Pronouns

So I'm on a date and we're talking about stuff. In the course of regular conversation I tell her about when I bought my car or moved into my apartment. And those are the phrases I use: "I bought my car..." and "I moved into my apartment..."

But it wasn't me who did these things, but us-- me and SnarkEx. In most other contexts, I would have said, "We bought the car..." and "We moved into this place..." But I don't want to keep referring to my marriage on my second date, so I just fudge the pronouns a little. It feels weird, but then again, there are a lot of things that feel weird when you go through a divorce.

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Speaking of the second date, it was a huge success, but not for the reasons I'd hoped for. I had a good time, and she must have, too, because she suggested a third date.

But more importantly, spending time with her, getting to know her a little more, has burst my bubble of huge expectations. I've realized that she's not perfect. This may be a weird thing to consider a "success," but I don't like her quite as much as I did before the date. That's not to say I don't like her, just that I'm not as obsessed with the mythical person I thought she was after our first date. This has brought me back down to Earth, and all my anxiety has dissipated.

I'm okay with taking things slower now. (At least for the moment.)

Uncertainty

I didn't want to blog today. I really didn't. I know I've been blogging like a fiend lately and I thought I could go one day without running to my blog like it's a security blanket. Since I've started "dating" again I was hoping my divorce issues would start to fade away and I wouldn't need this blog so much. Things are turning around. I'm getting on with my life.

Only I'm not. I started taking antidepressants two weeks ago, and it coincided with a lot of good new developments in my life. So it's impossible to know whether they're having any effect or not. They're not supposed to work this soon. But I am having side effects, the most obvious one being a pain in my abdomen that seems to be getting worse. My doctor advised me to stop taking them. So before the pills have even had a chance to work, I'm stopping them.

I've also been sleeping like crap and not eating much. (My weight is at an all-time low on my current bathroom scale. My body looks great-- for an old man.) I'm exhausted most of the time from a lack of sleep. I'm nervous and anxious a lot of the time. I don't know if these things are a side effect of the pills or just because I'm embroiled in a possible new relationship.

I'm afraid I'm not enjoying this "possible new relationship" very much. I imagine normal people have no problem going five days between the first and second date. They can relax and simply enjoy the (slow) process of getting to know someone new. I am not normal people.

There are too many mysteries surrounding TGTBT, and having to wait five days (or longer) to address them is killing me. Or she's just not giving me enough feedback to work with in the meantime. The feedback she is giving me is very positive and encouraging-- there's just not enough of it. Perhaps I'm just too clingy too early. (If I didn't like her so much, I probably wouldn't be stressing over this. Ironically, if I were less interested in her, I'd probably have a better chance at a normal relationship.) Whatever it is, I'm driving myself crazy with speculation. Is she dating other guys? Will she always be so stingy with communication, or is she just taking things slow? There are a million different scenarios that pass through my head-- some terrify me and some exhilarate me. But it's all just a guessing game. I hate uncertainty.

I'm hoping that the more I get to know her, the less my insecurities will torment me. With every new relationship, there is some threshold that I cross over where I'm no longer nervous about it; no longer in fear of it ending abruptly. I need to get it off the ground. In most of my relationships that has been very early on. I don't know if I'm capable of going slow, and that inability may doom this thing with TGTBT before it even starts.

I'm sure it would be easy to conclude from my remarks that I'm just not ready to date yet. But these are the same kinds of things I go through, more or less, whenever I start a relationship. If I'm not ready to date now, then I've never been ready. On the other hand, maybe my insecurities are heightened after having my wife leave me. But if that's the case, wouldn't the best solution be to get back on that horse as soon as possible? How will I feel more confident in a year than I do right now? Am I rationalizing? Probably.

Meanwhile, I feel bad about Homebuyer Girl. She sent me an email yesterday and I couldn't figure out how to let her know I just want to be friends. So I wrote her back, and in the course of the email I casually mentioned that I've started dating someone. Perhaps I am projecting way too much, but I hope she doesn't take it nearly as hard as I took the TG thing. Because I've been there, and I know how much it sucks.

I guess it's not enough that I stress about my own (potential) rejections, now I'm stressing about other people's. Is that empathy or just a rejection obsession?

Faith

Part Six of My Mini-Series: Discussions on Eat, Pray, Love.

I really like Gilbert's description of faith:

If faith were rational, it wouldn't be-- by definition-- faith. Faith is a belief in what you cannot see or prove or touch. Faith is walking face-first and full-speed into the dark. If we truly knew all the answers in advance as to the meaning of life and the nature of God and the destiny of our souls, our belief would not be a leap of faith and it would not be a courageous act of humanity; it would just be... a prudence insurance policy.

This is a characterization of faith that I can live with, although it still doesn't mean that I'm very good at actually having faith. And I don't just mean faith in God. I need to have more faith in life.

When things don't go exactly as I have planned them out in my head, I panic. I overreact. This happens constantly in my life, on a large and small scale. Someone doesn't respond to my email and I'm sure it means they don't like me anymore. I lose a few points in a tennis match and I scream in frustration. I'm late to get somewhere so I'm irritated at everyone else on the road. I go a year or two without a date and think that no one will ever love me.

But these things usually work out. People do respond to my email and they still like me. After my tantrum, I end up winning the tennis match. When I think I'm going to be late, I'm either on time or the person I was meeting is late, too. Or I'm a few minutes late-- it's not a big deal. Eventually, I find someone to love me again. It all works out. All my whining, bellyaching, and tantrums were for nothing.

Things have always worked out for me, so why can't I have faith that they will in the future? Why do I have such fear and angst when I walk "full-speed into the dark," as Gilbert says? Faith is knowing that there will be happiness for me again.

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It was during a wrestling match in high school that I remember first experiencing what I call my "pessimistic persistence." In the first minute of a big match in the state tournament, my opponent took me down and rode me hard. I felt so immobilized by him that I started to get down on myself. "He's too good," I thought. But I didn't give up. I kept plugging away, trying different moves to get away from him. Suddenly I hit a five-point move and my confidence came back to me like a ray of sunlight moving out from behind some clouds. I ended up routing him in a technical fall, 17-2.

I've repeated this pattern of pessimistic persistence throughout my life. I tell myself, "I suck...I suck...I suck...I'm great!" I may get down on myself, but I never give up and eventually things work out for the best. Or at least they work out the way they were supposed to.

