As a result of not being able to take birth control, yet being in a lot of long term relationship based on the rhythm method, I am scarily attuned to which point my body is in the whole month. And right now it is full on PMS phase. The type that makes me want to drop to my knees and hold myself in existential loneliness and have someone wrap their whole being around me while in a horizontal position.
I also realized today that this emotional/hormonal wave occurs at my peak ovulation point.
Ah, I get it. Nature moves us to desperation and loneliness so that we move toward someone in order to reproduce. Fuck you, ovary, now that I've figured out your great connivance I am spending the rest of the evening packing for some time away from the city instead of pining for what is simply an annoying (and for me, unneeded) biological process.
I should probably just masturbate, but I don't think that will help at this point. Besides, I spent a couple of hours last night researching being a nun, and I might as well just get used to it.
I also discovered that the order of nuns I am most interested in joining requires you to keep a journal about the times you hear the "calling" to be a nun. I feel like this blog might do it in part.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Day Sixteen : Redemption
I went for a long run - 8 miles - probably the longest continuous run I've ever done in my life. It was a weird meditation feeling my body hum and hurt and litening to music. I feel strong. I'm going to get through this. I'm going to like being alone. Who's running all these miles? Me. No one else can do it for me. I need to remember that anyone else is just an accessory.
No boy exchanges today. Good.
No boy exchanges today. Good.
Day Fifteen : Relapse
Two things happened yesterday. The first is that one of my tires randomly blew on the way to the doctor's office, causing me to dovetail into another lane narrowly missing what would have been a pretty bad side collision and costing me several hours to resolve. The second was that, when I checked my phone after returning from walking my dog, I found a message to someone who thought my number was my father that the sender had found "her" dead in her apartment from either a fall or heart attack. Of course, I immediately thought of my sister. Dead siblings, no bueno.
So, understandably, I got a little upset and called my father to find out what the hell was going on. He managed to assure me that it was just an uncle letting him know that my aunt's mother had died, and had gotten the wrong "E" in his phonebook. And, yes, while it was very tragic that someone was dead in apartment due to unknown causes, I would be fine, just fine.
After I had hung up the phone, I saw that I had gotten a text from a number that was all too familiar because I had erased it far too many times. "How's life?" it read. How fortuitous, I thought.
I sat on that one for an hour and a half, trying to do everything in my power not to respond. But there was a part of me that leapt up at that - mainly because (to my mind) it showed me I was not the only one missing things. "Surviving," I wrote back. It was a fair answer. "Same here," came the reply.
Perhaps I should've left it at that, but I had to know. "I don't mean to sound all un-southern woman-like, but are you just inquiring about my health?". "I'm still at work, but are you doing anything later." And then two minutes later "and I was just checking in on you in general as well." For some reason, the latter addition made me miss this person because he is weird and awkward and restrained, like me. And so I said I had plans until 8:30, but would let him know my plans after.
I paced and paced again trying to find things to do and 8:30 came. So, I did the next best thing to ignoring him. I told him I needed a book and a bed and then took a double dose of Ambien to render all driving impossible and locked up all communicative devices. This morning, I checked and it just said "cool, talk to you later."
I spent dinner with some friends trying to convince myself this wasn't a relapse in the real sense of the word, and explained to one that maybe my reasoning is that I'm not quite ready to let go of the person, just the unhealthy feelings in interactions with this (or any other) person I think I have feelings for. Like maybe I'd kind of like him to be around on the 87th day when I finally get my shit together. Or to feel like, even if he's not I'll be okay with that. She remained unconvinced. I suppose we will have to see.
So, understandably, I got a little upset and called my father to find out what the hell was going on. He managed to assure me that it was just an uncle letting him know that my aunt's mother had died, and had gotten the wrong "E" in his phonebook. And, yes, while it was very tragic that someone was dead in apartment due to unknown causes, I would be fine, just fine.
After I had hung up the phone, I saw that I had gotten a text from a number that was all too familiar because I had erased it far too many times. "How's life?" it read. How fortuitous, I thought.
I sat on that one for an hour and a half, trying to do everything in my power not to respond. But there was a part of me that leapt up at that - mainly because (to my mind) it showed me I was not the only one missing things. "Surviving," I wrote back. It was a fair answer. "Same here," came the reply.
