And So It Ends...and/or Begins

It appears that our Rumspringa will end soon. We wandered from the familiar and will now consider those experiences to issue a verdict as to whether or not to return to one other. If we both come to the same decision, we are promising that we will do our damndest to remain connected for the long haul, that we plan to spend our lives together, grow old side by side, and leave one grieving when the other dies.  This is kind of a big deal.

The nearly six months we've been apart(ish) have been challenging and amazing. Personally, I have grown by leaps and bounds, grabbing my career by the horns, embracing friendships and fitness feats, and proving my worth to myself and my children. (I also cried a lot. And that's cool.) This version of me is stronger, smarter, and more independent than any previous model.

I'm fairly certain that I would not be the confident woman I am today if we had not separated. I was fearful and unhappy during those final months and I'm grateful to him for setting me free. I had not spent enough of my life alone to understand my potential. And I doubt we would have considered stepping into a permanent relationship without the break from one another. There were too many questions that only time apart could answer. 

Seems like the traditional way of permanent partnering (or the illusion thereof) starts with a few dates, grows into a relationship, then finally surrenders into a long-term something with little opportunity to explore the uncertainties that will inevitably crop up. It works for some, but not so much for many, many others.

In just a few days we will lay our cards on the table and declare our wishes for the future. And if this relationship does move into its final chapter, we will have both spent time exploring ourselves and others, weighing what we learned against what we know of our powerful love, and understand that ours is a partnership worth nurturing...for a long, long, long time.

Same Song, Second (or third or fourth) Verse

My car is idling outside a club while I hope he'll come out and go home with me instead of the hot blonde who speaks three languages and has her shit just a little more together than I do mine.

This is foolish. My smart, strong girl self knows this. I am so fearful of never again feeling what we had that I won't budge, refreshing my lipstick, sucking in my tummy, and checking my hair so that if his head turns my way, I catch his glance.

This happens every few weeks. I sit quietly for just long enough to get angry, then sad, then my stomach ties itself into knots, reliving the break up again...and again...and yet again. I hear myself say that I deserve better. I see myself stomp my foot and announce I am no longer going to be tethered to an uncertain love. I feel myself brace my backbone and rehearse a bold statement that goes something like, "I am done. I will keep your family as my friends, but you are no longer a critical part of my life." Then I roll my eyes because I know I can't say those words aloud.

I can only assume these frustrated feelings will melt to the ground and I'll fall back into hopeful mode the next time we hug. Our embraces are powerful, healing, if not deceiving demonstrations of love, passion, and connection. Our history is deep and wonderful. Our friendship is precious. This is not a simple something to walk from, but at the very least, I must start taking baby steps away from what we are.

He's a runner. If he realizes he's ready to love me completely, I'm sure he can catch up with me.

To-Dos To-Done

While not always the case, there have been a few occasions when resolutions have been a phenomenal influence toward my growth. I have a hard time believing I'll ever outdo this quartet of hopeful promises and its magnificent outcome. There's no reason to try to reinvent the wheel, and I can't run my first race or launch my bachelors degree quest again, but I can set goals (out loud) and accomplish them (out loud) over and over and over again.

Just a few weeks back, I said I would join a book club (and read a book), grow something, and set a fitness goal. 

Done.

After next Saturday's 50k, I'll get back to you with another trio of to-dos. I'm thinking something along the lines of pay library fines, protect tomatoes from squirrels, and nurse sore legs and arse.

History Repeats Itself

I met a friend for brunch today. We are both muddling through the trenches of singledom and have acted as sounding boards for the other off and on for a few months. We spent a good long time chatting about his loves, past and present, and of course, mine came up for more than a few minutes.

I spoke of my inner voice and it's loud proclamation. He smiled and said, "You've said that every time we've spoken since the break up." He's right. I've said it. I've known it. I just haven't been ready to act on it.

Not sure if I am yet or not, but I'm trying.

...and I'm crying.

Again.

Voice of Reason

I deserve better than this.

My inner voice shouted it clear as a bell. I rasied my eyebrows and stood taller.

Strong Jen is back. The Jen who walked away from a dead marriage when she realized she didn't respect the man who promised to be there for her, the Jen who braved returning to school so she could create a better life for herself and her family, the Jen who got hit by a car and ran a marathon eight days later...that Jen...she's back.