When I add up all the good and bad that's happened in my life, I consider myself extremely lucky. As much as I whine, I do feel that I've led a charmed life. At yet I always feel like my luck is about to run out.

Even now, I'm fighting a panicky feeling that the possible "good thing" with TGTBT will end at any moment. Besides the fact that I have no rational reason to believe this, even if it does end, I should be confident that something else will come along. One disappointment always paves the way for the next success.

It will all work out the way it's supposed to. I just wish I didn't spend so much time and energy fretting over it. I wish I had more faith in life.

Winning Streak

It's been about a week and a half since I finally broke down and started taking antidepressants.

Since that time I've met two women who appear interested in me and won two tennis matches I had no business winning.

Those must be some magic pills.

The big news is that my date on Saturday night with TGTBT exceeded my ridiculously high expectations. We talked for four hours and plan to see each other again soon. I don't want to write too much about it here, because I'm still superstitious about jinxing anything, and I'm trying so very hard to take things slow. But it feels like I'm on the verge of something good.

Just for the sake of worrying, I wonder whether I'm ready to start dating someone, but my sister-in-law assured me that I am. (But she doesn't think I'm ready to get married again. Haha.) It's been almost a year since SnarkEx moved out, and she's really not on my mind much these days. After the date on Saturday, I went home with that giddy feeling you get after you start seeing someone, and for the first time I thought, "Being divorced is awesome!"

Then on Sunday afternoon I met with Homebuyer Girl for coffee, and we talked for over 1.5 hours. She's very easy to talk to and I really enjoy her company, but I don't want to date her. This decision is made much easier by the fact that I'm interested in TGTBT. It brings up the kind of dilemma that I'm not used to. I don't want to lead her on. She told me that she hadn't been sleeping well lately, and I thought of how I didn't sleep well when I was obsessed with TG. I know this is unlikely, but I really hope I'm not her TG. So how do I let her know that I just want to be friends without sounding presumptuous? I thought of telling her about TGTBT-- that I just started dating someone. But for some reason I couldn't bring myself to do it. I don't know why.

But if that's the toughest thing I have to deal with right now, I'll gladly take it.

Last night I had a repeat performance of my tennis victory last Sunday. I played someone much better than me, who I've never come close to beating in three tries, and after a slow start I outlasted him, 2-6, 6-3, 6-4. I was lucky in that he had played in a tournament over the weekend, and our match was his fifth of the weekend. He didn't have as much power as he usually does, and I was able to run him down.

I believe in luck, but I also believe that you have to take advantage of it. Despite his bad game, I still had to play pretty great to beat him. (He's that much better than me.) And the match did come down to the wire: he was up 4-3 in the third set and I had to win some pretty impressive points to take the match. The kind of points where I thrust my fist in the air and shake it in triumph, while trying not to be too dickish about it.

So things are looking up.

Snarkbutt Meditated

Part Five of My Mini-Series: Discussions on Eat, Pray, Love.

Gilbert is now on to India, where she's staying at an ashram and engaging in spiritual pursuits. I thought this part of the book might be a letdown, since she's starting to get into more of the God talk, but it's not.

She's still the same neurotic, insightful, lovable character she's been throughout the book. Even when she's discussing the nuts and bolts of different Buddhist meditative practices, she makes it palatable to a cynic like me.

In fact, she writes about how she struggles with meditation, because she can't turn off her mind. She spends hours arguing with her mind, trying to get out of her head. That's exactly what I struggle with, so she's inspiring me to think about taking up mediation. If I can use it to control my mind better, that would be a wonderful thing.

I'm still in the "thinking about it" stage. I'm really good at thinking about things.

Another Missed Message

Thursday I was freaking out because a woman who seemed too good to be true had not responded to my request that we meet.

By Friday morning she still hadn't responded, so I decided to take some action. There was one question from her last email that I hadn't answered, and I wondered if it was important to her, so I sent her another email answering that question. I prefaced it with, "I hope I didn't scare you off in my last message by suggesting that we meet..."

Five minutes later she responded: I never got your message! But I do want to meet...

Sonofabitch! Another case of a message lost in cyberspace. How many times have I agonized or assumed the worst because I never got a response, and all that time the messages were never delivered? How does that happen, anyway? It is spam filters gone mad with power?

I'm very glad that I took the chance and sent her that second email. Part of me thought it was too stalkerish, but there was another stronger, hopeful (and horny) part of me that couldn't give up yet. She seemed so into me with her previous messages, it didn't make sense that she would just suddenly drop me like that. In the end, I just thought, "What do I have to lose?" So I sent her the second message.

We have a date tonight.

I've been trying to figure out what it is about this woman that reminds me of my past two relationships, both of which also started online. And here it is: You know how people talk about wild animals, and how they're just afraid of you as you are of them? The vibe I get from this new woman-- the same vibe I got from GF #3 and SnarkEx-- is that she wants to like me. She wants this to work out as much as I do. She's not looking for reasons to weed me out, like during a job interview. So that should put me at ease.

I'm trying my damndest to keep this in perspective. It's only a first date. But I'm failing miserably. There's no way tonight can live up to its expectations.

Most Common Phrases

The other day I wrote about how many times the phrase "I'm too old" has appeared on this blog. I was surprised that it had only appeared six times (to that point.)

That got me to thinking about what other phrases I use a lot, and which one wins the "most common phrase" award.

There were only four common phrases I could think of:

• Then she left me
  
• So I've got that going for me
  
• I'm still angry
  
• I'm too old
  

And the numbers of entries with each phrase were surprisingly low:

• I'm too old: 7
• So I've got that going for me: 6
• Then she left me: 3
• I'm still angry: 2

If I leave off the "then" from "she left me," I get a new champion:

1. She left me: 16
2. I'm too old: 7
3. So I've got that going for me: 6
4. still angry: 3

But that's still surprisingly low (out of a total 187 posts.) So I did the same thing for individual words. Here's the number of posts in which each of these words appears at least once:

divorced: 77 (divorce: 57)
tennis: 67
love: 55
married: 41
SnarkEx: 36
dating: 34
family: 34
sleep: 30
depressed: 23
lonely: 20
angry: 18 (anger: 12)
loser: 16
SnarKitty: 14
crazy: 11

These are just the words/phrases that occurred to me. Can anyone think of other candidates they'd like me to check?

Here's an arty word cloud of my blog, courtesy of Wordle.

That Sinking Feeling

So I've been obsessing about a new girl who did not exist in my world a week ago. She burst onto the scene on Sunday night and has taken up residence in my obsession hole.

