Sunday, February 05, 2006

consider yourself, take two

Last night I blogged a blog that apparently was deemed unworthy of blogdom by the powers that be and disappeared. I didn't delete it. In fact, when I blogged this morning, I was terrified to find it gone. I had spent an hour writing and rewriting and almost convinced myself that I had dreamed that I had blogged. The former existence of that post, however, was witnessed by Lady Jane, Cinderella, and Katya, so at least I know that I'm not crazy. And being in a slightly more stable mood tonight, as well as having some new thoughts courtesy of the day's events, I thought I'd try again, along the same lines, but with a few new twists.

I believe I wrote last night that "Love is in the air. Couples are multiplying. Even my feminist sisters are flirting, etc." Don't think that I'm not supportive of your or anyone else's endeavors towards love. I fully support love and romance and coupledom. In the basement pseudo-apartment of my house right now there is a newlywed couple that I admire for their maturity and their respect of each other, in addition to the fact that they tackle each other every chance they get (no innuendo intended).

That being said, I've begun to think, for the first time in my life, that a relationship is not in the cards for me right now. And for very good reasons. One is my education. The second is that, as I so eloquently put it last night, I'm a mess. I'm not emotionally unavailable, which has become my favorite label to apply to guys; on the contrary, I'm too emotionally available. And while I know that I can't expect to solve all my own problems, I'm not ready to ask someone else to take on the burden of my problems. Maybe I'm selfish, but I like to think that I'm being considerate.

I'm not sure how or when this entered in, but I know I posted last night about that lovely YW adage, Be the person you want to marry, or at least be the person the person you want to marry will want to marry. Katya PM'd me about this and made a very good point: If you become the person you want to marry, then what's the point of marrying him or her? The idea of a marriage is a complementary relationship, which in my case will mean finding someone who can appreciate poetry, but who will (fingers crossed) also like to do the dishes.


Edgy said...

Edgy would also like to stand as a witness as to the existence of the previous post.

ZeroSmythson said...

Yes, I saw it, too. '[T]was good, if I dare say so. I tried to comment on it, but the same error that deleted the post also prevented me from commenting.

Saule Cogneur said...

You're only being considerate when the people who "ask" you questions don't really care to hear a real answer.

I agree with Katya.

Also, I'm still impatiently waiting to hear what the perfect man does that all others don't. If you ever want us to ride off with you into the sunset, you're going to have to throw us a bone.

bawb said...

Consider yourself, brought to you by Google Reader and the number 3:

Tolkien Boy writes one "sad" post for every five "happy." Master Fob warns his readers. And most just don't do it. So consider yourself warned. This is my one.

Love is in the air. Couples are multiplying. Even my sister feminists are brushing up on their flirting skills, slying checking out men, and recreating their torn up lists of "What I Want in a Man/Marriage/Child." And I'm watching from this bizarre detatched thought process--as, let's face it, always.

I've been thinking, as always. Reading and watching movies and thinking. And it's taken me an hour to type and retype that. Maybe there are things that shouldn't be written. But on this I want opinions. Opinions and reassurance. Reassurance of what, I'm not sure. But reassurance.

There are things in my life that I don't worry about. Stress over, sure. But somehow things work out. The example closest at hand is academics. I can do school. I belong in a university setting. I don't want to leave a university setting. Because it's safe. Because I always succeed. Because I never let myself down.

I've never worried about getting married, about being married. I've always assumed that it would happen someday, when it was supposed to. I'm still not worried about getting married. It's the being married that scares me. It's being with someone and being responsible for little someones.

I have an idea of the type of man I want, or at least hope for. And the image is flexible. But in the back of my mind is the mantra I learned a long time ago: Be the person you want to marry. Or the ultimate variation, Be the type of person the person you want to marry wants to marry. But right now, I'm not the type of person any man would want to marry. I'm a mess. And I'm not trying to claim that my mess is greater than anyone else's mess. My mess is probably minisculine compare to other messes. But it's still a mess. It's still an ever-present part of my life. And I don't feel like I could ask anyone to live with me and my mess. I don't want to pass this mess on to innocent children. Is it being fair to ask someone to live with this, for eternity? I personally don't think it's fair that I have to live with it.

I know I'm being vague and weepy--two heinous sins in writing. If I was a student, I'd write over that last paragraph "Show, don't tell." And if I could, I would take you on a tour of my house and my car. Show you the piles of papers and the shoes by the door, the attempts at organization and the thin layer of dust that has been collecting since the last time I cleaned, which was New Year's Eve. And that's only the living room. My room is a disaster. Clothes everywhere. I literally dig through the pile everyday to find something reasonably clean and unwrinkled. There are boxes that still need to be unpacked. Or just trashed. This is my environment, my habitat. This is where I live.

Scratch that. I live here, on my computer. I shut everything out, which is why everything is a mess. I watch my movies and I read my books and I hold entire conversations without leaving my recliner and my flannel quilt. My world is so small. And such a mess. There isn't room for another person; I'm still trying to find room for me.

Tolkien Boy said...

And I tried to comment, too. Especially because you sort of quoted me. I felt validated.


Thanks for being you.

Th. said...


Don't play with us. Your Super Bowl innuendo was missed by no one.

Th. said...


By the way: Hooray for Bawb.

InDialect said...

Of course there are right times. Of course all will happen as it should. But the readiness won't appear only after the mess is gone. The mess won't ever completely go away. In my case, it took getting married to figure a lot of it out--and there are still choice bits that stetch their haunting muscles now and again. I suppose that is part of the reason one should get married--not the only one of course, (let's not be mercenary) but it's one of the major perks.
And marriage brings its own messes. The little people certainly do. I'm terrified every single day. I haven't killed her yet, so I guess the only possibility is emotional disfiguration.
Maybe all that counts is that we find the reasonably clean and unwrinkled clothes every day, regardless of what we had to dig through.
And I'm waxing maudlin, so I'll stop.


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