Perhaps I should've left it at that, but I had to know. "I don't mean to sound all un-southern woman-like, but are you just inquiring about my health?". "I'm still at work, but are you doing anything later." And then two minutes later "and I was just checking in on you in general as well." For some reason, the latter addition made me miss this person because he is weird and awkward and restrained, like me. And so I said I had plans until 8:30, but would let him know my plans after.
I paced and paced again trying to find things to do and 8:30 came. So, I did the next best thing to ignoring him. I told him I needed a book and a bed and then took a double dose of Ambien to render all driving impossible and locked up all communicative devices. This morning, I checked and it just said "cool, talk to you later."
I spent dinner with some friends trying to convince myself this wasn't a relapse in the real sense of the word, and explained to one that maybe my reasoning is that I'm not quite ready to let go of the person, just the unhealthy feelings in interactions with this (or any other) person I think I have feelings for. Like maybe I'd kind of like him to be around on the 87th day when I finally get my shit together. Or to feel like, even if he's not I'll be okay with that. She remained unconvinced. I suppose we will have to see.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Day Fourteen : Hugs
I am having a debate with one of my sponsors about the not masturbating part of this whole celibacy thing. I would agree that she has a point - I have already put the energy in the same places I put it prior to celibacy vow and right now, with work being slow and other lack of stimulation (just books books books and running running running), I still have all the energy inside with no new place to direct it. I take that back, there are new places to direct it, I just need to figure what they can be. Or direct it harder to the old places. Point being, I haven't given up, although I really thought the higher mileage on my running would do it. Triathlon next? No, no. Not yet.
Her point was the unintended result of giving up getting off is that it makes me miss certain people, who, while I am still being good about daring not to speak their name, still linger a little bit. My fear is that breaking that vow to myself isnt' really going to change that. Even if I were to substitute some other visage for the main character, it's still thinking about men, and again, no men-thinking-about. Enough already. I've made it two weeks. 72 more days of this is not going to kill me. But if it does, I hope it's by spontaneous combustion so they can finally figure out that's what is causing it and save a few lives or something.
Anyway, back to the theme of today and my earlier "touch" entry. I need good non-sexual hugs. So, readers of this - the privileged few who are near and dear to me - send me lots of hugs, as many as you can. Not lame one-amed hugs, but big bear hugs and cheek smooches. Happliy family totally non-sexual (I swear) hugs. Besides showing support through time of other doubts in my life, it's keeping this monkey from fading or doing other unhealthy monkey-like things.
Her point was the unintended result of giving up getting off is that it makes me miss certain people, who, while I am still being good about daring not to speak their name, still linger a little bit. My fear is that breaking that vow to myself isnt' really going to change that. Even if I were to substitute some other visage for the main character, it's still thinking about men, and again, no men-thinking-about. Enough already. I've made it two weeks. 72 more days of this is not going to kill me. But if it does, I hope it's by spontaneous combustion so they can finally figure out that's what is causing it and save a few lives or something.
Anyway, back to the theme of today and my earlier "touch" entry. I need good non-sexual hugs. So, readers of this - the privileged few who are near and dear to me - send me lots of hugs, as many as you can. Not lame one-amed hugs, but big bear hugs and cheek smooches. Happliy family totally non-sexual (I swear) hugs. Besides showing support through time of other doubts in my life, it's keeping this monkey from fading or doing other unhealthy monkey-like things.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Day Thirteen : Anticipation
Sadly, today I am living in anticipation of some sign from boyville. I'm not sure what prompted this, maybe at the heart of me, I'm longing for a certain kind of giddy contact that I am not necessarily getting right now. Or maybe it's that work is so slow, I spent most of it either reading boring manuals, number crunching to try to squeeze more savings out of the really hard rock that is my budget right now, or looking at the lives of strangers on facebooks while trying very hard not to look at the lives of strangers that I am interested in in boyville fashion.