We've exchanged six messages so far, some short and some long. Her messages have been very encouraging, and let's not forget that she's the one who initiated the contact. So why am I getting that sinking feeling that I get when I fear I've been rejected?

Yesterday I sent her a long message, answering the host of questions she asked me in her first long message. At the end of it, I asked if she wanted to meet for lunch. She hasn't responded (yet.) I could very well be freaking out for nothing, but this is the first time in three days there wasn't a message waiting for me when I came to work in the morning. Since we started corresponding, she's always sent a message, even if it was just, "I'm really busy, but I'll respond soon." This morning there was nothing.

So I'm trying to figure out what I might have done/said to turn her off. But the real crime is that I let my imagination get ahead of myself again. The pattern of our interaction so far reminded me of the last two relationships I started online, and so I was looking at this as the beginning of something. And it was exciting.

If it this is where it ends, after my first long message to her, that will seriously suck. A week ago I was content (if not overjoyed) that my life was getting better, and then my expectations skyrocketed with the possibility that I might have a new relationship. Now I'm facing another crash.

Three Women

I have the potential to meet with three different women this weekend: one who just wants to be friends (TG), one who I just want to be friends with (Homebuyer), and one who, hopefully, will be just right (TBA).

But I've said too much already.

Tuesday was the last night of the home buying seminar, and afterward, as I said goodbye to Homebuyer Girl, she asked if she would see me at any other open houses. (We ran into each other at an open house in Sunday.) I could tell that she wanted me to make some sort of move, so I suggested that we get together some time to talk about houses. She enthusiastically agreed, so we exchanged email addresses. I'm not interested in dating her, and I hope I'm not leading her on. But it seemed silly to let a potential friendship die because of that.

Many times I've been at the bottom of the infatuation chain: I like a girl, she likes someone else, who likes someone else, etc. This time I happen to be in the middle of one (if my suspicions are correct. Maybe I'm being presumptuous and HB girl has no interest in me.) I don't know if there's any way I can just come out and say "I just want to be friends" without coming across like a dick, but I don't want to give her any false hope, either.

After all this, I will probably end up having no plans with any women.

What's Your Word?

Part Four of My Mini-Series: Discussions on Eat, Pray, Love.

Gilbert has a conversation with an Italian guy who says that every city has its own word. In Rome, for example, the word is SEX. Every Roman goes about their day thinking of nothing but sex. It is what drives every action-- it permeates the entire city.

Not only does every city have its own word, but so does each person. So Gilbert starts thinking about her own word. One word that best sums up her essence. She decides that MARRIAGE and FAMILY are definitely out, since her divorce. She thinks it might be PLEASURE, at least while she's in Italy, but she's not sure if that's the best fit. She decides to keep thinking about it.

I've thought about it, and I think my word might be OBSESSED. There is always something I need to pour all my energy into. I have a deep obsession hole, and it needs to be filled with something: a sport, a hobby, a game, a project, a girl, a dying cat. Sometimes it's not such a bad thing. It's helped me to succeed in many things, like learning German or improving my tennis. Other times it's not so healthy, like when I obsess about a girl and sabotage a potential relationship, or when I hole myself up in my apartment playing a computer game for 12 hours.

Good and bad, I think I have to accept the fact that I am simply, at my core, OBSESSED.

Crazy Uncle Snark

Part Three of My Mini-Series: Discussions on Eat, Pray, Love.

I must have been in high school when I casually mentioned to my dad, in a fit of whiny self-pity, that I would probably never get married.

His response seemed inappropriately forceful. He said, "You're not going to be like Uncle Joe!" He wasn't offering optimistic support, it was an order. You will not end up like him, young man!

Uncle Joe is my grandma's youngest brother. He never married and has lived alone, as far as I know, my entire life. When I was growing up he would come to all of our family gatherings and hang out with us, his older sister's progeny, kind of like a grandparent addendum. He always looked the same age: old and frail. He seemed the same at 40 as he did at 70. The story was that he had had an operation in middle-age and never really got over it. I always felt like he must be so lonely, although he was very nice and agreeable and never displayed any melancholy or bitterness around us.

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Liz Gilbert writes in her book about the roles we play in our family. She talks about generations, and how we transition from child to young adult to parent to grandparent. Each group has an easily identifiable place to sit at holiday gatherings. But what happens if you don't follow that path, get divorced and don't have children? What's your role when you don't fit into one of those nice little boxes? She worries about becoming Crazy Aunt Liz.

I have fantasies where I imagine my nieces and nephews in the future. They're in college, or in their 20's, and they're telling a new lover or friend all about their family. They say, "Yeah, my Uncle Snark, he's kinda...weird. He was married once but his wife left him, and since then he's had lots of problems. He never got over it."

The fantasy itself is pretty narcissistic, to think that I'd be the subject of their conversation. But the fact that I imagine it at all shows that I'm aware of my transition from the clingy little brother to the crazy old uncle. I don't want to be the crazy version of Uncle Joe.

Too Good To Be True?

Sunday evening, under the crush of several blog entries I planned to write, I distracted myself by checking my Yahoo mail.

I haven't had a significant message on that account in weeks, maybe even months. It's the address I primarily use when I buy or register for something online, so it's where I get most of my spam. I check it every few days, which usually means just clearing out all the spam.

But on Sunday night there was a message. It was from Yahoo Personals, which I hadn't subscribed to since last December. (I still have my ad up there, and check for any new profiles every few days, but there's never anyone who matches me.) Someone had responded to my ad. Since last summer, when I first put the ad up, no one has ever sent me an unsolicited message. No one's sent me a solicited message, either, for that matter. This one sent me an actual personal note that referred to stuff in my profile.

I looked at her profile, expecting to see all the ways we don't match. She's probably too tall, or the wrong age, or has kids, or wants kids, or is religious or conservative or lives 200 miles away. There's always something. One by one I checked off our demographics. We match here, and here, and here, and here. But? There has to be a but. There's always a but.

But there was no but. On screen, she is absolutely perfect for me. Even the things she wrote in her profile seemed to mirror mine. It was almost as if she wrote her profile in response to mine. I actually entertained the possibility that someone created this ad just to fuck with me. Maybe a friend (or enemy) wanted to pull a prank. Or someone who works for Yahoo Personals wanted me to resubscribe, so they tailored a profile just for me to attract me back. It was just too perfect.

