to bring condoms today, indicating that he's found somewhere we can go, and as for the mosquito bite...well, if he were here, I'd take the pain and learn to love it if it meant I could please him.
I think I could learn to love most things if it meant pleasing him. *sigh* But wouldn't you know it, he doesn't have another day off for ages.
So this girl is fairly miserable today. Phone sex would be better than nothing, but it's 4am now, and I'm guessing he's asleep since he didn't respond to my last message. It seems quite monstrously unfair that something as stupid as an Underground strike could scupper my plans, especially when things are finally going well between us. Because who knows how long they'll be good for, before he gets weird on me again?
Well, I guess I just have to hope that they stay good for awhile; that I've wormed my way into his heart and he lets me remain there for more than a few days.
Sorry - I know I said that I'd try and post more often, about more interesting subjects, but I got nothing for you guys tonight.
I figured you guys deserved a nice post after Friday's diatribe (well, sort of) about food. So, here goes.
Note: this is a list I wrote yesterday morning; today I didn't leave the house. Not depressed, just tired.
After yet another night of insomnia I gave up on sleep at about 9am and hauled myself out of bed to go buy groceries. I don't often go out early in the morning - I work nights, and tend to sleep until about midday, often later - and I was surprised at the amount of interesting things there were to see.
So, things that made me happy this morning:
- Sunshine! That's four nice days in a row, at the beginning of September - after we had EIGHT (count 'em, eight) sunny days during the whole of July and August. Go figure.
- A little shiny blue car with daisies painted all over it.
- The hot new doctor at my surgery.
- The guy walking behind me as I passed the carpet shop - looked like a middle-aged, bespectacled, short, balding accountant, but smelled like a god. (Or at least a CK model.)
- Fresh-baked bread in Tesco, still warm from the oven.
- The ivy on my favourite building in town (see FB photo album: My Town) which is really turning red now.
- The old lady on the bus who insisted we share my seat after I offered it to her. Bless her, it really wasn't big enough for two of us, but it seemed rude to refuse so I squished myself up with my groceries on my lap while she perched on the side.
- An absolutely beautiful little girl in a motorized wheelchair. The chair didn't make me happy, but the child did. She couldn't have been more than three or four - unless she had that brittle bone disease that makes you look younger than you are - but she was so smiley and happy, it made me feel a bit embarrassed for the amount of self-pity I have about my disabilities.
- The smell of spring rolls from the Chinese food cart. No amount of rationalising made it possible to justify Chinese food at 9am, but they sure did smell good.
How was your day? What made you happy today?
I have this recurring dream, and in it I like food. I enjoy eating, whether it's alone or with company. I like to cook, and I do it well. I eat healthy foods, three or four times a day. I feel generally comfortable with the whole process of taking in nourishment, and even eat some things for pleasure. I don't feel self-conscious when I'm eating in front of people, and I don't feel guilty for having the occasional treat.
In my dream I'm comfortable in my body, and happy that food provides the fuel for it, and the nutrients that keep it looking and feeling healthy. As I eat, I slowly but steadily lose weight until I'm at my optimum. From that point on, every bite that crosses my lips makes my body hotter and my features more beautiful for a short time. After a sandwich I look cute and sexy, and after a three-course meal at Chiquitos, I glow with an inner fire to rival that of any ancient goddess.
The reality of my life is very different. To put it politely, I have issues about weight, both in that I'm overweight, and in my perception of what I should be.
I never admit to having an eating disorder. I never let my food issues go that far, because I know that I need to eat to survive, and I have the medical background and the statistics to know how far I can push it before I put my health at serious risk. By which I in no way intend to imply that what I do and don't do is healthy; I'm merely trying to explain why I don't consider myself a serious enough case to have the eating disorder label.
Finding the energy and the will - and sometimes the money - to eat well has been a constant battle for the last ten years, but the problems started a long time before that. I went on my first diet a week or two after my fifth birthday, and I've been on one or another ever since. Although months, or even years, would sometimes go by when I refused to adhere to a weight-loss plan, there was always that feeling in my mind that any food other than plain vegetables was an indulgence rather than a necessity. Most of the time I did my best to ignore it, because I just wanted to be normal like all my friends. But it was always there.
It didn't help that I developed early. As a toddler I was chubby and cute, and taller than the rest of my friends. At five and six, I was the classic golden girl: blonde hair, blue eyes, skin that easily turned gold in the sun, long slender limbs - and tall enough to wear clothes for ten and eleven-year-olds. I was always hungry at that age, and I assumed it was mental - it never occurred to me that it was because I was growing. At six I returned from Spain to England, and the combination of pre-packed food and weather that caused a heap of health problems and didn't allow for daily exercise made me put on a lot of weight. At nine I got my periods and my breasts, and the latter just kept growing - on my tenth birthday I wore a 28B; by the time I was eleven and a half I was a 32C. Sixteen- to eighteen-year-olds were asking me out, thinking I was their age, before I started secondary school.