I etched the word near my heart for a reason. I knew there would be days when I might not feel strong. We can all use a reminder now and then, and I see it every morning. Some days I believe it more than others. Today I know.

I am worthy of nothing less than magnificent. And if magnificent takes the form of remaining a strong, independent single woman, so be it.

Dead Ends

Five, maybe six inches. Not a lot, right? But symbolic as hell.

I cut my hair. Well, actually, Lori cut my hair. I let her. I was ready for a new style and a new stylist. Half a year (and a proverbial lifetime) had passed since scissors last touched my locks, so the time had come to trim the ends and move forward.

I sat in the chair and let her know I wanted a hairstyle rather than just hair. She pulled out her tablet and showed me a couple of photos -- both fairly short designs -- and I hesitated. She pointed at one in particular and said, "I want to do this." The male stylist next to her agreed that it would look great on me, and I was [mostly] sold.

Hair grows. I've always said that. I used to wear mine Sinead O'Connor short. This shouldn't be a big deal.

But it kinda was.

Not long before our breakup, my tresses came up in conversation. He said something along the lines of how it wouldn't be prudent to give up my length -- and I quickly gave him the stink eye. He then explained that my hair was "so beautiful" and that it was such a part of who I am that it would be hard for him to understand why I would want to dispose of it. Red flags began flapping wildly, if only in my mind.

Flash back seven or so years ago: My (now ex-) husband told me I should not cut my hair short (like it was when we met). Several months later (after he informed me he was done with me), I chopped the fuck out of my locks, which resulted in a comment along the lines of, "I thought I said you should have long hair."  As if I was going to keep my hair for some good-for-nothing asshole? (Hmmmm, might be the whiskey talking now.)

Anyway, as I sat in Lori's chair, prepared for another lame trim and just another version of my middle aged long-ish locks, I sat tall and remembered that it's my turn to serve my own interests. No one else, not even while in the most serious of committed relationships, owns my body. I wanted new hair. I needed an externally visible attitude adjustment.

And I needed to let go of the weight that I was carrying in those dead ends. Shit. I said it. Dead ends.

This morning as I was using a bit less shampoo than I did yesterday, I heard myself singing, You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling. It took me a sec to connect the dots, and it was then that I remembered Mr. X and his strong suggestion that I grow my hair.

So while [many] pieces of me still long for what once was, those inches are history. I have spent the last few months stretching my wings and re-establishing who I am as an individual.  Sure, I realize the short hair is just a symbol here, but the Fuck You that accompanied my abbreviated 'do seven years ago might have more in common with the Hey, Look What I Just Did than I knew when I gave my new stylist the green light to lift that weight off my shoulders.

Friendly Fire

Because I was once a very wise woman with very wise friends...

I wrote this.

And be sure to read the comment. That might be the best part.

Write Off

Behind the curtain are countless unpublished posts that ramble on for pages. I usually abandon them because it's late and I'm tired. When I revisit them, I find myself right back in the sad or angry or other emotion that was pulsing through my veins when I wrote it.

Fact is, I'm writing him out of my life right now. Every time I lay words down, I take another step away from the most amazing love that I (or any of our friends) have ever known. Not my goal when I hopped back on the blog bus...not by a long shot.

So it's time to get back to those heart-to-hearts that we promised one another several weeks ago. It's been incredibly easy to hold each other, pretend like nothing is missing, and enjoy phenomenal sex. Being fearful of staying in and falling out of love at the same time is damn confusing.

Thinking...and/or Inking

I consider myself to be pretty intuitive. I've called a lot of events (that were close to me) before they were announced. Right now, my inner fortune teller is hinting at things I don't want to be true.

So I'll sit here bewildered and confused and tired (mostly tired) and a little bit sad...

...and I'll ponder my next tattoo.

(Lest we forget my personal GPS is oft off course. 
I still want another tattoo.)

To-Do List

Join a book club: I love to read. I love getting lost in another world, pondering what will happen next, the jaw drop that happens when the plot twists, the sad that fills me as I reluctantly turn the final page of the final chapter. But I'm so damn tired at the end of any given night, it's hard to put on my cheaters and knock out a few chapters. I need a book club to hold me accountable. I will read the book. I will come prepared to discuss it. I will enjoy the chatter and sisterhood. Now...where do I find said literary gaggle of women? (I have a decent lead, but will happily listen to your suggestions.)