I was so excited I tried not to pee on the floor. It took me about 10 seconds to get out my credit card and resubscribe, so that I could respond to her message. I wrote a charming and witty reply and sent it off without too much agonizing. (Whether she finds it charming and witty is yet to be seen.)

Then I tossed and turned all night. This is really annoying, especially since I had finally gotten my sleeping rhythm back after the whole TG thing. One obsession ends, and another begins.

She hasn't responded yet, but it's only been half a day. I reread the message I sent her, and now I worry that it might have come on too strong. In retrospect, I shouldn't have said that she would make a wonderful new kittymomma for my cat or put the line in that I was "lonely, so very, very lonely. It's been so long since I felt the touch of a woman." (Okay, just kidding. I'm not quite that bad. Sometimes I'm pretty good at hiding the crazy.)

But I do worry that maybe my desperation leaked through some of my words. We'll see if I've blown it already.

Side Effects?

I've had a few incidents in the past four days that make me wonder if the Prozac is affecting my concentration.

Last Friday I was at work for three hours before I noticed that I was wearing my brown work shoes. With my black pants. I have two pairs of work shoes: one brown, one black. Which shoes go with which pants is an immutable law of my wardrobe. I always wear the black shoes with black pants. In six years at my job, I've never worn the brown shoes with the black pants. That I did this at all amazes me, but the fact that I didn't notice it for three hours makes it even scarier.

On Saturday I was at the tennis center and needed to buy some new overgrips for my racket. So I selected a package off the rack and put it in my tennis bag. Then I recorded my match score and went home. It was only after I showered and ate lunch that I realized I never paid for the overgrips. Oh, shit, I thought! I'm a shoplifter! I hope no one saw me put those things in my bag without paying. So I drove back to the tennis center and paid for them. Luckily, they hadn't put my picture up as a felon.

On Sunday morning I couldn't remember the name of my great uncle. I wanted to mention him in a story on my blog (coming soon), but I couldn't for the life of me recall his name. Uncle Fred? Carl? Farl? This was someone whose name came up all the time when I was growing up. It would be like forgetting what you called your grandmother (Grammy? Mawmaw? Abuelita?) when you were a kid. I thought of calling one of my siblings to ask them what his name was, but I was too embarrassed. Later in the day I remembered it, but it was still troubling.

Today I came to work half an hour early because I had an early morning class visit. I didn't sleep well last night, so I didn't feel very refreshed when I got up. As I was preparing for the first class, I had trouble concentrating. I couldn't think straight, my mind was fuzzy, and I was disoriented. I've never had a lack of sleep affect me like that before. Luckily it went away before I started teaching.

On the upside, I pulled out an amazing tennis victory on Sunday morning. After eight straight league losses and two spectacular acts of chokage, I gutted out a three-set victory (3-6, 6-3, 6-4) over the hottest player. I was winless this session (0-4) and I beat the only undefeated guy (4-0). It doesn't make any sense, but there you go. In the third set I tried to choke, blowing a 5-2 lead and letting him come back to 5-4, but I kept myself confident by repeating inspirational mantras, songs, and strategies in my head. Or maybe I just got lucky.

I don't know if any of these things are related to the drugs in my brain, but I offer them up as evidence if next week I freak out and hold a bank full of nuns hostage.

Seeing Me

I went to a home buyer's seminar at the local college Thursday night. The seminar itself was so-so. The company was much better.

There was a girl there. Very smiley and talkative. She payed me lots of attention. I was getting vibes.

After the seminar we stayed and talked for a while. This is a two-part seminar, and the second meeting will be next Tuesday. When we got into our cars she asked me, "Will I see you next Tuesday?" Not "Will you be here?" but "Will I see you?"

It reminded me of J, my first girlfriend, who used to ask me at the end of our dates, "When can I see you again?" That always made me feel all gooey inside. I would respond, "Anytime you want."

I know I'm reading too much into the transaction with Home Buyer Girl. And I don't even know if we're physically compatible. But still, it's nice to have someone paying attention to me. At the very least I might be able to make a new friend.

She's kinda cute, but I don't know if she's my type. I think I've spent so much time whining about TG-- how I don't understand these women who want to hang out with me but don't want to date-- that I think the Universe is teaching me a lesson. See, it says, there are women you might just want to be friends with.

I hate learning lessons.

Still Too Old

The phrase "I'm too old" has appeared six times in this blog. I would have guessed it would have been a lot more than that, considering how often I think it. Here are the six occurrences:

• March 27: " I think I'm too old and too jaded to be successful at [dating.]"
• April 21, in a post titled, I Feel Old: "I worry that I'm too old to be single again."
• May 15: "I'm too old to be going through it again."
• August 29: "I'm too old for this."
• January 21: " I'm too old for her." (Talking about TG.)
  
• And last week, on February 4: "But now I'm too old for this shit."

I'm shocked to see that "I'm too old for this shit" has only appeared once, and that was only a week ago. It's been one of my mantras for some time now. (I have many mantras.)

I've never felt so old as I have the past year. Obviously, I'm older than I've ever been. Everyone is. Every day of your life you are older than you've ever been. But there's a difference between being old and feeling old. And I just feel old.

For the first time in my life I'm embarrassed to tell people how old I am. I find myself hiding clues to my age from my blogs and Facebook. Last spring I shaved off my beard because I wanted to look younger. When I talk to TG, I try not to give clues to my age. When people ask me outright how old I am, I get uncomfortable. Last summer during one of my drunken nights out a friend of a friend asked me how old I was. I made him guess, and when he said 28, I was elated. Granted, his judgment might have been impaired by massive quantities of vodka and Coke, but still, he thought I was in my 20's!

I'm 37. There, I said it.

Age is relative, of course. At 37 I'd be an incredibly young U.S. president, owner of an NBA team, or date for Dolly Parton. But I'm way too old to work the cash register at McDonald's, or play in the NBA, or date Demi Moore. So it's not the age itself that's the problem, but what you're doing at that age. Like Demetri Martin said: if you're 40 and you sit in a bean bag chair, you failed.

So what is it that I feel too old to be doing? Dating, or at least the kind of dating I know how to do.

The last time I dated I was in my early thirties. At that time there were still plenty of eligible single women, fresh out of college or in grad school and looking for relationships. It wasn't too creepy back then for me to date someone in their mid-20's.

But in my late thirties I'm in a whole new dating demographic. It's like I crossed some sort of international date line while I was married, and suddenly there are much fewer options. Most women my age have already settled down by now. The ones who haven't are usually single for a reason, and I'm not going to be the guy who wins them over. They're looking for someone taller, or with a better job, or who flies airplanes in his spare time.

