Noodle

Got a lotlotLOT on my noodle...  have since October 13.  Well, since before my "Face" post, really, but most especially since the 13th. 

Problem is I want to lay it out here so I can turn and work the puzzle pieces until I can make them fit - I tend to want to force answers, a negative, destructive trait - when I know what I need to do is ignore it and put it behind a closed door where I know it really ultimately belongs - a positive behavior I learned when I finally realized forcing answers was baaaad.

When I was at my lowest and doubting every move I made, every thought I thunk, a friend lent support regularly, telling me, "You're a good woman."

And I knew that.  Despite my self-doubt.  And I know I am.

But faced with mounting information I've learned over days, weeks, months - from places I trust - that makes me scratch my head and keep turning it over and trying to make sense of it as though it's some outer-space junk, landed on my front step, and that is totally unrecognizable to even at the same moment it's familiar, I, as usual, find myself back in the doubt-arena, questioning myself, wondering, in the face of that information if I am truly "a good woman"?

Or whether I'm really black and twisted inside, without conscience, lacking in empathy or even a basic understanding of what's good and right and I just don't know it...?

It baffles me beyond any possibility of wrapping my brain around it.

So I keep thinking and turning and trying to make some sense of my outer-space junk and one of the things I keep coming back to is something that very same friend helped me learn in my universe...  sometimes even the most lovely, aromatic, spectacularly colored flowers  - the ones you want to take home and keep with an intensity that makes you sick with yearning as deep as a junkie's craving for heroin - can make you deathly ill if you even so much as nibble a petal...

So I keep turning my back.  I keep walking away.  I cut every conceivable tie and line.  I deleted every possible scrap I could find.  I walled it all off.

But here I am.

And here I keep thinking.

And walking away.

Have I ever mentioned I'm obsessive.  ;)

Arachnophobia, Second Avènement

So I returned to town yesterday evening and from the moment I entered my apartment I kept an EAGLE eye peeled on every crevice, dark corner, window sill, OPEN FLOOR SPACE, and doorway corner for Spidey in case he'd made a reappearance during my absence...

And, like Jaws, just when I least expected it...

*BAM!!*

I'd relaxed somewhat after an uneventful evening at home and departure and return from boot camp this morning without so much as a stray web strand crossing my path...

I get home after boot camp this morning, shower, change, gather my things, head out my front door and down the front stairs to the front door of my apartment building this morning and see something "tumbling" across the foyer/vestibule out of my peripheral and, thinking it was the usual outdoor leafy riff-raff that blows in when the main door's left open, I dismissed it for the split second it took to process the fact that it didn't just *floof* and stop...

IT KEPT COMING!!

To see me tripping/two-stepping/tap-dancing trying to get past/over him, whacking the hell out of my elbow when I hit the door trying to shove it open as I fell through it, HAD to be entertaining for the neighbors... 

And yes. It was Spidey. I'm sure of it. It was the "MOM" tattoo that gave him away. ;)

Arachnophobia

Few things in my universe scare me the way a spider can.  Baby spiders, not so much - I've learned to handle them & throw them out w/out losing my mind or control of my bodily functions...

But large spiders...  anything over head-of-a-pin-size, really...  send me reeling.  And screaming.

Today was no exception... 

Today I send a BIG shout out to the GINORMOUS SPIDER who made me later than I already was for work this morning and who then sat trapped for most of the day - after skittering MADLY about in the darkness under my bed while I pole-vaulted from side to side on hands and knees trying to trap him - under a hi-ball glass at the foot of my bed. 

And just to flesh out the morning's horror and excitement for you, it all started when I walked into my bedroom to dress and was momentarily frozen as I saw him GALLOPING hell for leather across my BEDROOM floor... 

ONLY to disappear UNDER MY BED! 

Now, I don't mind rodents, I don't mind reptiles, I don't mind any manner of small, furry, fanged mammals...

Spiders, however... 

Well, let's just say the thoughts that flit rapid-fire through my mind as I watched him scuttle under the edge of my dust ruffle as to what might happen in the dark of night while I slept if I just left him to his own devices in whatever lair he created for himself under my bed has given me chills as I type this and think of him. 

MEH!! ::shudder:: 

Now, I have to laugh at what I must've looked like trying to trap him, and I SERIOUSLY debated the merits of just leaving him to find his own way home rather than sucking it up and trapping him...

for about .2 of a second...! 

But then my mother's 'boogey-man' teachings from childhood took over, my irrational fear of spiders went off the chart, and my brain ran amok with the possibilities open to him while I slept! 

Side note:  Someone posted a pic of a MONSTROUS spider sitting on top of a t.p. roll with the quote "Where is your god now?!" on Jason Hawes (The Atlantic Paranormal Society co-founder and Ghost Hunters star) wall this a.m. and I just had to laugh because that's exactly what I thought one person who posted on my spider story today was going to say after he wrote that it would be hilarious if "...he done flipped the glass, washed it & left a note saying...". 

Yeauh.  That shit's not funny.  ::deadpanlook:: 

Anyway, my mama always taught me not to kill bugs/spiders because "they're just doing their spider/bug business and trying to get home to their little spider/bug families" - yes, this is the same woman who unwittingly fueled my childhood boogey-man fears with stories of her own... but there ya go - AND... I have that whole Christian/Buddhist-y thing about "God made him for a purpose/it's not up to me to decide when he dies" thing in my head too...  but the bad thing is...I truly think spider/bug squashing is a genetic thing built into us all because I WANT to squish 'em & be done. 

So the spider saga continued when I went home for lunch...  I checked on him first...  fully expecting to see him gone - I know, doesn't make sense but fear often doesn't - and there he is, sitting in an upright pose that gave me palpitations thinking at first that he was in that legs-up-scary-spider-ready-to-strike pose... 

Nope... he's just sittin' laaaarge...

Just siiiitin' and looking at me.  Still as a statue.

SO.  Knowing FULL well I'll go utterly screeching-howler-monkey-chittering-insane if I put a piece of paper under the glass and in the course of picking him up, it bends & he manages to dart out a crack and up my arm, I get one of my son's graduation cards off the pile on the piano - yes, testing each one for stiffness factor AND thinness for maximum "seal-age" - I go back in, slide it gingerly under the edge of the glass and, not wanting to break his little spider legs as I put it all the way under, I ease it towards him, wiggling it back & forth to startle him into running onto it.

He just sits there.  Looking at me.  Still as a statue.

Dammit.

I'm determined, though, and a few gut-wrenching minutes later - bowels now turned to water from sheer fright - I finally find the right wiggle combo & he runs onto the card and ROUND AND ROUND the glass like one of those trick motorcycle people in the round metal cages...

