what are my dreams telling me

I keep dreaming about sex: sex with the wrong people.

On the surface I’d say that my libido has reawakened.

But what about the wrong people bit?

Is it lack of options? Lack of imagination?

After what I had and what I lost in terms of a relationship, I’m not really interested in casual sex.

I kind of gave that a go early on – phone sex with an old lover – it didn’t do it for me.

I’ve had several offers (one that I seriously considered), but I’ve declined.

I think about waking up with someone in my tiny home and I can’t imagine it.

Then I try to imagine waking up in someone else’s home and that’s just ridiculous. I haven’t woken up in someone else’s bed since he and I moved in together years ago.

This is a tricky spot to find myself in at 52.

Do I want a relationship right now? Am I wishing that I had a boyfriend or a girlfriend? Casual sex – no strings attached? Long distance lover? One night stand?

I’m thoroughly enjoying being alone, having complete freedom and independence; I like being able to do whatever I want whenever I want.

I love the time that I am spending with friends – something I lost in the last 7 years. The friends that I hung out with then are the friends that were also his.

And many of those friends turned out to be not-friends.

I missed out on a lot of other amazing people – people who are real friends.

I know that’s what often occurs in a relationship, so I’m making up for it now.

I’m really happy and am in no rush whatsoever to be “in partnership.”

God how that expression makes me cringe – I hate the lack of articles in today’s language.

I can’t really see casual sex with anyone that I know (although my dreams are telling me something else.)

But there seem to be stirrings.

My devastated heart is healing.

when is it a song

There’s a woman in town who I think is totally cool.

She seems like she’s pretty good at most things and she’s funny and kind and smart and beautiful and I think she’s got her shit together way more than I do which I always admire in a person.

Anyway, besides all of that other stuff she is also a song writer and probably a really good one at that.

We were talking about it one day and she said, “A song doesn’t become a song until it becomes somebody’s song.”

If it doesn’t resonate with someone, then it’s just words and ink blots.

Hot damn, did that resonate with me.

I realized that it’s the same for me with my writing. It’s why a blog is so satisfying – much more so than tackling  the book that I am avoiding writing.

I write something, I hit publish, and then I get comments, or at least a couple of “likes” on Facebook, and I feel like I’ve written something of quality.

Please don’t burst my bubble.

It sustains me as a writer to feel like I am on the right track when I put my words out there in the world.

And the human connection is what separates a journal-er from a writer. The writer is looking for a response – preferably a positive one, but not necessarily.

For example: “Why the fuck do you pee on the ground?” is just as important to me as “I too, like to pee on the ground.”

The feeling of finding common ground with another person – whether I know them or not – and even if it’s just for a brief moment – is intoxicating.

It makes me feel what the Buddhists describe as one soul.

More importantly, it makes me feel like less of a nut job.

So, thank you to ______ for putting words to my experience as a scribe.

You really are so cool.

you are mighty white

*at this time of year I change colors in the sun faster and more drastically than others so my skin color becomes a frequent topic of conversation. Someone thought I was Native American. I’m Italian – I get dark.

With that said:

I have a friend who helps me at work.

She’s three.

One of her parents is white and one is black; she is a lovely combination of the two.

We were cracking eggs together today, and she looked down at my hands then looked up at me, “Sally, you are mighty white.”

She’s three.

 

 

helping others

back story:

Sometime last fall, in the immediate aftermath of the implosion, I was running errands  and entered a store where a woman who I know works.

*important note: I haven’t seen her in a few years so had no idea that I would see her there.

I don’t know her well, but we’ve had a couple of conversations that involved our hearts and I’ve always enjoyed her.

Anyway, she asked “How are you?” and I lost my shit, and so she closed the store for an hour and sat and listened and offered love.

She was such a gift.

I haven’t seen her since but I’ve thought of her kindness and generosity a million times.

yesterday:

She was in town and came into the cafe to say hello. She told me that she’d been having a really rough day recently and was crying and driving and I crossed the road in front of her.

She said that seeing me gave her strength, made her smile through her tears.

I took it that she meant that I was an inspiration.

But today a friend shared a slightly different perspective:

“She’s just glad that her life isn’t the shitshow that yours has been.”

Oh. Glad I could help.