Plant a seed: I need to learn how planning ahead can reward me (and my loved ones). I will (very very soon) plant a seed that will grow into something that I will eat in a month or two or three. Year after year I say I would like to grow a garden but the idea is daunting and I don't do anything about it. By the end of next week, I will have researched what I can start now that will flourish before summer's end. One thing. I will grow and care for one kind of plant, I will do it well, and I will enjoy (and share) the fruits (or vegetables) of my labor.

Set a fitness goal: I have been flailing since November's marathon. Even while I was running said race, I was pressing myself to set my sites on another event. I didn't. And I haven't. While I have stayed in shape between EnduraCamps, trail running, and client workouts, I'm not committed to anything in particular. I'm not pushing myself to the uncomfortable. I'm not reaching new heights. I love new heights. Gimme two weeks. I'll lay down the cash for a race and report back.

The Crying Game

Spontaneous weeping. All the damn time.

A racist asshole with guns killed my Kansas City neighbors.

And it's been a year since punk ass kids blew up my sport.

And mortality has started tapping me on the shoulder at work and in my personal relationships.

So here it is, plain and simple: I don't want to go at this alone. I don't want to navigate the waters of this harrowing life without a partner. I need a shoulder right now...because these tears are wreaking havoc on my blouse.

Broken [up] Dreams

Last night's dream pictured me shoved to the side while he mingled with society folk. He promised to come for me after a few minutes, but he never did.

A week ago the vision was about an ex from college, but I knew, even while sleeping, who the dream was really about. Needless to say, it didn't end well (both the dream and the relationship with the ex).

I rarely remember what happens between my ears while I sleep. I do recall once waking incredibly angry because my then-sweetheart had done wrong by me in my imagination, but other than that, I hardly recall dreams the moment I wake, and even if they hang with me beyond 5:00 am, the memory is swept clean by the time I am dressed for the day.

So to have two dreams within a week that are vivid, memorable, and about the same subject seems to be a message of sorts from my psyche. Or maybe not.

Let me sleep on it.

Experimental Rambling

What you're about to witness is precisely the reason I began blogging (again...and before). I'm looking for answers to a question I don't even know. I'm going to write down some words and cross my fingers (well, not actually cross them as that would making typing quite difficult) that at the end of it all, I have made some headway toward some kind of solution, or at the very least, have a challenge set forth for the tackling.

So...the long term relationship that ended...it's so much more complicated than that. Even today, after our mutual uncoupling, I am convinced that he and I have one of the greatest loves in the history of love. When we were together, we shared laughs and respect, we cooked up magic in the kitchen and created chemistry in the bedroom (and the kitchen and the in living room and on the stairs...). We inspired each other to become stronger and more fit. I can only speak for myself on this account, but knowing him made me want to be a better person. He helped me understand the world in ways I'd never bothered to learn. He introduced me to professionals who inspired me. He flew me to places I'd never been. He took it upon himself to make sure my passport didn't remain stamp-free. We massaged the other's sore bodies, we cared for sniffles and tummy aches. We held hands while grocery shopping. We sat side by side on the couch better than anyone.

And we shared our families too.

This was no ordinary love. There was nothing about our togetherness that felt like a compromise. For nearly four years, I looked forward to the minutes we could spend as a twosome. We had a rhythm that made the weeks and months fly past. We oozed passion.

So all of these lovely things make it quite hard to accept a break up -- especially because both of us will readily admit we still love the other.

The why of the break up? Let's call it claustrophobia. I understand -- probably more than he thinks I do. As previously mentioned, I'm not a huge fan of marriage, and don't have a lot of faith in forevers. At the same time, I don't want to go at this whole grown-up thing alone. Having felt how amazing a great relationship can be, I'll be the first in line to do it again. The caveat: it has to be just as good or better. The bar has been set almost impossibly high.

So while I know we are not "a thing" right now, we remain in touch (read that as you wish) and still rely on the other as dear friends. He was the first person I reached out to when my marathon toenail fell off. And I was his go-to gal when he needed to complain about chaffing. And when we are not "in touch," the extra alone time has given my brain chatter a whole new stage. My internal debate goes something like this:

He's never going to realize what he's missing by being broken up if you continue to support him as a friend and occasional lover.
So you want to play games? That's so not you, Jen. He knows you love him and if you act like a cold bitch, you're a) not fooling anyone, and b) mostly just being a bitch.
But he's taking you for granted. He knows you will always be there for him, yet you don't know he will always be there for you.
I'm pretty sure he'll be there for me. Haven't you been paying attention?

