Monday

Seriously, does anyone read this crap? No--which is why I can write to my heart's desire, regardless of content.

Alas.

There's more tension in my shoulders than... than what? I couldn't possibly find a comparison worth mentioning at the moment.

A Monday morning answering the phone and dealing with Monday morning students. If another person gives me attitude, I swear, I may erase all of his or her marks (there are very few powers I have, but that is one). Alas, I kid (but have thought hard about it).

Sigh.

The weekend was full, full. Friday night out at the theatre (yes, you have to say it with an English accent); Saturday night out at Latin dance lessons (I don't think I understand the true difference between using my hips versus using my abs), followed by a poker tournament at a friend's place. I am happy to report I came in first the first game (although the second is hardly worth mentioning). I was excited to beat out my self-proclaimed pro poker friend (he may say part-time pro--rolling eyes), but he is quick to exclaim, "It's just a friendly game; I wanted to get out. Everyone is sitting around waiting, you know." Right. So, next time just gimme the money and we can save the 1/2 hour of me kicking your ass. : ) (insert friend-love comment here, but he'll never read this, so who cares).

I'd tasted some scotch that night and decided it was like a campfire in a glass (which I'm told is from the "peat", as in "this scotch is quite "peaty"). Hmm. While I'd like to develop a small fancy for the drink, it may require more time and effort than I care to give. The smokey aftertaste of Lagavulin (yes, I had to look it up on google) was almost more than I could bear. That followed by some brandy was enough to throw me off of my next game (so I like to think).

The man I was happy to flirt with for the evening ended the night by shaking my hand and commenting, "When you first came in, I could tell how cold you were." Rather crass. If I had any doubt as to his worthiness of my supposed affection, I assure you, I'm crystal clear--he is in fact a jackass. And he doesn't even deserve a capital J. Hard not to be down on the opposite sex when you're going through a divorce and encountering clown after clown.

My line on the internet dating site is: "If I wanted a clown, i'd hang out at a circus". Some jackass was happy to send me a note, "Of course you're at a circus, that's where we'd find the elephant." Fucker. I really shouldn't even put it in here and somehow glorify him, but whatever.

Anyway, small rant for the day over. Lunchtime calls (only 15 minutes left...sigh).

Monday morning.

Meh.

Crying Game

Not a single smile in a two days. Fucking internet dating. I'd been on lavalife since my husband left, and every day I was on, my self esteem took a shot. With every Wilbur, Gord and Harry hitting on me, I wondered if, how or when I'd ever meet anyone worth dating, let alone worth having sex with. And they all wanted sex. According to my page a day calendar, 'he's just not that into you', a "man isn't into you if he doesn't want to have sex with you".

Frankly, I agree. I want passion. Intimacy (some people actually cringe at the sight or mention of this word).

A private conversation--no one heard her say, sang Lyle Lovett. I'm convinced it's about his marriage to Julia Roberts. Her answer to our collective gasp, "Lyle Lovette? The guy with the hair?!"


...


Three candles is a dimly lit room.
His eyes were blue. He was rustic by candlelight.
Only once did I get to hear his sensitive tone...I always imagined his eyes downcast whenever he spoke that way. I was right.


And this is how it happens.
There are movies; there are great works of fiction--all attempting to capture and give birth to the building of passion.

Genuine dialogue on every level.



Conversation isn't always about words.
Clearly.