And as he's running his circuit he does a new trick...  he HOPS a couple of times to add to my terror! 

JesusMaryandJoseph, I almost hyperventilated! 

He finally comes to a rest, I get myself under control, get him up and into the kitchen to put him out the back door...  and I realize I have to stop and put him down to unlock the deadbolt. 

Dammitdammitdammit!

And what's he do??  EVERY single movement I make, HE goes zipping around the card and glass like he's on crack...  and NOW I'm ready to throw up.

I get the back door unlocked, pick him back up, sending him into renewed laps, and I get out the back door...

Only to find, the neighbor's cat.  Their really friendly cat.  SO friendly I know I can't let the spider go until I love on him and then shoo him away so he won't wind around me 'til I trip and drop the spider on myself or jolt the glass so the spider runs OUT onto me... 

Either of which surely would've necessitated my son calling the mortuary when he got home and found me stiff and blue on the back deck...

Or...  

If I manage to maintain control of the spider, he'll pounce on it and eat it when I let it go.  And then adrenaline would make me kill the cat.

SO.

I put the spider down as far from my back door as possible - which is a space of about 2 feet because I'm on a second floor deck - I loooove the cat, scratch the cat, strooooke the cat...

Then shoohimawaypickuptheglassandrunawayfastasIcan!! 

Yes, I can only go about a foot, but still...

He just sits there on the card.  Looking at me. Still as a statue.

DAMMIT!!

Ok, I have to get back to work and I can't leave my son's graduation card out there with showers in the forecast, so NOW I'm done with this little bastard!!

I stomp and wave my hands towards him and he...

FREAKIN' CHARGES ME!!!!

Blood curdling scream would not be too strong a description... 

AND I ranawayasfastasIcould...!!

Yes, the whole remaining foot to my door...

And as I look back and realize he's gaining astro-turf on me, I come to the realization at the exact same moment that there IS nowhere for me to go without having to step/jump OVER him...

Which my irrationally INSANE fear will not allow me to do!! 

AT this point, fortunately, the spider saga became anti-climactic or I might have hurled myself over the railing of the deck to certain disaster...

Thankfully, he stopped.  Right at the edge of the door mat I was standing on.

Shaking and exhausted, but STILL totally done with this crap, I stomp again, praying he doesn't come up ONto the mat, which he doesn't, and as I watch him run towards the little dark crevice beside the wall where my grill is butted up against and my outdoor chairs are stacked I figure it's all good because I won't use THOSE things again until next year after he's LONG since frozen to death and I can sweep his dried up little husk of a body off with the winter's accumulated dirt.

For good measure, though, I go inside and close and latch my dining room window so he doesn't try to gain re-entry since it's just over the railing the grill and chairs are lined up alongside... 

And now...

As I sit here typing and thinking...

It hits me...  

And I just pray to all that's holy he doesn't crawl back in through the bathroom window further down that wall that I forgot to close.

Study Hell, Part II

Nope.  Haven't done 2 a day chapters.

Didn't make the whole 10 days without alcy, either.

The problem with the studying...  I'm old.  And I never excelled in science or physiology.  And there's a LOT of both.  I am going through each chapter at least twice a day.  Not the same though, huh? 

Also is the problem that, despite outside appearances, OCD, control freak-ism, and general never-say-uncle philosophy, the reality is I'm doing 2 a day 1 hour each bootcamps that kick my ass, I'm working 8 hours a day, I come home, eat, shower and go to bed...  and the weekend is spent going through the chapters and/or watching movies because I'm just too damned tired to shower and leave the house!  LOL

Oh.

And the alcy?

THAT was interesting.

So I went Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday - no alcohol, noooo problem.  Felt good, too...  kind of slept in, in a good way, not a drank-too-much-don't-wake-up kind of way, on Saturday & Sunday, was productive, got to boot camp Monday morning and kept up with the fastest guy in the group (HooAHHH!!), worked all day, went to boot camp in the evening and kept up with and PASSED the fastest guy (and younger than me by more than a decade!! HOOAHHH!!!) in that group...  it was, honestly, pretty great and quite an eye-opener since I tend to think even when I've over-done it that I can just "suck it up" and dig in and still maintain the level I might if I were well rested.

Now I know I've been TOTALLY bullshitting myself.

Tuesday, I and the deputies from work I ride bikes with on the greenway were supposed to ride and then go to Village Grill for dinner and a beer.  Huh-huh.  A beer.  Anyway,  I just hadn't been "feeling" it all day - I was, admittedly, fatigued from the 200 push ups, 200 squats and 20 runs up and down the hill we did on top of killer "Insanity" warm-up at the boot camp sessions I was kicking ass at the day before.  When I pulled in to the lot where we met, I rolled down the window and jokingly suggested, "I have a plan.  IIIII'LL go get a table at Village Grill, ya'll come when you're done!!".  They weren't buying what I was sorta...  well...  actually, selling...  so we got ready for the ride, got helmeted, sun-glassed, etc., mounted up...

And Ronnie says, "So before we get a couple of miles up the road and change our minds, do we really want to do this or do we just want to go drink beer?"

Guess what we did.  (No, no question mark.)

I had 4 Star Hill pumpkin drafts. 

And I felt like undiluted ASS this morning.

And it tore up my stomach.

WTH?!

I'm a professional.  I've been doing this my whole life.

7 days of clean eating, which I already do 6 days a week, combined with no alcohol and suddenly I'm a lightweight??

Holy crap.  ::sigh::

So yes, in conjuction with my renewed determination to continue to plug away at learning all the muscle groups, blood flow and heart rate formulas, ATP and ADP processes, etc., I do have an eye on maybe not drinking.  Possibly at all.

Ok, well maybe on special occasions... 

And maybe one or two on Friday's.... 

But really, that's it.  =D

Because suddenly, in 7 days, my universe has been totally dumped on its head and I'm too damned tired to fight it or prove myself wrong.  ;)

Hey Baby, what's your sign...? ;)

This is gonna ramble off course a little so bear with me and read on...

Ok.  So I'm meandering through the Daleville Kroger this afternoon.  I'm standing at an end-cap looking at some little plastic jugs of minty gum when a cart smacks into mine from the side.  I turn to look over my shoulder and a man is standing there looking at me and grinning.

Now a handful of things roll through my head all at the same instant... 

Was I in the way?

Was it just an accident?

He's balding.

His ring of hair is kind of Don-King-ish.

He's not saying anything.

He has a bruised lip.

He's grinning like a brain-dead monkey.

He has dip in his teeth.