Facebook is really a killer that way. I wish I had the discipline not to use it at all, because it proves that people are all out there not being so celibate and seem happy that way. So right now I am reminding myself that this celibacy project isn't necessarily about being miserable, just about learning to be content without certain things so that when they do come back into my life, I can enjoy without too big of a downfall. It's just quiet time. Still, part of me wonders how many miles and how many books before I'll stop wondering (and to my credit, this wondering has really been reduced a lot) if I'll ever get another shout-out from certain corners, and also wondering if ignoring the prior shout-outs was the best idea. On a practical level - I know it is. One a not-so-practical level (where I function most of the time), I am missing certain things. I need to just admit that I miss them, let that bad air out into the universe and move on.
Feeling a little lost today and not sure if anticipation is what I should be feeling because that seems to implicate an expectation of an event. How about expectation of the good times I have planned this weekend with me and my friends and just me myself (I am learning to really love long-distance runs). And how about not sleeping through my alarm clock for the third morning straight? Now there's a communication I'm in control of : "Yes, alarm, I hear you and will respond accordingly. Let's get up, get moving, and get on with our lives."
Facebook is really a killer that way. I wish I had the discipline not to use it at all, because it proves that people are all out there not being so celibate and seem happy that way. So right now I am reminding myself that this celibacy project isn't necessarily about being miserable, just about learning to be content without certain things so that when they do come back into my life, I can enjoy without too big of a downfall. It's just quiet time. Still, part of me wonders how many miles and how many books before I'll stop wondering (and to my credit, this wondering has really been reduced a lot) if I'll ever get another shout-out from certain corners, and also wondering if ignoring the prior shout-outs was the best idea. On a practical level - I know it is. One a not-so-practical level (where I function most of the time), I am missing certain things. I need to just admit that I miss them, let that bad air out into the universe and move on.
Feeling a little lost today and not sure if anticipation is what I should be feeling because that seems to implicate an expectation of an event. How about expectation of the good times I have planned this weekend with me and my friends and just me myself (I am learning to really love long-distance runs). And how about not sleeping through my alarm clock for the third morning straight? Now there's a communication I'm in control of : "Yes, alarm, I hear you and will respond accordingly. Let's get up, get moving, and get on with our lives."
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Day Twelve : Pressure
I'm not really under a lot of pressure these days - although sadly in my chosen career that usually means a lot of pressure to find another job. Perhaps, like boys, this is a tired conversation topic for friends. It certainly is one for me. My days on the job are mostly spent drafting contingency unemployment plans. While that, and the fact I've been squirreling away savings for some time now has reduced the scariness of a doomsday scenario, the prospect of losing one's employment is never pleasant.
Luckily, it also completely destroys libido and forces me back to reality, where man obsessions commonly do not lie. So, in a strange twisted way I am glad for what is looking to be a suddenly shifting dynamic in my life. It numbs the sex bit right out of existence.
Another thing that has also helped in that regard was a visit with some friends yesterday evening who may even possibly put my boy dramas to shame. The obsession, the analysis, the unhealthy behaviors, the no good cheating bastards followed by more no good cheating bastards. And, well, the raunchy sex talk spawned by a recently witnessed case of diphallia. Don't know what diphallia means? Look it up. It'll cure you of the penis for awhile.
I wonder why these girls - all of whom are senior to me by at least four years keep going through this, and it occurred to me that if I don't make some changes (like this project), I could end up there as well. It's not that I find them contemptible, it's just that they seem unhappy when there are so many other things to make them happy. When, finally, we got off the topic of love lives (me non-conributing, and proud of my resolve not to) and blowjobs (me not contributing on principle, blech) and onto books, we all found common ground. The girls who had read Eat Pray Love high fiving each other at how awful we thought it was, a search through a friends bookcase for new reads (my cutdown on expenses has turned me more toward friends' bookshelves than Amazon - my parents' books are definitely getting raided this Christmas), and then a discussion on if Justin Bieber had a perfume, what it would smell like (Christmas trees and semen in socks) made me realize these girls weren't unhappy - it was just this one troubling aspect of their lives that bothered them. Sever it - like a diseased limb - and that's gone. At least that is how I am starting to feel.
However, the reason that is easier said than done is the pressure. The pressure to find the perfect man particularly as the clock ticks. I have decided to do without it. Instead, I am turning my pressure to picking up the pace on my tempo runs and seeing just how scroogy I can be with my cash - which is oddly satisfying as it has been an interested exercise in real need versus want. Right now it is about bare necessities and that is okay. It is also definitely about less nights on the town and less drinking - both good for my health and my wallet but also in another way. Less risk of bad judgment male entanglement, and that will do for now. Pressure relieved.
