I am not a man, I am a coffee table

I am procrastinating. I have decided to write something else and am midst outline. I am also a procrastinator and so I am writing on here.

I am in severe pain.

One of the most enlightening and pleasing things I have learnt in the last few months is that I am female. I spent some time with someone who is clearly masculine and it finally dawned on me that I am not equal to a man, I am different. Allowing for that difference and embracing it is is really quite a charming place to be. Masculinity it turns out is really very....attractive. I have loved it. It makes no less of me and in fact makes me more complete.

Except there is still the issue of my androgynous quality. Sometimes, just sometimes - in the midst of my new found female side, my inner male appears - as if from nowhere. In a moment of sheer stupidity and in a bout of tom foolery, I thought I would challenge a male with brute force. I lost. Not only did I resort to begging for mercy, I tore my meniscus.

Now I am facing potentially another knee operation and on top of that, have been banned from wearing high heels. This is a profoundly troubling ban. I have never purchased flat shoes in my life. I will have to spend the next few weeks being mistaken for a coffee table.

Repeat after myself: I am not a man, I am not a man, I am not a man.

Respect is a matter of ego

Its been an interesting period. I have indeed find myself a magnate to men with emotional baggage. Or perhaps they are a magnet to me. Still, for everything that cause a thought process there is a lesson to be learnt.

I have learnt this. Peope have very specific ideas on what is the 'proper' way to behave and on the whole I struggle to agree that people should adhere to them. In dating - if a man does not respond immediately to texts or does not call for three days, he is no good and not treating me with respect.

Bollocks. I am 42, I have no idea what I want from my life and certainly have no idea about what I want from a relationship. I love the benefits of that unknown, the cooked breakfast, the witty conversations, my utter confusion over the concept of knowing the future, fantastic sex and beautiful bodies - but I am not the same persoon I was two years ago and if I need to be validated by someone calling me to do so - then I have a problem.

I figure this - I am just fine as I am. I no doubt have much to learn and am certain of a perpetual evolution until the day I sit in a carehome and shriek "I get it" through my toothless mouth. Until then, commitment phobic men, emotionally confused - whatever it is - it is their issue and not one I will ever need to take responsibility for, nor ones that I shall ever again see as a reflection of my worth. Compassion is so much more beautiful than responsibility. If there is one thing I can be certain of, it is that I will never again be in a co-dependant relationship.

Last week, I found myself in a situation in which I was gaining much pleasure. I gained it because it was simply pleasureable and NOT because I needed to give someone pleasure. I just gained it. As a result of that, the other person gained a lot of pleasure and that in turn, increased mine.

I think it may have been the only moment in which I have ever experienced true pleasure with no need, worry, validation required on either side. No ego involved.

The ego has a lot to answer for. When you need people to validate your existance, your ego has taken over.

The recovery from toxicity

I am a divorced woman.

And so it was that I was inundated by texts wishing congratulations. Very nice they were too. The man that I am dating but not in a 'relationship' with sent a particularly nice one advising to hold onto that feeling of freedom, since it was somthing I had worked towards. He was right, except that feeling of freedom was about not being controlled. When I got the Decree absolute I realised that control doesn't actually exist. It is not inanimate, no more than a feeling, no more than what you allow someone else, or some fear in you to do.

Tonight I was summoned to the pub by a handful of friends to celebrate the legal end to being married. A worthy cause. Earlier in the day I had advised the man that I am no longer married to that we are no longer married. I invited him out for a drink to celebrate. Everyone things once again that I am nuts but frankly - I walked up the aisle with the man and since we did not want to stay married, I feel it befitting that we should end it in a slightly more discreet form of celebration. I could, I suppose wear my wedding dress.Now that would be nuts. Still, I think a final 'Yeahhhhhh' drink together the way to end things.

It was ironic that in celebrating my new start that the pub should also contain the serial dater. There I was charting the beginning of the fun in life when I have to sit in the same room with a man that was my first introduction to single life. Should I have allowed myself to have seen normal behaviour as this, I would never have dated again.

Still, I must remain honest. I still feel some chemistry. Not a sexual, I want to sleep with you chemistry, more of 'still a little in my head' chemistry. Which is doubly ironic since I am still not sure which was the real man. There is still the one that thinks himself to be a real catch, arrogant in body language, cocky in behaviour but perhaps more than that, the reality that deep down, he questions all of that.

Facade. There is no selection process to the daily contact with women - simply an addiction to women to provide the adulation that he needs to feel okay. There is still something unresolved. And I am fine with that. It is no more than an unhealthy fix. I am not the type to feed that kind of addiction.

