As if my single and celibate self wasn't already consumed with enough thoughts of sex. But since availing myself to the world of dating, copulation feels imminent and fantasy has begun disrupting my general productivity. So has a discreet little vibrating toy I picked up at Babeland.
I don't know if it's age and maturity or shear fear, but I realize that I'm far more cautious in my approach to dating than I was in my twenties. That was the last time I was single. Back then I was so easily lured by looks and raw physical attraction that I was pretty reckless with my heart and my body; not thinking of the emotional consequences of giving too much or giving it up too quickly to someone not worthy of me.
Drunk with insomnia and perhaps better judgment, I took the plunge and dove headfirst into the 21st century trend of on-line dating. For someone who hasn't even been on a date in ten years, this was a completely new and bizarre approach to flirting, dating and perhaps finding a love connection.
So, now that I'm officially divorced (three years later) and still dealing with the emotional, legal and financial ramifications, I find myself questioning my belief in marriage. Divorce has been a big reality check. It's reminded me that, as much as my marriage was a public declaration of my love and commitment to my EX, it was just as much a business deal.
I thought closure would mean having an in-your-face, last word confrontation with my EX. I anticipated full-on drama with emphatic twisty-neck and pointy-finger-style; enumerating all the ways he screwed up and screwed me over. I planned to diminish his ego until he was nothing but a cowering piece of man.
You know what? I was a catch when I met my EX, damn it! I was full of energy, sense of purpose, self-love and a zest for life. I had dreams, goals, aspirations and was eager to share my life with him. I loved the idea of happiness and success becoming a joint project. And I couldn't wait to co-create a life together in which we both thrived personally and professionally while constantly evolving into better versions of ourselves.
And that's the dude I turned The Rock down for. But rather than wallowing in misery and regret, I became a slut. Not a slut in the numerical sense, though. Let's just say, I lost any sort of cautionary discretion when it came to sleeping with someone before really getting to know them. Yes, even less discretion than cohabiting with someone within weeks of meeting. Put it this way: if I knew your name and you made me "tingle"... I was down.
What a sobering thought to realize I might not have been the catch I thought I was. Especially since, by the time I met my husband, I was thirty years old and felt damn good about the person I had become. It was just seven years earlier I dared exercise my independence and free-will by mustering up the courage to move to NYC.
Social ineptitude resulted in lots of alone time where I sometimes nurtured my resentment, fears and love of red wine during severe bouts of single-itis. But there were also those absolutely IndieGirl-icious periods when I experienced many an "AHA!" moment and great epiphany. During both the bleak and bright times I definitely discovered patterns of behavior that I wanted to change, if only I knew how.
Fucking TRUST! You're lonely without it and utterly screwed if you dare invest it in others. At least that's been my experience. The risk involved in trusting someone (post-separation) is so absolutely unnerving to me, that I've been walking around with this uncontrollably latent paranoia that the world at large is out to get me.