A lot of the single women my age have kids, and while I'm not necessarily opposed to dating someone with kids (I know quite a few MILFs), it does change the dating dynamics considerably, especially since I don't have any kids of my own. I'm not sure I know how to date someone with kids. And it's not like I'm going to hang out at the playground to pick up women.

I was a late bloomer in the love department. I was 18 when I had my first post-pubescent kiss (in middle school I got all kinds of action.) I didn't have my first real girlfriend until I was 23. I got engaged at 32 and married at 34. Once I did get into the dating game ("bloomed") I didn't feel like my late start affected my love life. And after having to wait so long, I appreciated my relationships that much more. But now that I find myself divorced, I'm starting to regret my late start.

I've never been the type of person to feel like a relationship was "wasted time" (As the Eagles song goes) after it ended. Even when it ended badly, I knew that I had learned something from the experience, and the memories of the good times were worth any heartache that came with them. (And I got to have sex!) There was always the feeling that I could try again with someone else, go back to the drawing board.

But at my current age I don't have that feeling any more. Going back to the drawing board is getting harder and harder to do. With each failed relationship, my list of characteristics to avoid in a lover grows. (i.e. my next mate will know how to express her needs.) And because of the fewer options at my age, there's less margin for error. Oh, I'll still make those errors, I'm sure. It'll just take me a lot longer to get back in the game than when I was younger.

Even though I'm not usually big on relationship regrets, this divorce has me doing something I've never done: wishing I could go back in time and undo the whole relationship. Because I spent this relationship crossing over into the international date line, part of me wishes I could go back.

That's a very dangerous game, though. Would I choose to undo the relationship with SnarkEx if it meant I'd have been alone the past five years? Certainly not. If the choice is being divorced or never having been married, I choose the former. But if going back in time meant that I could have a second chance to find a soul-mate, and be five years younger, I might consider it. In the end I'd probably decline, but I'd consider it, which is more than I've ever done after a relationship.

Part of me was really excited about the prospect of dating TG because she represented my best chance at a time machine. She's only 24, the same age as my first real girlfriend. When I was riding the fantasy that she might be into me, I thought this might be a second chance to go back and correct my mistakes of the past 14 years. Alas, there is no time machine.

This age thing must be a huge issue for me, because I have about a dozen more points to bring up, but this post is too long already. Just like my proverbial tooth.

Despondex

Apropos my post yesterday, The Onion released this news item:

FDA Approves Depressant Drug for the Annoyingly Cheerful:

Snarkbutt Medicated

I've finally let people talk me into it. There is a vial of Prozac sitting on my kitchen table.

I haven't taken any of it yet.

I started accepting the fact that I might need some antidepressants over the holidays, when I hit a new low in my post-divorce depression meter. At the time I agreed to the drug option in theory, I just never got around to making an appointment.

Then I got distracted for several weeks by TG. Then that fell through, and since then I've been in a nosedive. This depression is different than the one from the holidays. It's less anguished, marked more by a sense of apathy, joylessness, and exhaustion. I'm not eating or sleeping well and get nervous for no reason. It feels more physical than emotional.

So I made an appointment to see my medical doctor about getting drugs.

In the book I'm reading, Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Pray, Love, she talks about going on antidepressants and how reluctant she was. She believes we are already overmedicated as a society. I agree. Pills treat the symptoms, not the cause. It's a quick fix that doesn't really deal with what got you there in the first place.

I don't want to have to depend on a pill to be happy. I'm wary of addiction. I don't even like to drink coffee because I'm terrified of becoming one of those people with a mug that says "Don't talk to me until I've had my coffee." Although I often take painkillers for headaches or muscle aches, I usually wait it out to see if I can the pain to go away by other means-- eating, napping, etc.

So I've been hoping that I could get through this without drugs.

I was on Prozac about 18 years ago. It was during my first Great Depression. I took it for a few months and then stopped as soon as I started feeling better. I considered it a kickstart to getting better. I've had my ups and downs since then, but I thought I had put this medication shit behind me.

Then my wife left me. In the (almost) year since she left, I've been going in the wrong direction, getting more and more despondent. If I can give myself another kickstart, maybe I can get out of this.

But I don't have to like it. Going on drugs feels like another failure to me. Another way I was unable to overcome a hardship in my life.

What I'm hoping it will do is make me sleep better and lift this hazy fog that seems to engulf me lately. It's also a drug that's been prescribed for OCD, so maybe it will make me not obsess about things so much.

A small part of me also enjoys a fantasy that maybe the drug will clear my mind enough to improve my tennis. I've suffered two crushing defeats over the past week. In both cases I had a confident lead and choked at the end. This Monday I was up 5-1 in the second set and felt invincible. Then the wheels fell off and I lost five games in a row. I lost the set in a tiebreak. It's beyond frustrating. It's soul-crushing.

The good news is I don't have much of a soul to speak of these days, so I haven't fixated on my tennis losses too much. I'm still winless in my league, with three matches left. If I lose all three, I will bounce back down to the lower league, which will be the ultimate embodiment of Not Being Good Enough. But I have this stupid confidence that if I start taking Prozac, somehow it will help my tennis game. I don't know how it's supposed to do that, or if that's even a realistic expectation, but it's one of the few things that might motivate me to take it.

I have plenty of reasons to take it, so why am I still so reluctant? I'm not 100% convinced that I need it. Maybe I can still bounce out of this without it. Gilbert, in her book, would lie curled up in a heap and cry for days. I'm not anywhere near that bad. I'm not in constant anguish. And what if I take it and it doesn't help? Then I'll have to deal with unfulfilled expectations. Until now, however bad I was feeling, I could always say, "At least I still have drugs as a last resort." But what happens when that last resort doesn't work?

And maybe there's a small part of me fears losing this depression. If I'm not depressed any more, I have to deal with a lot of unpleasant stuff. Being depressed gives me license to not be the best person I can be. Once I'm not depressed any more, will I have to deliver on higher expectations?

I could continue to write and write and write about this-- all the different issues involved in taking antidepressants. But at some point I have to quit stalling and take the damn pill.

Conditional Love

I'm reading a book, Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India, and Indonesia. Someone had recommended it to me, but I've been reluctant to read it because I thought it would be new-agey chick lit.

But I finally picked it up and started reading.