And on the corners of his mouth.

Ew.

His clothes look like he just rolled out of bed.

Why is he just standing there looking at me?

He's a little wild-eyed.  (Have you figured out yet that I am a complete dumbass and would be utterly clueless if I were in actual danger?)

Why is he just standing there looking at me and grinning?

Do I know him?

Did I go to school with him?

He looks older than me.

Maybe he's just had a hard life?

Why is he not saying anything?

And then he spoke.

"I'm sorry."  He goes back to grinning.  And staring.

So I'm back to...

Do I know him?

But the next instant he spoke again...  I'm thinking I'll hear "Hey, remember me...  I'm so-and-so...". 

Nope.  Coulda knocked me over with a feather at what came next.

"I just had to do that because...  You.  Are.  Beautiful."

Returns to grinning.  And staring.  And says nothing else.

Ok.  Now every girl would love to hear that from a stranger, for sure.  And certainly in that rom-com movie-plot way...  I've never had either happen in any context, so I'd love it, for sure, too...

But I was still stuck on the bruised lip and dip-y teeth & mouth corners...

And frankly, I was creeped out.

Seriously, I don't feel at all shallow when I say, it would be far less creepy coming from, say, someone with clean teeth.  Who actually followed that gambit with conversation of some sort.  Or from someone without a bruised lip (tried the cart bump on some other, less polite woman, perhaps?!).  Or maybe with clean clothes.  I don't know, call me crazy...  I don't give a damn whether you're handsome or not, my hang ups are grooming and clean teeth.  You can look like Jabba the Hut and as long as you're intelligent and/or funny (which would require flashing the aforementioned follow-up convo), brush your teeth and groom yourself, you're golden.

I tossed a quick politician-pressing-the-flesh "Thank you" over my shoulder as I turned back to the gum, hoping he'd take the hint and move along.

Now, this is where I'm gonna ramble, but stick with me, it'll "co-hese"...

10 years ago today, Navy was underway on, I think it was, a six month deployment with the USN in the Pacific ocean.  We'd been back in touch for about 2 years after about a 15 year 'break' and we emailed regularly.  I was working for a large law firm in downtown Roanoke and hadn't been at work for more than 20 minutes when the receptionist said a plane had struck one of the towers of the World Trade Center.  I went into the conference room to turn on the T.V. - happy as a school kid hearing the fire-drill bell for a plausible excuse to avoid victim/witness interviews - and listened as Katie Couric was reporting the first plane striking the first Trade Center tower.  The air around me changed in an instant when the second airplane hit the second tower and it dawned on me this wasn't an accident...

My first tangled, utterly chaotic, whirling thoughts were primarily of the implications...  attack...  war...  and then the military...  war...  attack...  they would be scrambled...  we would be at war...

I went straight to my computer and emailed Navy.  We were about 8 hours different time-wise and I knew he was always on the computer about the time I settled into work because we'd have email convo most days until about my lunch-time/his bed-time...  I told him a plane had crashed into the Trade Center in NY.  I told him the second one had as well.  I emailed each detail as it came available.  USN intel hadn't even gotten the news to them yet.  He told the ship's XO (executive officer) who told the CO (commanding officer).  And as I fed information to him via email, he relayed it to those two officers who ultimately relayed it by broadcast to all the sailors on that ship.  It was a touch stone of sorts for me in the midst of that chaos and tragedy.  I don't know what it was for him, "alone" on that ship with 5000 of his closest "friends" and thousands of miles from everyone and everything he knew and loved...  I just know I felt sort of a sense of duty to be on the other end for him and by extension for that ship.  Somehow I felt like I was helping.  Being there.  Being strong for him, giving him information for them.

Shortly thereafter, his ship was re-routed to the Arabian Sea off the coast of Pakistan and he (all ships) essentially went off-grid with fluctuating cuts in what I guess was non-essential communications.  With reports of ships firing missiles and striking targets inland, squabbles over Pakistan airspace, etc., it was horrible not knowing where he was, what was happening, or whether his ship was involved...  it was an agonizing day, week, month, year...  but like all things, with time it faded from daily memory and things essentially returned to normal.

Over the last 10 years this day has been our link...  it's been special to both of us in a sacred kind of way...  hallowed...  shared whereever we've been, together or apart...  and once we were together, it never ocurred to me there'd come a day we wouldn't share it intimately.  Last year, though, when we were apart again and I got the text that began, "On this day, 9 years ago...", it was kind of just another day...  I'd had 8 months to heal after our break-down and although it was a good feeling inside to know it still held meaning to him, it was ok...

This year, though...  somehow this year is very, very different...  last night I got the text...  he's been thinking about that day and me for days...  wondering if there was a way we'd share it without upsetting anyone...  together or apart... 

For me it doesn't matter, I have no one to be upset if we share the memory...  he, however, having gone straight from the USN to living with his folks, to living with me, to living with the next girl, to now living with the mother of his recently revealed 21 year old daughter...  he has someone to upset...

Somehow, this year, it's very, very different...  somehow, this year, it's very emotional.

And I found myself wondering last night and this morning why 10 years was any more significant or magical...  for us...  for anyone...  why do we think we feel it more keenly?  Why do he and I feel the urge to share this anniversary personally...  why is 10 any harder or more significant that 9 years or 12 years?

It's moot, I guess...  whatever the reason, I've done nothing but cry at the slightest mention of 9/11/01 and anything associated with it or us...  I've cried as much in the last 24 hours as I did a couple of months ago when I lost someone I thought I'd finally found that one true relationship with.

Now here's where we're going to zag...

2 years ago when my relationship with Navy sank, I was devastated and nearly non-functional.  I spent nights and weekends crying on my sofa, and during the day I did my crying in the bathroom at work.  I couldn't eat, didn't care to, and didn't bother even pretending to be hungry.  A grey air like Pig Pen's dirt cloud hung over me.

After a couple of weeks everything in the fridge was past the point of being edible and when I couldn't put off hitting the grocery store a moment longer, I went to the Kroger on Main Street in Salem and wandered the aisles for easily 45 minutes, cart empty, picking up things & putting them back, tears flowing randomly at a family shopping together, a sappy card in the rack, a wedding magazine with a picture perfect bride on the front...  eyes puffy, nose snotty...

I round an end-cap and pass a man pushing a cart...

And he grins at me.   (What is it with end-caps?  Is that the "lurker lair"?)

Not a pleasant half-smile we give strangers to say "good day", either...  he grins.  Teeth.

Now I know I looked like I'd been sick with the plague - hair stringy and disheveled, crappy old over-sized tee-shirt on, cut-off sweat pant shorts, horribly puffy eyes, dark circles, nose snuffly from non-stop crying... 

