want wanting wanted

Oh I try, I do. I try not to want. I try not to give in to the delicious wanting of skin, of lips. I try not to want attention. Alas! I should better try not to breathe.

I try to direct my desires, to those for whom it is appropriate, warrented, motivated. These rules narrow my options significantly. Again, I fail at self control, wanting what I cannot have, wishing for what will never be, for what shouldn't be. Shouldn't. It shouldn't work and indeed it shall not.

Over, done, end of story, yes? Then stop, by G-d, stop yourself. Change your mind, for once for good and get on with it! Get on with living with life... yes yes yes, it's not so interesting over here where all the people are made of wood and going through the motions like an Old Navy mannequin. That won't help you with your looking on and such.

No, first do your homework. Like work there's an inbox full of names you don't know and links leading you through the process with your hands firmly tied behind your back. This guided communication provides safety in anonymity, because as we all know, I am much more comfortable being naked and exposed online above all. No, this way they don't know the extent of oddness peering back at them through the screen. And they won't remember me at all when I close the match, saying "distance too great", "I don't feel chemistry" or quite simply "other". I won't think less of them as they line up to tell me: no, no, no.

Oh! That's it! This is a lesson in No. Must be the year for NOT getting what I want. Perhaps I've had it easy up until now, unappreciative of how easily a wanton woman falls into my lap and writhes so rigorously. I'm a big fan of the rigor, but only when not accompanied by necrosis. Stiffening, in general, denoting an excitement, a presence, a towering "hello! I'm here" and green flag waving.

I don't consider the baggage, because of my own activities it is less clear. I have forgotten already the crazed, cuisine-laced relapse that follows a fine fucking. I missed the opportunity to truly examine this behavior before. I almost forgot the wincing pinch, the pressing down and subtle force required to get me where I need to go. I forgot I was ashamed. I forgot I was twisted and broken and in need of repair.

What shall I do if I should find a fair face to fall in love with? Shall I unplug my psyche and pretend that it works? Shall I uncover the lumps and bumps beneath the super-hero cape? Somewhere inbetween all-important and essentially ignorable I'll sit, a seven-year-old in a white t-shirt tank top not knowing male from female but knowing force and fear.

I can take my history with me, carry it like a cross and let it sink me to the bottom of the river. I could let it sink, to settle in the muck, but I'll have to remember this bend of the river and point to it on my way. Remember to forget the name of Amalek. Never forget how you were hurt. Now forget about it so that it won't keep you down.

I am the superbowl quarterback who must have a short memory. I am the historian who knows how it played out before. All the knowledge. None of the fear. May this be Your will.

Note to Self

Note to self... she's just not that into you, so start thinking of something else. I know you've tried this before. It's becoming so very necessary. Think!

Note to self: focusing on Hebrew is not easy. Try lubing up the grey matter with a little grain alcohol next time.

Self of note: You get taller every time you work out at the gym. And those oblique exercises make your cramps feel like they're going all the way around your gut. Does that mean they're working?

Note to self: Stop farting around and do something. Waiting sucks.

Selfish note: Must find snuggling. Stat.

The Great Ship

I can't imagine being on Noah's Ark. I read the exact dimensions every year, and I marvel at a G-d that understands the need for a multi-level, extra water-proofed vessel. I marvel at the direction communication that breaks down instructions like an IKEA manual.

I can imagine being on a giant ship... all of the people on it being subject to the same tides and waves. I imagine this great ship with all my friends, all the people I care about. Sometimes I'm right there next to them, as they're blowing chunks over the side of the boat. Sometimes they're in the front and I'm in the back and we're all being tossed around, just dealing with the deck furniture flying around.

I talk to my friends, all the time. I think that living alone may have exacerbated this situation. I know I used to do it before, sometimes actually speaking out loud, in a sudden burst of emotion and startling myself back to reality. When I was perpetually partnered, I would crave time alone just so I could have these sort of internal conversations (that occassionally crept external). Now I have the time I want, and I relish it. And, I talk outloud sometimes.

The perspective from the outside of my life looks way more fantastic than it is. I guess that's normal. What to me is wandering aimlessly on my Vespa is to someone else a mini-adventure. So what if I'm freezing or frustrated by my inability to get to class on time, I'm still cruising around on Awesome... and I'm free.

I am critical of my relative success. Watching and re-meeting my friends on Facebook makes me a little nutty about success. I want to be speaking Hebrew. I want to be beautifully, ridiculously skinny and gorgeous. I want to be nicer, and not scare people away with my fire. Calculations of my success look something like this: (workout*2) + martial arts(3-1) + late night eating+95% - no Hebrew*18 + socializing*1 + services*2 + purring cat. It really doesn't look that much worse from the inside... The truth is, my life is good. I've got money stress, and work stress, and I could use some physical affection, but I don't want to give up my life or my freedoms. The truth is, love and affection is too important to be tossing it around randomly around people I care about. Maybe this is why gay men just cruise and screw anonymously. I don't want to break anyone's heart, and I don't want to get involved. I just want to smell and kiss a beautiful woman. Periodically. Potentially randomly.

Maybe I could run into her on the lower deck, after the ship has stopped rolling around in the storm.