It's the memoir of a woman (Gilbert) who goes through a horrible divorce, a turbulent love affair, and a crippling depression, and then decides to travel. Although she played the role of SnarkEx in her divorce-- abandoning her husband and the life they made together-- I can forgive her because I absolutely love her writing persona. (And she at least had the common decency to suffer a crippling depression after she left her husband.) The book is clever, funny, insightful, and rational. She talks about spirituality in a way that doesn't turn me off. It's the kind of book I would love to write, if I were more talented.

She writes a lot about depression and loneliness, so my next few posts will deal with ideas I read in her book.

One such idea was that she discovered an inner voice, call it God or the Universe or her own subconscious, that spoke to her in times of great distress, like when she was crying on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night. I've heard other people talk of similar voices coming to them and delivering messages of great clarity. I've experienced "the voice" myself a few times, only my voices always turn out to be wrong or misguided. I'll have what I think to be an epiphany, and a few days later I'll realize it was bunk. I never know when my inner voice is offering true wisdom or when it's just spouting gibberish.

One night, when Gilbert was held hostage by the "goons of Depression and Loneliness," she called out to her inner voice for help. This was the response she got:

I'm here. I love you. I don't care if you need to stay up crying all night long, I will stay with you...There's nothing you can ever do to lose my love.

That line made me cry. I was eating breakfast, holding a whole wheat English muffin with cream cheese in my hand, and bawling at this declaration of unconditional love.

I've never loved myself like that.

I know the phrase "unconditional love" is thrown about a lot, usually in reference to God or mothers or faithful dogs. It's a beautiful concept, but I don't believe in it. You can't convince me that there's nothing, really nothing, you could do to lose someone's love. If you believe in a literal hell, then you couldn't possibly believe that God's love is unconditional, because he's willing to send you there based on conditions.

I've never known the love a parent has for a child, but I know that it's on a whole other level. I imagine it's 100 times greater than the love I had for SnarKitty, and I was stupidly devoted to that cat. (I can openly admit that I don't love AuxiliaryKitty as much, which is why I should never have children.) And yet I still don't believe that parental love couldn't go away if your child did unspeakable, deplorable acts. Torturing puppies, raping children, committing genocide, cutting out their own parents' eyes. Everyone must have a limit.

A few years ago I was talking with my brother and SnarkEx and the issue of God's grace came up. I said, "I don't want any more grace than what I deserve." Both my brother and SnarkEx laughed. (They are, and were, respectively, a good audience for my jokes.) The joke is that no one deserves God's grace-- that's the whole point of grace. By definition, it is undeserved.

It was only half a joke. Because I really do feel it. Any love I get I have to earn. The Universe is not going to love me just because I'm here. And it shouldn't, says my Catholic guilt. Everything has to be earned. I have to be the best person I can be so that others will accept me, include me, love me.

I criticize a lot of people and things, but I always reserve the harshest criticism for myself. I do not love myself unconditionally. Sure, there are times when I love myself, when I think I'm great. But it's all based on conditions. When I fuck up, when I fail to be the person I think I should be, I lose my love.

My inner voice tells me, "There are so many things you could do to lose my love."

Depressionache

Every once in a while I'll get something I call a depressionache. It's like a short bout of depression that lasts as long as, and is as painful as, a headache. It's hard to explain, but it's like a physiological manifestation of depression. It's a mood that I feel in my body.

I sometimes get them when I'm too sleep deprived, or when I haven't eaten well. They usually only last a few hours.

Right now I'm suffering from the longest depressionache I've ever had. It's been four days, and while I've had moments of relief or been able to distract myself from it for a while, it's been mostly constant. There are times when I'll forget about it, and then suddenly I wonder why I feel so downtrodden or uninspired by whatever I'm doing, and then I remember, "Oh yeah, I'm depressed."

I need to make some changes. I don't know what, but something in my life or attitude has to change. I'm so tired of being in my own head. I need a vacation from myself.

I'm taking steps to deal with this, and I will blog about them later.

This coming week is going to be overwhelmingly busy. I'm not looking forward to it.

No Joy in Snarkville

So I'm still dealing with the fallout of my first significant rejection since SnarkEx moved out.

I woke up Thursday morning into a joyless world. All the energy I've spent the past month pursuing a love interest has dissipated. With no prospects, I have nothing to look forward to.

This is why it is so important for me to be in a constant state of pursuit. Even if it never comes to anything, I have to have someone to think about, some iron in the fire, some windmill to attack. It serves as a background for everything I do.

There really is nothing in my life that I'm excited about. I'm entering the busy season at work, so my schedule is getting hectic. I have about a three-week period where I've got something going on every week night. I've got way too much to do, and I'm not really looking forward to any of it.

I have night classes, which is uninspiring work stuff. And makes for a looong day.

I have my default hobbies, like watching TV and playing computer games. But, just like when SnarkEx moved out, I'm back to feeling like these are loserish activities when you're single and have no prospects.

I have house hunting, but my heart's not really in it. I looked at six open houses a few Sundays ago, but since then I've been discouraged by all the work and energy that goes into finding, buying, and maintaining a house. Plus, it feels like buying a house is a family activity. Or at least a social one. It's something you do with someone else, arguing about whether the kitchen in the blue house is more important than the garage from the A-frame. It's not something I want to deal with on my own. Houses are for families. Last night I attended a homebuyer's seminar at the local college, but the instructor never showed so they sent us home. I was actually relieved, and took it as a sign that I don't have to look at houses this weekend.

I have writing, which is probably the one thing I'm still compelled to do, even if it doesn't necessarily inspire me. When TG was interested in my writing, I had all these new projects in mind (which, ironically, I never got to because I was blogging too much about her.) Having an imagined audience always inspires me. Even though nothing's changed in terms of her interest in my writing, now I've lost my steam. I'm no longer writing for love, just for friendship. I think the reason that I was so excited about her interest in my writing was that I didn't believe it was all about my writing. There's no way the writing on my public blog and my stupid little Facebook lists could have inspired her to keep asking about them. I know I wrote the other day about how my writing wins me friends, but it's probably the other way around. People like me as a person first, then are interested in what I have to write. Not the other way around. So when TG showed such an interest in my "writing," I mistook it for an interest in me. My inspiration to write will probably return before everything else, but I'm so busy with other stuff that it will be a while before I get to it.