And I think to myself, "Self, he MUST just be being polite...  I had to've imagined the "interested" look..."

So I looked back...

And the man is standing there, dead in the middle of the aisle, not moving, watching me walk away... 

And as I turn and our eyes catch, he grins even bigger than the first time.

WTH?!!

I still knew that in my warmed-over-death state of appearance, he HAD to be just being nice...  so I went on about my business... 

But then I passed him twice more in other parts of the store...  and both times it was unmistakeable...  the interested smile...  that slightly lascivious Joey-Tribiani "Hey, how YOU doin'?" air...

I was stupified. 

And all I could figure was maybe he was desperate...  or legally blind...  or had cataracts... 

Which brings us full circle to Daleville Kroger guy...

I tossed my politician-pressing-the-flesh thanks and looked away, intent on those thought-provoking little barrels of gum...

In my peripheral, I saw him move away so I put back the gum barrel I was studying and turned to go... 

And just about fell over when I realized he'd just as quickly moved back...

Stare...  grin...  "I can't help it, I'ma be useless the rest of the day..."

I stood, staring back at his wild-eyed, smiling face, knowing what a trainwreck I looked like with my puffy eyes, dark circles, mascara streaks, snotty nose, and general sad air from the 9/11 text I got from Navy just before I walked in the store...

And I said thank you again.  Genuinely this time.

And then I hauled ass.  ;)

The moral of the story?  Hell, I don't know if I even managed to link all three of these shorts together for you so you can understand the way they mesh in my head, much less came down to the moral of the story...  but I will say my personal upset is the thread that ties all three... 

And I think the natural conclusion here is that in my universe, puffy eyes, mascara tracks, snuffly, snotty nose and a general Eeyore air about me drives men wild.

Study Hell... I mean... Hall... Study Hall...

Oy vey!

After everything dropped in to place & to cohesiveness in my mind week before last, I know the Ode will likely be a 3-parter and I have a "To be continued, Part II" to get to...  soon...

But in the meantime, I have to interrupt with some old skool bitching.

Every day for forever, I've hit the gym after work for a class or two.  Every day.  With the exception of Fridays, my weekdays are "Groundhog Day"...  get up, shower, dress, go to work, eat, work, eat lunch, work, leave work, go to the gym, come home, shower, eat, watch DVR, go to bed, get up...  lather, rinse aaaaand repeat.

So when a friend suggested Boot Camp Challenge to me in April, I thought I'd give it a shot.  6 weeks, Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, 5:30 a.m. at the local Catholic school, 1 hour kick-yer-ass workouts and lots of sweat.  Done.  11 pounds, numerous inches, and 8.25% body fat lost.

When I finished my 3rd 6-week boot camp, I decided maybe I should make money doing this rather than continuing to hemorrhage money I could put to better use.

And now...  I'm studying.

First the personal trainer certification is needed.  Hundreds of dollars to sit through 14 lectures, practices, instructor conference, review, and EXAM.

Then the Boot Camp Challenge certification will be needed.  Hundreds more dollars.  More learning, more studying, more practices, more EXAM.

My question?

What the hell was I thinking?!  It's been 15 years since I was in a college class room!  Since I sat through lectures, took notes, soaked in what I could and studied what I couldn't remember.  And I was NEVER a very great student to begin with in lower school!  Holy crap, dedication is not my forte and "classes you can take on line at your leisure" may NOT have been the wisest choice...

Proof in the pudding?  It's taken me almost 2 weeks to flog myself through the 1st lecture.

Jesus.

BUT...

I do not like to say "Uncle"...  aaaaand, knowing some of the local gym instructors who've passed it I KNOW that I can certainly pass it...

So...  it's back to the copious notes and the lectures...  and a renewed dedication now that the long holiday weekend excuse is gone and over...  I can do 2 a day, I know I can...

Did I mention I've also gone on a 10 day cleanse concentrating on nothing but lots of healthy food, a super healthy shake/meal replacement once a day...  and no alcohol?

Did I mention I don't know what the hell I was thinking doing that, either?!

::sigh::

This shit better be worth it.

Ode to Yer Face... Part I

So.

I've been attempting to blog a particular "thing" for the last 2 months and it simply hasn't gone smoothly.

Block?  Fear?  Simple avoidance?  I don't know.  Either way, today whatever the hurdle, it kind of burst and I've been at it like a fiend, but now realize this sucker's gonna have to be in parts...  I don't know how many...  but it's gonna be long and painful...  much like my first divorce.  ;)

I ask only for your patience and say if I whine too much or there's too much "warm and fuzzy", suck it up and indulge me...  or close this window, go YouTube some music that makes you happy, and come back another day when I haven't spent the day weeping while I type.  heheheh

So...  this past weekend was another quiet but very good weekend spent mostly on the sofa...  reading, working word puzzles, watching random movies, relaxing...  kind of sad, I know, but after 2 weeks of 2-a-days at boot camp on M/W/F's and kickball league on T/Th's, I was TRULY diggin' it!  :)  

And on chick-flick marathon movie Sunday, "Made of Honor" comes on.  Patrick Dempsey, Michelle Monaghan...  a reverse roll "My Best Friend's Wedding". 

Watching, I kept going over in my head something I've needed to purge for a couple of months - different scenes reminding me of particulars...  emotions, thoughts, special stuff - but it was something I hadn't yet been ready to put to paper...  something I'd put off looking at...  balked at dealing with...  for a few reasons, really... 

Before I knew all the details, I'd at first hoped the explosion that started and, as was later made clear, ended it all, would be brief in nature and things would return to normal naturally...  then when it was clear the explosion was far more complex than I'd realized and resolution wouldn't be quick nor simple in nature, I'd hoped given time I'd be able to address it and sort it out directly with the source...  whatever the case, then I'd be ready to blog it.  Finally, though, I simply realized it was going to stay raw for me no matter what and I just wasn't able or ready to corral my thoughts and emotions yet.  I'm not sure I am now, but I have to try to put it to bed or drive myself to distraction.

The movie brought me in and around all of this because the lead character, Dempsey, has a female best friend...  at one point describing her role in his life he says, essentially, that he can sleep with an army of girls but then he gets to "come home" to her and he'd never ruin that...  then, when his best friend spends 6 weeks abroad in Scotland, he tries spending time with various women doing the things he does with the best friend and everything, of course, falls flat...  the others just don't "get it"...

This was how I felt things were for me and Sparky.