It caused a host of mixed emotion tonight. The man I am seeing but not in a 'relationship' with, I utterly adore. No matter how much I have tried to feel nothing (and I have) he becomes a little more gorgeous every time I see him. It is a very slow non relationship and frankly, just what I need. So it upset me that I could feel so much for such a gentle soul, such a gorgeous man. No matter his or my issues he deals with them. I want to bolt, he has me sussed. He panics, he tells me. I get on with my life, he gets on with his. If I see him in the street, I see his face and I know that this is an interesting time. If I stay, he makes me laugh like no one else ever has. He has met my children, some of my friends, I have met some of his. All without pressure, all without expectation and labelling. All just the way this needs to be.

So this evening perplexed me. It was not resolved in my head, perhaps it will never be. Serial dater is never going to be the man that I thought he was. Serial dater is never going to be the man he thinks he is. All because he cannot face himself.

So I spoke to him tonight. I asked him if in the wake of a new year we could at least attempt to be civil to each other. He really had no choice but to say yes in public. I spoke to him tonight since I have recognise that facing things makes them less than they are.

The man I am not in a relationship wanted to know about the serial dater recently. He knew who he was since a friend had shared the local grapevine with him. "Do you always fall in love with men straight away?" he asked

"No" I replied "I thought you were an arrogant prig when I first met you"

And here in lies the difference. Last year I fell in love with potential. Ths year, I have the potential to fall in love.

Choice is in the bag

Before the horse has bolted

I have spent all week preparing to bolt. I sat opposite someone last week having a serious adult conversation about expectation and such stuff. I presented as being very in control, very measured, pragmatic and a litte 'take it or leave it' All the while my head was thinking " Oh God, you are gorgeous and I feel like melting'.

I realised I could never say those words. Realising that I was thinking like that was a little shocking and extremely risky. If I told him that I was thinking that, he would no doubt bolt and more importantly, thinking those things meant that I could get hurt and so therefore there was only one answer.

Bolt.

I have had exit lines in my head and on the end of my texting finger for some time. I know the response to any "we need to talk' line because I have them all prepared in advance for the inevitable. Last night I acknowledged that texting my exit line was easier but unfair and if I am now an adult - I needed to call and exit. 4 hours of pacing and I summoned the courage. He was out.

So I spoke to a friend instead. Trained as a counsellor she says all the right things such as "And why do you think you feel this way"?

To which I reply "I have no idea, that's why I am asking you"

And she pointed out what I already know. I am a bolter. I date men that are bolters because it hides the fact that I am a bolter. I marry or date emotionally unavailable men because I think I am only worthy of emotionally unavailable men and since I am an emotionally unavailable woman, this proves my own fears.

I can be achingly honest about all sorts of things. Until I care. This is the point I reveal nothing since this is the point I can get hurt. What I never figured was that in emotionally withdrawing I sort of guarantee that the person I am seeing may be in the same place and me not being honest may make them withdraw. Choosing men with emotional baggage is perfect since this is the point I can turn it back onto them and concentrate on their issue and in so doing, avoid mine. Which in fundamentally, if I show them that I have feelings for them they are guaranteed to reject me. Not showing them I have feelings also guarantees that rejection will occur. Perfect, I don't have to take the risk and it becomes their fault.

So I missed the boat to bolt yesterday and when I received the 'phone me for a chat' message today, I panicked and hid the phone so I could avoid dealing with it. In a bid to try and undue some of this - I had already decided to be honest about how I felt, not in a bid to change the inevitable but in an attempt to leave a relationship having been emotionally honest for the first time ever.

So I called back. It was not the inevitable but merely a chat. My brain shifted as I considered that my fight or flight reaction was always on red alert and that perhaps my assumptions were always based on worse case scenario's. So I bit the bullet and revealed my thoughts. I did not however present it in a healthy way.

"I have something to tell you and you may not like it"

Oh Christ I feel really sick even saying this"

"Oh my God, I don't think I can"

Granted it was an unusual approach to telling someone that you think they are rather gorgeous and that they made me feel uncharacteristically melted. But even more unexpected is that no one shot me, the sky didn't fall in and the world didn't end in an instant.

What was even more interesting is that the fear of saying those words, had griped me for a week and the desire to bolt had almost entirely taken over me. So thank you to the man that made me realise that bolting is about fear and a sensation you can only feel when someone has made you feel something - I hope that one day you deal with this and find happiness.

And thank you to the man that made me feel that he was worth the risk of being honest with and that will not allow such issues to be unresolved. Who knows what the future holds but I do know this: Everyone comes into your life for a reason, everyone teaches you something but it is personal choice as to whether you learn from it. You learn from being hurt but you also learn alot about yourself and sometimes what hurts you most from other peoples behaviour, is what you start to see in your own.