I have beer with faculty. Next week I'm meeting with faculty for our monthly beer drinking. I'm not really looking forward to it, though, because I don't think beer is good for me anymore. Also, the other divorced faculty member will be there. The one who got divorced after me, but is dating a young, hot former student. He was already dating her last summer.

I have the finale of the local high school wrestling season. The past two years I have rediscovered the sport of my youth, this time as a fan. I've been attending the regionals, sectionals, and state tournament in wrestling, which take place over three weekends in February. But I already felt pretty loserish about this hobby even when I was married. Being single makes it even worse, and I haven't been very enthusiastic about it this year. I'm also having trouble fitting it into my busy tennis schedule. Incidentally, I missed the state finals last year because SnarkEx wanted me to go to a church/Valentine's event. I was trying to save my marriage. It didn't work.

I have the possibility of a deeper friendship with TG. Having a new friend is nothing to sneeze at, but I wonder if it's a healthy thing to hang out with her right now. When I asked her out, I told her that I would still want to get to know her better even as friends, and she seems very receptive to that. So now I feel like I need to honor my word and follow up on it. Last night, as I drove home, I didn't really have much appetite for my drive-home snack, and I realized that my stomach was still churning-- I'm still nervous. What am I nervous about? I'm usually only nervous when I'm unsure of something. She said no, so what is there left to be unsure of? Is there some part of me that still thinks there's a chance, once I worm myself into her life as a friend, that she'll be into me? It's not a concious thought, but who knows what evil lurks in my subconcious? The nervousness has to be coming from somewhere.

I have volunteering at the humane society. I had an interview last week, and it looks like I passed. They want me to commit to three hours a week for four months. That means I'll have to take some inflexible chunk of time out of my already busy weekends to scoop up orphan cat poop for three hours. Not enthusiastic.

I have the onset of spring, warmer weather, and vacations. But the thought of these things don't comfort me. The warmer weather will bring lots of great things, but it will also put more pressure on me to get out of the apartment and remind me of all the love I'm not getting. And vacations-- time off from work that I used to love-- have turned on me. The past few vacations have not been kind to me, even though I always looked forward to them. So I'm starting to fear and dread them.

And of course I have tennis, my one salvation, but even that is failing to excite me lately. In my new league I've now lost seven straight times. On Wednesday I thought I was going to end the streak when I took a 6-4, 4-3 lead. But I just ran out of gas and lost nine of the last eleven games. So over the course of three days I got my butt kicked (by TG), got rejected (by TG), and then choked in a match that I thought I had in control. By Wednesday, I was already 0-for-3 this week in tennis/love. My new league is a "flex" league, which means you have to schedule your own matches (as opposed to having one time a week when everyone plays.) Because it can be so hard to coordinate schedules with your opponents, this creates the kind of situation where (this week) I'm playing three matches in eight days. (We're supposed to play one match a week.) During the busiest time of the year. Which drains my energy, and then I don't play well.

I have sleep, which I'm not getting enough of. I've felt exhausted this week. Not only have I been getting to bed too late (because of late tennis matches), but I wasn't sleeping enough because I was obsessed about TG. I really think my sense of joylessness is hooked into my lack of sleep. Last night I finally had a good solid night's sleep, but I'm still behind for the week.

I have lots to do. Someday I might enjoy some of it again.

And...Here Comes the Crash

She said no.

I knew she would, but it still hurts like hell.

No one will ever love me.

On paper this is a ridiculous thing to be devastated about. I asked a girl out. She said no. BFD. Move on.

But my rejections are exponential. This is not just one rejection, but every rejection I've ever suffered in my life. A hippo-sized accumulation of unworthiness crushing my spine.

This was what I feared most when I first realized that I might get divorced. Going back to the meatgrinder of dating-- getting my hopes up, then getting them crushed-- again and again and again. When I was in my 20's I was more resilient and could bounce back from these things. But now I'm too old for this shit. On top of that, I have much fewer options at my age.

Other people have no problem finding dates. They end a relationship and immediately find someone new to snuggle up with. They actually have the option of picking and choosing a mate among dozens. Some people go so far as to enforce celibacy on themselves. They have so many opportunities for love that they have to limit themselves-- like a dating diet.

I am not other people. I am a freak. A broken, unlovable freak. I could try to rationalize that it's not about me, but at some point I have to acknowledge that the only consistent feature of all my failures is me. It is about me.

It's my own fault. I spent way too much time fixating about this. I deserve whatever pain I'm feeling because I let my optimism get the best of me.

I'm so tired of feeling stuff. I want to be a robot. Every time I let myself feel something, I get hurt. Fuck feelings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So this is how I let off steam. Overwrought and melodramatic, I know, but there you go. (The other day I wondered if I might be manic-depressive, AKA bipolar. After consulting with a professional, I have discovered that I'm not. So I've got that going for me.)

I'll bounce back from this. Sometime down the road there'll be another TG, and I'll go through the whole cycle again. Sometimes it has a happy ending. Usually it doesn't. I know the drill.

I read TG's response right before I left to go teach a class at a satellite campus. (As expected, she was very gracious in letting me down. She never actually said "no", but that she just wants to stay friends. She also said she would like to get to know me better, and suggested we do some non-tennis things. So if I'm willing to put aside my pride, I may just have a new good friend.) It's a 30-minute drive, so I put in my latest Barenaked Ladies CD and cranked it up. These lyrics seemed to speak to me:

Your heart's got a heavy load
There's still a long way to go
Keep your eyes on the road

If I only I could get a real barenaked lady to console me like that.

Plungetaking

It's done. I took the plunge.

It took me about half an hour of last-minute editing and agonizing with my finger poised over the mouse, but I finally clicked the SEND button on my email.

I have unequivocally asked out TG.

It's not every day that I ask out a girl. In fact, I believe this is the first time in about seven years I've asked out someone who wasn't on a dating site.

It almost didn't happen at all.

As you already know, I've been scheming on her for the past month. I have written about her in seven of my last eight blog posts. The plan was to wait until after our league tennis match last night, then send her an email this morning.

But things never go according to plan. Or if they do, there are always complications.

In my head, our match would be like every other match we've had the past year: a close, hard-fought shootout that ends in a tiebreak or a long third-set battle. I've said many times that I always play great against her. For some reason she brings out the best in my game.

But not last night. When she gave me a fast and thorough beat-down (6-1, 6-2) I was thrown off-track. Going into it, I didn't care who won, but now, failing so spectacularly in my sixth consecutive loss in this league was not something I could just shrug off.