You see, it essentially went like this...  October 2 years ago Sparky & I reconnected planning a high school reunion of sorts.  He's smart.  Charismatic.  Funny.  Talented.  Attractive.  Has "happy crinkles" at his eyes.  Loves his kids beyond reason and to distraction.  Takes care of them like he should and to his own detriment.  He's someone I deeply appreciated having on the other end of the phone. 

Within a month of the reunion, shit hit the fan with "5-Year" and me when I was hit in the face with a horrid shitty brick of 5's making, we broke things off permanently and forever...  and I was a wreck.  I...  me, who's not prone to falling apart...  me, who's been through more than one divorce and didn't feel any of them as keenly as I felt that...  I...  fell...  completely apart.

Sparky lived 3 hours away and up to then, we'd been in sporadic contact and the day things hit the fan with 5, I...  

Good Lord...  this is a lot harder than I thought...  

I called him and leaned on him with every ounce of my being.  When the shit-brick hit me, I was driving 4 1/2 hours alone to my mother's to stay with her (God help me!  LOL) while she recuperated from spinal surgery...  so there I am, driving alone for hours, at the holidays...  bawling my eyes out to the point of heaving...  and Sparky was the first and only person I thought of...  I couldn't tell you why now...  well...  maybe now I can...  but that's for later...  then and for a long time after, I couldn't tell you why.  It just was what it was.  I was crushed, devastated, and he was the only one I thought could make sense of things and tell me what to do.  And he did.  He talked me through that day, every time I called, talking me back from every ledge, patting my back and telling me I'd survive, patiently listening to me blubber and ask "Whyyyy?!" and just being there. And he was there the next day, and every day for the rest of the week I was with my mom that I needed him to be - shoring me up when stress or emotion with mom got too much...  explaining why boys are the way they are...  assuring me I'd live and I'd love...  sending random smiley faced texts just to say "I'm here" or others literally saying "How's it going?"...  and I lived through that first week.

Over the next few months while I spent weekends on my sofa crying uncontrollably, unable to sleep or eat, barely making it through my days...  and he was just there.  "5's done this"...  "Well you do that"...  "5's said this"...  "Well you say that"...  "I feel like I'm dying"...  "It's all good, you just have to remember this and that"...  continuing to listen and support and just be...  and so it went until I found I could stand alone again.

For the next year, we continued the sporadic contact, which usually involved him sending me a smiley at the precise moment I always seemed to need it the most, or a check-in at the exact moment I needed proof someone was out there and/or thinking of me...  and on my November birthday, almost a year after the shit hit, I invited all the people who had been SO instrumental in helping me survive after 5 to come have dinner with me so I could raise a toast to them and thank them utterly inadequately for being there for me...  including Sparky. 

He wasn't able to be there and I was terribly disappointed, but I didn't want to let the opportunity pass to tell him just exactly what he and his support and caring meant to me...  so I emailed him and told him (because I knew I'd bawl if I tried to call and saaaay it)... 

I know it's not officially a year til December but I've been doing a lot of reflecting the last month with my birthday coming up and the 'beginning of the end' that came with it...

There are a handful of people who have been instrumental in propping me up the last 12 months until I could breath again and I want to let each one know exactly how I feel...

You are one of the most important ones.

I knew nothing about you as a person before last year, but ****, you've come to occupy a very special place in my heart since then...  December I wanted to die...  this year I've actually learned to finally live in a way that's truer to me...  maybe I'd've made it without you but I have to say I don't know that I would've...   you've been a savior.  =)

You are an amazing man.  Smart, sensitive, funny, compassionate, passionate, loving, strong, supportive, self-aware and I appreciate each of those things in ways I may never properly express...

Tonight I wanted not to celebrate a birthday but rather to break bread with & raise toasts to the Friends who helped me make the intervening year such a happy, full & interesting one and if you were with me, I'd thank you for supporting, comforting, empathizing with, listening to, scolding, guiding, molding me, and just generally being there.  I'm thankful you're in my life...

Love
s.
 
Through the winter & early spring and into the summer, the random smiley faces and occasional contact went on and I started to spend time at Sparky's boat with him and his amazing son - at first with other friends, eventually just me...  until ultimately, every time Sparky'd come to town to see his son he'd make sure to mention I was welcome to come out and "hang"...  and I'd be sure to say I'd like that...  and then I made sure I did.  :)  And I fell more and more in love with the son and felt more and more like I'd found in Sparky possibly the truest relationship of any kind I'd ever had.  No bullshit, no games, no judging, no pretense.  It was warm and honest and open and comfortable...  we three spent time together and it was amazing for me, even in its simplicity...  eating, drinking, watching movies, talking, listening to music...  I felt something I'd never ever felt before in any kind of relationship...  a trust...  a comfort...  a belief in the complete and total safety I felt when I was with him and his son...

I enjoyed, kind of to the point of selfishness, bringing them "stuff" knowing Sparky's main focus was Little Man and travel for visitation didn't leave much wiggle room for "extras"...  new/different ABC libations for Sparky & me to play with, treats for Little Man, other stuff they couldn't indulge in often, even some mistletoe for the boat for Christmas I'd jokingly promised but which I knew'd been forgotten; mistletoe that was particularly lovely when hung with the festive lights & ornament Little Man had insisted be strung for me.  <3  I especially enjoyed making favored foods for them, making sure there was enough to send home with Sparky whose diet of icky frozen pot pies worried me...  and I took great pleasure in finding a book for Little Man for Christmas that my own son had loved at the same age (10)...

And Sparky reciprocated by screening movies he loved for me (the first of which made him laugh uncontrollably throughout its entirety to the degree that I made him promise he'd screen another for me that would do the same; it made me goofily happy inside hearing him giggle with the abandon of a child), creating cocktails for us to sample, taking us out on the lake in the boat, and generally being an attentive host.

It never mattered to me Sparky didn't have much...  that we spent pretty much all our time at a boat with only the barest amenities...  where wasn't important...  what wasn't important...  it was the who that was the draw...  and it didn't matter that he had so damned much baggage to deal with in the form of his ex's, his divorce, his battle to be with his kids...  it was all gone when we three were there hanging out on the boat...  it was a quiet, happy world for me and I was selfishly and deeply content...

Holy crap, THAT'S the word/feeling I was trying to find!!  Contentment!

I was deeply content just spending time with those two.  It was...  what was it...?  It was something I could see going on for years and years...  I could see Sparky finding the dream job he so desperately wanted to take him away from the hills of WV...  I could see Little Man going to live with his dad just as his dad talked and hoped and dreamed and planned for the entire time I've known him...  I could see getting an invitation to Little Man's graduation from high school... I could see going to visit them once Sparky was in the job of his dreams and Little Man was living with him... 