Looking back, I think the biggest problem I had with food, growing up, was that nothing was ever stable. The rules about what I could and couldn't eat changed so frequently that I never learned what was good and what was bad. My mom would put me on a diet - and then reward me with a candy bar and a bowl of ice cream. When I visited my Dad he would take me to restaurants and shower me with food, insisting that I should eat a bit more, but at home my Mom often mentioned how my father told her that he was very worried about my weight and my atrocious table manners. One month I'd get chastised for eating too much, the next month people would be concerned about me not eating enough. Sometimes my chubbiness seemed to be a source of concern for my parents, and then other times they'd insist that it was just puppy fat, and would go in time. So I got used to living on a pendulum, and started to swing myself. I'd have periods of a couple months when I begged to be allowed to eat hamburgers and chocolate and crisps, the way all my friends did, and then a couple months when Mom would give me my lunch money and every day I'd eat a plate of lettuce and half a bread roll, with occasional bits of cottage cheese. None of it made me thin.
I don't want you to think that my parents starved me or anything, because that certainly wasn't the case. It wasn't that I was forbidden from eating things - it was more that when I DID eat them, a little nugget of guilt was added to an ever-growing pile. I still haven't worked out exactly where that guilt came from. What I do know is that whether I was in an ignoring or a succumbing phase, there was always the underlying knowledge that food was both the temptation and the enemy.
I did eat pretty well all through high school, though - even the months when I skipped breakfast and ate salad for lunch, I got a hot meal in the evenings - and while I was constantly battling with my weight, I figured that eventually I'd get the right blend of food and exercise that would give me the body I wanted.
I went to Spain for six months after high school, and that was wonderful. I swam and took long walks every day, ate tons of healthy, fresh (i.e. not full of additives) food, and got to a place where I looked and felt curvy and slightly plump rather than morbidly obese.
Then I moved back to England, sans Mama, and started college. And when I started college, I stopped eating, for one simple reason: I couldn't afford to. Monday afternoon through Thursday morning, I lived with my Dad and stepmother in London. I've never been able to stomach breakfast much (although some days I tried to force down a piece of toast) and the money I was given for travel every week didn't stretch to lunch. I suppose I could have packed a lunch, and occasionally I did, but I found it embarrassing to take in sandwiches like an elementary schoolkid when the cool, streetwise Londoners wanted me to go for McDonalds, or Chinese, or Thai, or Caribbean. So I missed breakfast, had a 40p cup of coffee from the machine for lunch, and usually had a bowl of pasta and vegetables with a couple pieces of wafer-thin turkey for dinner. That's if I made it back for dinner at all, since some days I had too much homework and worked at the library right through the dinner hour.
Thursday afternoon through Monday morning I lived in St. Albans with my brother, and food there was hit-or-miss. Some weeks I'd eat like a queen, because we'd go grocery shopping and he'd tell me to get whatever I wanted, and other weeks he'd be working or off with his girlfriend or on a fishing trip, and I'd live on yoghurt and dry cereal and rice. It's become very clear to me since then that I was not old enough to be living mostly alone, trying to be responsible for myself, but at the time I was so desperate to stay in school, and convince my parents that I was grown-up, that I just kept pushing aside any voices that told me this wasn't quite how normal people ate.
I could go on and on, but the long and short of it is that I got used to eating one meal a day (and occasionally no meals) when I was in college, and somehow I never quite broke that habit. For the last ten years, my eating patterns have been totally sporadic - some days I'm starving and want to eat everything in sight, including the high-sugar, high-fat foods that I know I shouldn't have, and then other days (probably most days) food doesn't interest me much at all. It got so easy to brush aside concerns about my eating habits - after all, if I was truly malnourished I'd be getting thinner, wouldn't I? - that over the years I've come to see lack of food as normal. It's not so much that I constantly starve myself, it's just that a lot of the time I forget to eat. It doesn't occur to me that maybe I need food. If my mom didn't remind me to eat, I'm not even sure that I'd manage one normal meal a day. A lot of the time it's to do with my fibromyalgia, too. Some days I don't eat, not because I'm trying to lose weight, not because I forget, but because I simply do not have the energy to swallow.
And STILL I am overweight. I went to see a dietician a few years ago, and she put me on an average weight-loss diet - giving me roughly 1200 calories a day - for a month. In a month I gained thirty-two pounds. I went back to the dietician, and she took extensive notes about my normal eating patterns, my history with food, and my medical problems (in addition to the fibromyalgia I have polycystic ovaries, which often make it hard to lose weight). After consultations with my GP, my gynaecologist, my endocrinologist and two specialists in eating disorders, she came to the conclusion that after eighteen years of periodically starving myself, my body has gone into what they call starvation mode or survival mode, in which it slows the metabolism down almost to a stop in an effort to hang onto the little amounts of energy that it can take in. When your body is in starvation mode, you simply cannot shift the weight no matter how hard you try. I was ordered to eat a high-protein, high-complex carb, low-sugar and low-fat diet, and to eat small amounts of food every four to five hours, including protein (preferably meat) with every meal. I have different amount of success with this at different times. The last year and a half I have not had the energy nor the money to follow this, and have slowly seen any weight I lost pile back on.
These days I try to remember to eat. I average 900 calories a day, although some days it's significantly higher or lower. I try to go to the gym for a couple hours a day, although the last few months I've been unable. I wear a size 14 - a US 10 - on a good day.
I did make a promise recently to a friend, that I would at least try to start eating more regularly. What I didn't bank on is how much three meals a day, or even two meals a day, costs. If I continue to eat, I may have to take out a second bank loan.
It's a long road. I like to think that at the end of it is a life with some semblance of a normal relationship with food, but some days it's harder to keep that hope than others.
What about you? Have you ever had a problem with food? If you've suffered from an eating disorder, how did you deal with it?