I started doubting my abilities off the court, too. I thought, do I want to give her two opportunities in the same week to emasculate me? It was troubling to think that I may indeed be one of those guys who can't handle a woman who's better than him.

Since our match was over so fast, we still had another hour of court time. So we played another set, just for fun. I won our third and meaningless set, 6-2. But throughout the practice set she was distracted by the college-aged kid who works at the tennis center and gives her regular lessons. He watched us play, stalker-like, and gave her coaching advice. He appears to have taken a keen interest in her lately and she seems to welcome it. Is there something going on between them?

This rattled my confidence even more. By now I was convinced there was no way she would ever be interested in me. I was just some random old guy who she beats down on the tennis court.

Abort plan! Abort plan!!

After the match we all sat down in the lobby of the tennis center. LessonBoy sat on a chair, and I took the end of the sofa, and TG sat down in the chair adjacent to me. We talked for 30-45 minutes. She kept bringing up my writing. I made her laugh several times. The conversation was fun and interesting. It totally restored my confidence.

By the time I left, not only was the plan back on, but it felt completely natural. I slept horribly last night, but it was the Kid-On-Christmas-Eve kind of sleep. I crafted the email to her over and over in my head. I couldn't wait to send it to her this morning.

As soon as I sent it, I logged out of my email and am trying to stay away from it. (I usually keep it open all day long, so I get messages as soon as they come in.) If I'm logged in, I will check it every five minutes and it will drive me crazy. I'm afraid of her answer, although I doubt she's responded yet. She usually takes a few days to respond. One reason I did this over email was that I didn't want to catch her unawares. I wanted to give her some time to process it.

I have no sense of impropriety or embarrassment for asking her out. Whether or not she says yes, it was the right thing to do.

Writing to Win Friends and Lovers

All my life, writing has been my "thing."

In grade school I wrote and drew comic books that I showed to all my friends. Some of them started their own comic books and we would share our work.

In high school I wrote two "books." They were silly collections of humor items and tortured teenage angst. I showed my books to all my friends and even sold a few copies to classmates (for $2, just to cover the cost of making copies).

The first post-pubescent kiss I had was with a girl, a friend of a girlfriend of a friend, who had read one of my books and said, "Someday I'm going to go out with that guy."

In college I wrote another "book", a collection of humor essays. I took some of the better ones to the college newspaper and asked if they needed a columnist. The editor liked them so much he ran one of my samples that very week. Thus began a humor column in the school paper that lasted about two years.

More importantly, the editor who liked my work became one of my best friends.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A Condensed Story of J, my First Serious Girlfriend

I met J working at the public library when I was in college. At the time she was dating someone else, an older dude who lived in another town about two hours away. They'd been together for three years, but their relationship wasn't exclusive and she gave me the impression that he was on his way out. She dated both of us for a short while, and I was so grateful to have the attention and affection of a real live girl that I didn't mind. And she kept saying things like, "You have nothing to worry about" and "I'm crazy about you," so I was confident that I would win her heart in the end.

After about a month and a half of building up my confidence, she told him about me. He was not happy, they had a big fight, and as a result she realized that she couldn't let him go. We had had plans to travel together over spring break, but when she broke our plans to go see him, I was devastated. I ended it.

The rest of the spring I spent tending to my first broken heart.

That summer I went to Europe for the first time. I was in Austria for a six-week study abroad program. The first few days I was there I wrote J a long letter. I told her how I'd tried everything to get over her, but that I just couldn't get her out of my mind. I don't know what I was trying to accomplish with the letter, but I just wanted to get some things out. I had to write through my heartbreak. I sent her the letter from Austria with no return address, so she would have no way to contact me for the next six weeks. Then I was able to put the whole thing behind me and enjoy my first European experience.

When I got back home, J and the other dude had broken up, so she was completely single. We started hanging out, just as friends. She thanked me for the letter, but we didn't talk about it beyond that. Then one night she called me, in tears. She asked me if I still felt the same way I did when I wrote the letter. I said, "A lot has happened since then." But we made plans to get a beer and talk about it.

She told me that she had loved the letter. She had carried it around with her. She had read it to her dad, who had also been impressed. Then she got me drunk and took advantage of me. Or vice-versa. Either way, we got back together and dated exclusively for a year and a half.

We broke up, but she's still a big fan of my writing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Writing 2.0

After J, I continued to write things, make friends, and woo women.

In the new millennium I discovered the creative outlet of webpages. I started my own site, The Snarkpage, where I could continue to express myself with words, pictures, fonts and layouts.

I met my third girlfriend through the online personals. It's a format where your first impression of someone is through their writing, both in putting up a profile and corresponding through email. I used my writing to snare her, a grad student in English. When we started dating I let her see The Snarkpage. After she looked at it, she said, "You're so cool" in a tone that made it clear she was smitten.

I also met SnarkEx through the online personals. We sent huge, epic emails to each other for a month before we met in person.

When we got engaged, I put my creative energy into our wedding website, www.snarkarkex.com. After we got married it became our newlywed site. It was still out there for all the world to see last month, when the domain that hosted it (and all of my old websites) folded.

But by then most of my old websites were obsolete, because I had discovered blogging. I've started about five or six blogs in the past four years. Two of them are still currently active. And once again, through my writing, I've made friends. I have a couple of pen pals that I've made when someone discovers my blog or website and contacts me. One lady in Canada discovered our wedding website when she was looking for dress patterns (she found SnarkEx's wedding dress pattern) and explored the entire site. She found the site "charming and lovely." Then she followed the link to our joint blog, which shared the recent news that SnarkEx had moved out. She was so saddened by it that she posted a comment, and we've been corresponding ever since.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In a vague way I fantasize about being a famous writer, but I'm not really that motivated to do much about it. I rarely submit stuff to be published.

But I don't need to be a famous writer for my writing to be worthwhile. Besides the compulsion to express myself, my writing has won me many valuable things in my life: friends and lovers.

If I can just write my stupid little books or my stupid little blog posts, and have friends and family read and enjoy them, and maybe once in a while make a new friend or lover through my writing, well, what more could I ask for?

Most recently, TG friended me on Facebook, found a link to my public blog, and has taken an interest in my writing. I don't know if that interest extends to any other parts of me.

When I wrote the stuff that supposedly impressed her, I didn't have her in mind. I was just being myself. So all my writing, and blogging, and Facebooking, is like sowing seeds. If TG isn't into me, my stuff will still be out there, waiting to impress the next one to come along.