And I did what girls do...  I planned things in my head... 

Once I purged that last of the remnants of 5, I would have them over for dinner when Sparky was in to visit Little Man;  next time it was raining or crappy, we could go roller skating again on the free ticket I'd gotten as a "refund" from the accommodating counter girl at the skate center the time they'd made plans independent of "boat time" and Little Man and his date were pooped out and ready to go by the time I was able to get there...  once the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie came out in RedBox I'd take it out for all of us to pile in like puppies and watch with pour over butter popcorn I'd stock up on...

Hell, it was on-going...  they'd become a part, a very, very dear part of my life. 

Dear and loved.  The end.

To be continued...

Petting Zoo Horrors... or My Pet Peeves...

One of the many peeves I have and maybe the biggest...  folks who bitch about something but then do nothing to remedy it.  

I've mentioned that before when talking about my friends, 30 & 40...  unhappy and/or unsatisfying relationships but unending participation on their parts in the relationship with zero effort to change anything.

I can't wrap my brain around it, really...  but here are some of my favorites:

I have a friend.  Very young.  Beautiful.  Smart!  2 small kids.  GED.  No further schooling.  No money coming in.  Nothing of her own of value beyond the kids.  No pot to piss in, no window to throw it out of.  Complains ad nauseum about her lot in life.  I've steered her in the direction of vocational training she could complete in a relatively short amount of time and quickly improve her income potential, I've told her about the financial aid she'd undoubtedly qualify for, I've advised her on Valley Metro bus schedules for transportation, I've even offered to babysit.

One short-lived school effort until the previously easy babysitting scheduling got problematic for a short period and she quit school.  Since then?

Nothing.

She's too tired with the kids.  Or she doesn't have a ride.  Or the sky is blue, or it's Wednesday, or...  well...  you get the idea...  and the thing is, in her eyes, it's always something outside...  always some extraneous cause that keeps her from making anything of her life.  Not her lack of effort, not her lack of motivation or drive.

I have another friend, single for 4-5 years, dates men who're either jobless and looking for a ride or who're 5-10 years younger than she is (no, it's not 30) and who are Jersey Shore tanning bed, gym dwellling models with frat-boy maturity levels.  Either way she has "fun" but says she wants to find that one "normal" guy who she'll have life similarities with and who will share her likes/dislikes, activities and dreams, etc.... a guy she can make a life with...  but then she never changes the type of guy she accepts invitations from.  

She recently broke the mold when she met a "normal guy", very nice, antithesis of the high shine guidos she's been out with...  she talked about how smart he was, how well he treated her, how much fun they had when they were together, how he made it clear she was his priority by rearranging his personal plans whenever she told him she was available to go out, was generous with time and what money he had with her, complimentary of her, shared a good many of her interests and life experience, did small personal things, thoughtful things for her whenever they were together...  and bottom line, they clicked so well everyone saw it and commented... 

and she quit seeing him.

Whaaa?  She liked him, saw "potential", but never really let him "in" or shared herself with him to any depth...  evidently, he assumed she wasn't "in" to him and started to I guess "drift", so she decided it wasn't working and accepted a date with a "cook" at a local downtown "cafe" (bar) and found an excuse to drop him.  Brilliant.

Another friend has a long term marriage, 4 high achieving kids, a great job, travels extensively, has a beautiful home, great friends and a wonderful husband.  

She's miserable.  

Hates her life because despite all the good in her world, her husband essentially ignores her.  They are friendly when they interact but he otherwise doesn't seem to know she exists.  It leaves her angry and hurt and depressed and insecure and almost every conversation we have ends up coming down to how unhappy she is and has been.  She hasn't been to counseling because she doesn't feel like the problem is hers, they haven't been to joint counseling because she says the husband won't do it, but when I ask if she's insisted she says "I haven't asked because I know he won't."  Wait...  what?

In each case, there's dissatisfaction and unhappiness with life as it is, but no effort whatsoever to change it.  And in each case, I think it's fear that prevents change and has each "subject" fooling themselves into thinking it's everything around them preventing improvement...

I did that for a long time.  For probably the first 20 years of my adult life - I was depressed and everything else around me was crap.  It wasn't my fault I didn't go to college, I got married and had kids, I couldn't.  It wasn't my fault I was in a dead-end job.  It was a decent paying job so I shouldn't complain.  It wasn't my fault my life wasn't what I'd hoped or dreamed, I was too tired with the kids.  Or I didn't have a ride.  Or the sky was blue, or it was Wednesday, or...  well...  you get the idea...

It was fear.

The defining moment when life quit living me and I started living life with less fear?  When I "found religion".  Now I have believer and non-believer friends and loved ones and frankly, I fall in religion where I fall in politics...  I'm a centrist.  Uh huh, uh huh, I know, you'll say you can't be - you gotta be one or the other...  but that's really not the point to this so I'm not even going to address it...

The point is this...

I had a friend invite me to her "movie church".  And it fit.  I rolled in dressed in jeans and a tee, Starbucks in hand, and proceeded to hear a message that wasn't preachy but was instead geared to EXACTLY what I had going on in life in a PRACTICAL way...  I was greeted by folks who looked like me and were warm and inviting rather than judgmental over my dress or tongue stud or pregnant daughter...  the messages, whether I was a believer or not, were applicable to today's world and my life...  it just fit.

The first series I heard?  What would Jesus say to...  Rush Limbaugh, Paris Hilton, etc.  And it wasn't what I expected...  instead of uplifting conservative Limbaugh or lambasting bimbo Hilton...  it was about the tolerance Limbaugh should show and the compassion Hilton should be given.  Holy crap - wasn't ready for that!  LOL

And the music hit me too...  first "movie church" band song I heard?  Depeche Mode's Personal Jesus.  Great googly moogly, one of my all time favs...  TOTALLY not what I was prepared to hear.

So I was hooked.

And over 6 years later, I'm still there.  Maybe not every Sunday like I was for so long, but enough to still say "movie church" is my church.  :)

And the point to all THAT...

I realized from the things I was hearing each Sunday...  from the act of joining something that gave me practical messages on things actually happening in my life and therefore made me listen up...  was that I had to get up and get out and make things happen 'cause it wasn't going to without me.

So I did.  I told my daughter who was pregnant for the second time after I'd tried to support her and her first-born while she went to school that it was time for her to be a big girl and go live her big girl life; I told my husband - a truly great guy and one of the best friends I'd ever had to that point but someone I never should have married - it was time for us to go our separate ways (scary for me after 10 years together); I went to a temp agency and emailed every contact I could think of and landed a job I loved within a couple of weeks that led up a very good ladder; I went back to counseling to shore up my prior sessions so I didn't "back-slide"...  and I kept hitting up "movie church".

