Before you ask, since this is my blog, I get to make up whatever rules or words I want to as I go along, and you as my public are expected to just roll with it...I haven't written much lately. You may have noticed...or you may have all forgotten about this damn blog months ago, and who could blame you if you did, as it is mostly just me rambling through a bunch of bullshit that's been bouncing around in my brain when I can't sleep--which is most of the time. I swear, you people probably think I'm on drugs...but anyway, I haven't written on account of my emotional hermitry...interestingly, it was me commenting to a friend and fellow writer that SHE had been rather quiet of late that coined this little gem of a phrase...and left me thinking, "yeah. I totally do that, too."
I've been in a funk for the past month or two, one I've had a hard time shaking. I'm behind at work, had a falling out with a friend, got my house beaten all to hell in a hailstorm, and finally figured it was time to come to terms with the fact that it wasn't that N didn't want a girlfriend...he just didn't want ME. At least, not as his girlfriend. However, I've racked up yet another guy friend whom I adore, and I'm beginning to think my future lies mainly in being the inappropriate female sidekick to guys the world over. (On the other hand, what do you really expect from the girl who, on our second date, leans over and whispers that the visibly sweaty and uncomfortable residents in the opening scene of Hitchcock's Rear Window are "a bunch of pussies" when the thermometer flashes across the screen showing 90 degrees?) It's not like anyone is ever clamoring to bring me home to meet their mom or anything...not unless your mother is Chelsea Handler...
But emotional hermitry isn't really an excuse...I should be talking, because hiding is easy and it's a cop-out, and it has never once proved helpful in the past. The thing I didn't expect about letting go of the idea of that possibility was that I would feel somewhat relieved...like the pressure was off and I could be me again. All I had been was anxious for weeks, and it had stopped being fun...but because of the feelings I had for him, I wasn't ready to let "us" go, not completely. That's the way it is, I guess, with the first guy you fall for post-divorce. And I have to tip my hat to him...I can be a handful. He hung in there and STILL somehow sees some good in me, even though he's had the misfortune of seeing me at my absolute worst. For that, and for so many other reasons, I know that whatever it was, it was right. It was right that we met, it was right that we clicked got to know each other as well as we did, and I'm glad. I'm glad to have him, however I have him.
And since we hadn't been exclusive for months, and because I do tend to land on my feet more often than on my ass, I'm already seeing someone else...and I'm kinda excited, in a way I haven't been excited since N walked onto the scene last September. And trust me, I've gone out with a couple dozen that DIDN'T make the cut. I know what I want....I want to laugh so hard I'm in danger of peeing on myself. I want intelligent conversation, and someone who shares my tastes and sees past my appearance. And having Chelsea Handler for a mother sure as hell would be a bonus. Otherwise, I'm just the girl your mom warned you about. Granted, she probably never mentioned I'd be so much fun!
I cast thee aside, Emotional Hermitry...go ahead and bring it on!