There are no guarantees but at this moment and for this day I learnt that my fear of being hurt nearly made me bolt from something that could make me happy. May be it will, maybe it won't but the only chance I have in finding happiness is accepting that fear holds you in the same place time and time again. Refusing to give into fear and taking the chance that my assumptions could be wrong.

This time they were.

Duh

Life is very short

The anonymous poster is back. Its mid October and the anonymous poster decides upon a derisory comment with reference to a post in September about 'Tank Girl' Apparently, I have been 'had over' good and proper since such expression is used by the poster to mean silly cow.

This has caused me to ponder many issues. The first is why has anyone so little to do but trawl through someone's old post and make such comments. One can only assume, as I have, that they simply have no life. More than that people that feel the need to behave in such a way are generally very unhappy people.

Lets put it in perspective. This week I went to the funeral of a colleague who was killed in very horrid car accident. He was 25 years old. In the time I knew him he never nasty, bitter or unkind. The church was full and rightly so.

There is no sense in this. Perhaps the kind sweet people die for no good reason to teach those that have so much to learn. Perhaps the world would be a better place if all the miserable, horrid people were wiped out but then there would be nothing to learn and if that happened, the human race would have no purpose and I am not sure how long it would last.

So now we have to deal with a life in which people with their whole life in front of them, who make all those around them laugh get wiped out in an instant. A life in which people without the balls to lead their own life want to write ridiculous comments on others.

So I did a straw pole with men. I asked them their assumption on a man calling someone tank girl. Interestingly it was all positive. Strong, feisty, scary and sexy. Not sure I have a problem with that at all. Which makes you wonder if the anonymous poster, using the expression tank girl as a means of establishing the connection of silly cow. I think that given the tone, the anonymity and cowardice - that anonymous poster is in fact a little scared and intimidated by women in general.

It speaks volumes that a man would use any term in a derisory way to talk to women, instead of having the ability to communicate in an adult fashion. The other thing I thought poignant was the concept that someone 'had you'. Independent women only give what they want. I for one am happy giving what I want to a man that does not have issues with feeling inadequate.


As for those with clear issue regarding masculinity, adequacy and strength of character. Remember that life is very short. Bitterness and unkindness make for a lonely gathering at the end. If we all aspire to anything it should be that when we die, people miss us.

Sadly, I think anonymous poster need not face this accolade.

Too much text

The man that I am not particularly dating told me that I am not like a real girl. Apparently I am more like a boy. I have also been described as 'a small boy with breasts', Tank Girl and 'The Girl wit the Dragon Tattoo' - though I hasten to add, not all by the same man. I have not been overly flattered but ex-blind date assures me that the Tank Girl one is not an insult.

It would be a fair assessment that there are times where I respond to things like a 'Geezer' and when I respond to thinks like a girl, they tend to be overly girlie, emotional panic rants via text (god forbid that I share emotional panic on a face to face level) Should the unwitting recipient push an emotional button and MAKE me look them in the face, then tears are normally involved. Tears and talking are not one of the multi skills I ever mastered. In fact tears are not necessarily about genuine sadness but more to do with genuine awkwardness at being made to share a feeling. Tears feel so shockingly girlie that they normally render me incapable of speech in the hope that tears are sufficient and the unlucky other party is psychic.

So on the whole, I associate being overly emotional with being girlie and am more comfortable by far sending texts that say intelligent and feminine things such as "Nice Arse"

So having been told that I am a bit of a boy by a man that makes me want to be a bit of a girl, I decide that illness was the perfect time to watch a Chick Flick and get in touch with my inner Barbie.

I was nearly sick. I find it hard to believe that any film can incorporate such bad acting, such airhead mentality, such lip gloss, boobs and banality. I swear if being a girl means chocolate and chick flicks on a Saturday Evening, then I am going for surgery.

Should you ever find your self in the unfortunate position of being sufficiently ill to warrant a chick flick, don't bother. Having endured 90 minutes of torture I think it fair to say that the 'The boat that rocked' (I think that was it's title, was a much better choice'

Continuing on the theme of having my self imaged challenged, I was out texted this week. Never in the history of texting has this happened. I send a pretty sharp, pretty cryptic, pretty clever (and quite long) text and I get one back that frankly, blew mine out of the water. It took me 14 hours to come up with a response and the best I could do was to admit defeat. I am totally flummoxed. I have been out texted by a man.

Perhaps I am more of an airhead than I thought

When the shoe fits.

On a more positive note. I had a shoe fix. At times of emotional dilemma and revelation - always have a shoe fix. It works wonders