Now before anyone worries this is a bible thumping sermon to get ye to church, it's not.  It's simply to illustrate that I found something that galvanized me...  I found something that spoke to me...  and I got up and made changes to my life.  The life I was so desperately unhappy with.  The life that seemed to always have something bad going on interrupted by spurts of good.

And the point to all THAT...

It doesn't matter what moves you...  the important thing is you look for and find that thing that galvanizes you - counseling, sports, church, etc. - and know that hard as it is, you HAVE to make the actual effort to find reasons to DO instead of excuses not to, to physically get up off your butt, make your list and start checking things off as you do them...  and you have to know that it's very easy to be complacent and/or afraid but that when you are, it can literally come down to visualizing yourself taking that first little step, then another, and another, and another...

So in the weeks, months and now years since I first put one foot in front of the other, it's hard for me to understand when someone is dissatisfied or unhappy with something in their worlds, blame it on anything but themselves and won't do anything about it...

Because my universe since taking those beginner baby steps and learning to live, conversely always seems to have good going on, interrupted by only occasional spurts of bad.  And that's amazing.  :)

The Amazing Kreskin...

Communication.

Not a day in our lives we don't use it...  and despite a wealth of practice...

the majority of us suck at it!

Prime example...

A couple of months after our protracted break up, Navy, the 5 year, got really pissed at me...  the cause?  The conclusion of our protracted break up saw him moving out of the home we'd shared for 4 1/2 of 5 years, telling me he didn't know what he wanted and saying he just needed more time to figure things out.

More time than the two plus months he'd already been hemming and hawing...  more time on top of the SIX months prior to that he'd evidently already been "thinking about it"... 

At which point I found myself explaining it was utterly selfish, self-centered, and absolutely not ok to keep me on hold until he could "figure out what he wanted" and that the time had come to essentially shit or get off the pot...

To which he replied, and I quote, "Ok.  We are officially and permanently broken up then." (funny how thing like that burn into your brain for eternity, huh?)

Sooo...  a few weeks later, with Navy still in contact and no lasting nastiness between us once the breakup dam had broken, I started going out with a fellow who's the brother of a friend...

A couple of weeks later, the brother and I are out and Navy texts...  my response evidently makes clear I'm distracted or not giving my undivided attention so Navy asks if I'm out with someone...

"Yes," I said, "what're you doing?"...

Silence...

Until the next day...

At which point he totally whigs out, proceeding, with much wailing and gnashing of teeth, to tell me he didn't think we were really broken up...

Flaming bat-balls, Batman, are you SERIOUS?!

But...  um...  but you saaaid... "We are officially and permanently broken up."

"Yeauh, but I thought were we were still exclusive since we were doing stuff..."

Whaa...?!  We don't talk on the phone, we don't go out to movies or dinners, we don't visit each other's homes...  we do nothing together outside what we do together with our families (our folks are old family friends).  WHAT, in the name of all that's holy, would give you the idea that we are anything other than exactly what you said?!

"Well, because I figured you knew I didn't really mean it."

Now I know there was more than one issue there - the biggest being that Navy-dog just didn't want any other dogs peeing on his tree so he freaked a little when one came sniffing...

But the more problematic issue - encountered not just with partners but with kids, friends, co-workers, etc. - is this...  why are we SO often sure that the people around us can "tell" what we mean, what we're thinking, what our intentions are?  Why are we so positive of that in the face of so much misunderstanding?!

Lord knows I've been guilty of it and still am from time to time...  but after my previously blogged about trip to the bottom I was in some excellent talk therapy/counseling and one of the topics we of course covered was communication...

I came from the school of we've-known/been-together-a-long-time-and-shared-some-pretty-deep-shit, why should I have to spell things out?  

Doc Edgar's position:  Because if you don't, they simply won't know because they are not mind readers, not clairvoyant...  the end.

=-/

Now if you know me, you know I argued mightily against this concept with the theory that if, for instance, you've known me for 30 years, been in more trouble with me than Butch & Sundance got into together, we've held each other's hands through the best and worst life has to offer...  well then you damned well know who I am and how I think.  Unless you're a moron.  In which case, I'd've cut you loose long before the 30 year mark.  Right?

But in the end, Doc E prevailed...  mostly because I eventually realized how often I don't aaaaactually read minds very well myself...  ;)

So I learned to tell the people in my circle the things, however elementary, I want to be sure they know/understand...

And here's where I run into my first problem...

If I've learned to tell people what I need them to know, but they haven't learned that same thing, they often don't recognize what I'm doing so there's still an issue...

"I have to go pick up XYZ, since we're supposed to be at your mom's in 45 and this will take me about an hour and a half, why don't I meet you there?"

"No, no, I'll wait so we can go together, it won't take that long."

"Ok, but I really think it'll be about an hour and a half."

"I'll wait."

"Ok."

An hour and a half later I'm back...  and guess what?

The other party's pissed because it didn't take the 45 minutes they thought it should despite the fact I saaaaaaid...

And then argument ensues because they didn't "hear" me...  they listened, but didn't hear.

Communication.

A secondary problem with this basic concept comes in because of what I think's the difference between men and women...

When I tell the women in my circle the things I want to make sure I'm clear about, they're appreciative and often reciprocate with equally open communication and very little ambiguity and everyone's pretty happy.  Win, win.

When I tell the men in my circle the things I want to make sure I'm clear about, they have often acknowledged absently and then when something goes wrong or is misunderstood... we find out they didn't really listen, understand, or ask questions...  or they were just convinced I was wrong...  and they get defensive and/or angry.

Wait...

What?

Is it the genetic code we're all hard-wired with?  Do women respond to me being clear and open because we are sewing-circle talkers, fixers... we "hear" and solve the problems of the world verbally because we're wired that way and throughout history have moved in social, reciprocally supportive groups?  

While men, with their autonomous caveman/warrior genetic codes are predisposed to simply beat a problem into submission, wasting very little thought or verbiage on it aside from some grunts of exertion...?  Do they respond in the vaguest of ways because they are either unable or unwilling to "hear"?

And when there's a breakdown, why does the communication not then kick in so the parties can sort through the muck...?  More mind reading?

Regardless, I slowly unlearned communication during my 5 years with Navy...  plodding through the days and weeks learning to again bottle up the things I thought or felt because when I was open and communicated, even about the simplest things, there always seemed to be a criticism or put down when an issue arose...  criticisms and negativity, usually quickly followed by admonitions that I should've known...  then vicious arguments to drive the point home, laying "fault" squarely on my doorstep to the point that even I began to believe I was the problem because I didn't "just know"...