Luckily, it also completely destroys libido and forces me back to reality, where man obsessions commonly do not lie. So, in a strange twisted way I am glad for what is looking to be a suddenly shifting dynamic in my life. It numbs the sex bit right out of existence.
Another thing that has also helped in that regard was a visit with some friends yesterday evening who may even possibly put my boy dramas to shame. The obsession, the analysis, the unhealthy behaviors, the no good cheating bastards followed by more no good cheating bastards. And, well, the raunchy sex talk spawned by a recently witnessed case of diphallia. Don't know what diphallia means? Look it up. It'll cure you of the penis for awhile.
I wonder why these girls - all of whom are senior to me by at least four years keep going through this, and it occurred to me that if I don't make some changes (like this project), I could end up there as well. It's not that I find them contemptible, it's just that they seem unhappy when there are so many other things to make them happy. When, finally, we got off the topic of love lives (me non-conributing, and proud of my resolve not to) and blowjobs (me not contributing on principle, blech) and onto books, we all found common ground. The girls who had read Eat Pray Love high fiving each other at how awful we thought it was, a search through a friends bookcase for new reads (my cutdown on expenses has turned me more toward friends' bookshelves than Amazon - my parents' books are definitely getting raided this Christmas), and then a discussion on if Justin Bieber had a perfume, what it would smell like (Christmas trees and semen in socks) made me realize these girls weren't unhappy - it was just this one troubling aspect of their lives that bothered them. Sever it - like a diseased limb - and that's gone. At least that is how I am starting to feel.
However, the reason that is easier said than done is the pressure. The pressure to find the perfect man particularly as the clock ticks. I have decided to do without it. Instead, I am turning my pressure to picking up the pace on my tempo runs and seeing just how scroogy I can be with my cash - which is oddly satisfying as it has been an interested exercise in real need versus want. Right now it is about bare necessities and that is okay. It is also definitely about less nights on the town and less drinking - both good for my health and my wallet but also in another way. Less risk of bad judgment male entanglement, and that will do for now. Pressure relieved.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Day Eleven : Patience
"Good things come to those who wait." Okay, fine, but let's juxtapose that with romance's race to the finish - something my competitive heart finds itself wanting to do when exposed to facebook feeds of consummated loves and babies. I start to think "actually, impatience looks like it does a body good." On cold winter evenings like tonight, I have to wonder if it's fair to "wait" through feelings of loneliness, dejection, and, let's be honest, the raw raging libido of a 33-year-old woman.
The conclusion is that I have to still be patient and believe the work is doing its thing while I turn my life to other things. That the things I deny myself right now will taste sweeter when it's over - if I even need them - but will be better for me because I can enjoy them in moderation, like a nice stable person. I am slowly learning the art of powering through various pains in my life by assuring myself it will pass, and perhaps there I am allowed to be a little impatient. But honestly, to expect patterns I have spent over 20 years building to go away in only eleven days is dead unrealistic. So, patience appears to be the only option, and I'll keep giving it a chance.
Besides, I'm in no hurry for babies anyway. Also, friends please stop naming your babies retarded celebrity-sounding names. Freakonomics put it brilliantly - today's elegantly exotic name is tomorrow's trailer trash. Just a thought.
The conclusion is that I have to still be patient and believe the work is doing its thing while I turn my life to other things. That the things I deny myself right now will taste sweeter when it's over - if I even need them - but will be better for me because I can enjoy them in moderation, like a nice stable person. I am slowly learning the art of powering through various pains in my life by assuring myself it will pass, and perhaps there I am allowed to be a little impatient. But honestly, to expect patterns I have spent over 20 years building to go away in only eleven days is dead unrealistic. So, patience appears to be the only option, and I'll keep giving it a chance.
Besides, I'm in no hurry for babies anyway. Also, friends please stop naming your babies retarded celebrity-sounding names. Freakonomics put it brilliantly - today's elegantly exotic name is tomorrow's trailer trash. Just a thought.
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