Flooded Lizard Kingdom

From 1160 miles away yesterday, a friend told me that he was lonely.

I could feel that.

I feel it most around this time of night, when I'm fighting my bedtime like a toddler and finding creative ways to justify avoiding the bedroom. Tonight, my idea is that I'll go when I finish importing this stack of CDs into the blessed ITunes... Of course, I've just gone to get another stack.

"I'm lonely" sounds odd to me, stilted. Same with "I'm sad." My ears hear "I'm pissed off" or "I'm happy" just fine. Do we not express the first two?

In the past six months and change, I have made email contact with 20 men who met the basic criteria of literate and vegetarian (or workably close). I have met 13 of them in person, gone on 38 dates, seen movies and plays, attended concerts, eaten sushi and tex-mex and thai and creme brulee, dressed up, undressed a few times, cried on several occasions, given one poor soul an undeserved smackdown, been stood up twice, had my breath taken away exactly once, and laughed and talked and held hands and kissed.

To my surprise, this has made me less lonely.

I had thought enduring connections with some quality of emotional intimacy were necessary for solace. Turns out, not so. Traffic can do it, especially if it involves lots of good conversation and appreciative comments about my legs.

But I'm waning in my enthusiasm for connect-lose, connect-lose, connect-lose - and in my tolerance for finding interesting people, starting to learn their lives, and having that disappear again a few weeks later. Even when I'm the one who pushes my chair back from the table. Granted, the positive stuff is a value add, whatever the outcome, and I have been having a hell of a lot of fun. But the departures do take something out of me. And I'm tired. Tired of the girl instincts that kick in when behavior changes trip the switch that says he's backing away, the dread and simultaneous attempt to disengage so it won't sting so much when it's done.

Then again, I'm just as tired of sleeping alone - or more correctly, tired of waking up alone.

If I just wanted to fill that side of the bed, though, I could have done it by now.

But like Dar, I want somebody who sees me, and who wants to see the world with me. Not with someone/anyone. With me. Someone who can accept that I'm human, and easily hurt, and full of fear and doubt, and also love it that I'm full of joy and wonder and amazement at the world and a burning drive to make it better.

There is no way to what I want but through this: meeting new people, no matter how I find them. Telling almost-strangers increasingly important things about myself, so they can start to know me and I can find out who they are. Feeling excitement and wondering if this time the emails and ticket stubs and inside jokes will mean as much in a year, then cleaning out my inbox a few weeks later and letting it fade.

Maybe I'll take a break soon.

Probably not.

I want a new nickname too much. And someone to know my days and which are my favorite pajamas. In return, I'll pick out their exact favorite snack at the grocery store, and remember they have a stressful meeting on Tuesday. And sew buttons back on.

And I guess I don't mind having quite a bit more fun while I'm waiting, since time will pass whether I do or not. I'll just continue to develop my skills in rolling with the disappointments without discounting the good.

(Every time I write something like this here, I feel the need to undercut myself at the beginning or the end with a self-deprecating comment or two. Perhaps this time I'll just let it sit.)