Aversion therapy, isn't that what they call it?

Lemme tell ya, it worked...  recently I had a small snafu where communication got tangled, things didn't go as planned, there was momentary unhappiness and in response I felt myself - instead of communicating to untangle - automatically backing away, shutting down & closing up like a steel door was swinging shut...  it felt like a physical struggle to keep it from happening...

Aversion therapy to communication:  the people you care for or love tell you you're wrong often enough and/or give you enough negative response about the things you communicate, you quit communicating...  and in Navy's case, the other party wasn't communicating but expected me to "know" anyway and when I didn't...  well...

Anyway...  recognizing these things, and recognizing that I've unlearned what I knew about it, I've been trying to learn to communicate again over the last couple of years since we parted, however simple the subject...  

And it's slow...  and sometimes simple misunderstandings happen...

And sometimes, the aversion therapy genre makes an appearance and I am momentarily crippled and I find myself clamming up tighter than a mashed bull's ass...

But I have to communicate...

However simple...

Whatever the reaction when it breaks down...

And I know I have to because I know that even if communication doesn't always flow in, it's up to me to make the effort to make it flow out  and not expect those in my universe to be mind readers or clairvoyants... 

I'll Take Lies for a Thousand, Alex...

Things suck a little mentally lately...

Relationships and romance are on my mind more than at any other time in my life, I can't decide if it's a natural by-product of being single or just a natural progression of self-awareness that comes with age and that would be what it is regardless of my relationship status, and I can't seem to find an answer to the puzzle...

Either way... 

I have two friends, one on each end of the relationship meter, who've really tweaked my pique...

The first is in her 30's, married once and divorced, young son, career, etc.  She's a pretty girl and has an extremely outgoing personality.  She's "chrome"...  high maintenance, flash, likes nice things, not big on introspection and surprisingly (to me, anyway) comes across as somewhat insecure and in need of lots of reassurance.

The other is in her 40's, married almost 20-some years, three almost adult children, career, etc.  She's a pretty woman and is subdued in her personality.  She's low maintenance, "experienced", not easily ruffled, introspective and intuitive, needs reassurances but also bears a confidence borne of experience.

And despite the different perspectives, both have views of relationships that shock the ever livin' crap outta me...

Like every girl I know, they want lasting love with a sensitive, smart, funny man.

But then...

The 30-ish friend tends towards dismissive, negative objectification (which, holy shit, a teeny sliver of me loves if for no other reason than its rarity) of men who run approximately a decade younger than she does.

The 40-ish friend loves the man she's spent more than half her life with, but tends towards an overall neutral or negative attitude towards him.

30 uses young men like tissues, thinking nothing of "having a good time and then cutting him loose".

40 is content in her life and family but is as happy without hubby around as with, focusing instead on caring for extraneous kids and friends.

Both wonder why they can't achieve happy in their relationships.

Frankly, both perspectives "feel" very lonely when I imagine them and I wonder why anyone would chose to live either way, bemoan it, and not do something to change it.  Introspection.  Work.  Put in some effort.

I mean, if you're negative in your thoughts and actions towards your partner, you're doomed to failure - I can't see any way around that.  Am I just naive to think that if you take some time and think back to how you felt when things were new, to the things that attracted you to each other, that you can grab 'hold of that feeling and take steps towards making things better?  Am I naive to think that give nice, get nice is the answer?  I don't know...

Anyway, both believe in the "what he doesn't know won't hurt him" philosophy if the topic is something that, of course, would get a spouse/s.o. in trouble with their partner.

And herein lies my problem.

A while back I found myself in a position with the fellow I was seeing at the time that, in my opinion, was something I had to tell him about.  It was likely to create an "issue" but I felt like I should be honest.

You see, I spent my young life as a liar of the first magnitude (a talent my mother says I inherited from my dad  LOL) and would lie about even the simplest things.  Problem was, I always seemed to get caught/tripped up/etc. and by my late teens/early 20's, realized it was causing me FAR more problem than if I just laid the truth out.  Cause and effect as I try to explain to my son.  So I was lucky to learn to suck it up, do the right thing and take it on the chin.  Now don't get me wrong - the urge is always there...  who doesn't want to avoid upset/hurt if it's possible?  It was just that it left me feeling horrible on the inside and it wasn't worth it to me (which is pretty selfish in and of itself).

So...  as girls will do, I polled a handful of my girlfriends looking for the support to spill my guts...

I talked it over with 30 and she immediately said "Lie.", and after more conversation wherein I explained more fully how it affected me to lie, she said "I don't care.  Lie.  He doesn't need to know, to hell with him, it's your life, Honey, who cares what he thinks."

Hmmh.

Ok.  Moving on.

I told 40.  Her response was "Don't tell him.", and after conversation reiterated "Don't tell him, no need to make him mad or hurt his feelings; he'll never find out.", and after more conversation  me explaining how it affected me, she said "Well, maybe you're right but I still wouldn't tell him. I've been through that and it wasn't worth it."

And in the end, none of the girlfriends I talked to were in favor of honesty.

Double hmmh.

Now...  in case you're wondering...  I told him.

I decided 25 years ago I'd never live my life as a liar again to the extent I could avoid it - and a lie by omission is still a lie - and I just can't imagine that living a life with someone you can't be honest with would be much of a life in terms of connecting.  Especially if it's really big, important stuff...  and if you're already covering up the little shit...  well...  you know?

BUT...  it really put a pall over the idea of what relationships should be as a whole for me.  It explained a lot to me as to why I've been lied to so many times over the years...  to avoid hurting my feelings, to avoid making me mad...  and more than that...  to save the liar the drama.  And it made me wonder if my expectations are unrealistic.

Can I ever expect a lover or significant other to be totally honest with me when the chips are falling or are down?  Can I expect them to be brutally honest even if it's going to hurt my feelings, make me furious or cut me to the bone?

I would hope so because if I know something I can deal with it and let go...  if I'm lied to, there are questions and doubts and it's difficult to deal with and let go...  see??

And the thing is...  if you can't be honest with a partner about the little stuff or about the bad stuff... what do you really have with them?  There is no intimacy because to be honest is to be intimate.  And maybe that's why 30 and 40 have the negative, distant outlook on their partners that they do?

I don't know.  I just know that in my universe, selfishly, it makes ME feel better inside when I choose not to bullshit, lie, dissemble or omit and I just can't believe there aren't others like me out there...