And so on...

The dialogue goes on forever. And ever. I hear it all day long...and all night too (because sleep is overrated). I hope to remain friends and be honest about how much I love and care for him. At the same time, I'd like to think I'm keeping my options open for qualified others who may be interested in getting to know me. I'm not sending off any particularly "I'm available" vibes, but hey...you never know.

I've been able to envision old age and hand holding with him since our very beginning. Add to that all of the lovelies mentioned at the beginning of this post and I think we can all see that I'm not in a hurry to (nor am I capable of) disposing of all of those wonders and simply moving on. I do realize that I might have to or choose to do exactly that (though I tamper the thought when it crops up). But for now, my part as a best friend, drinking buddy, and occasional fuck is still one of the most important roles in my life.

...and scene.

Okay, so I feel like I settled some stuff here. I wrote this a few nights ago and thought I was too tired to finish (looks fairly complete to me in a little bit of daylight). Upon reading it, it certainly appears I have some pretty strong feelings about where I am and where I'd like to be. I truly enjoy our interactions right now and don't feel rushed by my emotions or my friends to put a title on what he and I are.  And if one must attach a label to it, best friends will suffice. 

Don't Know What You've Got 'til It's Gone

I'm sick.

Achy, bloated stomach, even-more-than-usual tired, longing for someone to burp me like a baby, I've been mostly down for three days. (Now, please understand that by "mostly down," I mean I've met my clients, I've taught my classes, and I performed my day job, albeit with far less zest than most days.)

Every time I get sick, I remind myself to appreciate how good not feeling bad feels. And I might think about if for a few days after the ick passes, but just as quickly as the sickness makes itself known, so does the gratitude that it is gone.

Working with an aging, ailing population on a daily basis reminds me that I need to take care of what I've got while I've got it (body and brain), but I almost never take a moment to scan my body that is free of aches (other than the ones I proudly earned at boot camp or on the trails) and appreciate just how wonderful that is.

So it's going on my calendar. A daily reminder to express gratitude for health. I'll likely begin ignoring it after a few days or weeks, but a daily thanksgiving reminder will surely spark a smile even if I delete the memo the moment it nudges me.

But for now, I'm going to wallow in my tummy ache. And if it doesn't make an exit tout de suite, I'm gonna christen my ObamaCare card and visit a doctor. And speaking of, health insurance is another daily thank you for the to-do list...and smart kids and a cool cat and a roof over my head and a steady job and wonderful friends....now, what was it I was complaining about?

Asking Price

And just as quickly as the "yes" happened.........dead air.

Disappointed? Sure. Even remotely afraid to ask again? Hell no.

If I'm lucky, I'm somewhere near the middle of my lifetime. While I do my best to leave regrets at the side of the road, I occasionally find myself sad that I spent so many of the last 43 years idly watching the world pass me by. Luckily, I see this as a call to action rather than a reason to degrade myself. And I only have 43 or so years to make up for lost time.

So I'll remember the euphoria following yesterday's affirmation and take to heart the quiet that followed. I will ignore the voice who reminds me that I didn't really get what I wanted. Instead, I will politely request what I want. Again. And Again. And again.

Because you don't get 100% of what you don't ask for.

Something Ventured, Something Gained

Today I saw something that I wanted, so I asked for it.

The answer: yes.

I think I'll try that again.

Rock Paper Scissors

MJ McClendon was the most influential instructor of my entire education. Between kindergarten and grad school, she stands out as the teacher who made the greatest difference in my life. In one sentence -- one single comment on an essay in English 101 -- she forced me to rethink my belief system from the bottom up.

As I recall, I had written a paper explaining why the death penalty was a great idea. I was able to positively defend my reasoning because Jesus had said, "an eye for an eye." (Yes, I quoted Jesus in an argument in a college assignment.) She circled that statement and wrote, "Check your source." That's it. That is the sentence that changed my life.

Luckily, I brought no fewer than three bibles with me to college, so upon my return to my apartment, I checked the reference edition of the New International Version only to discover that the eye for an eye stuff came from the Old Testament, and Christ didn't say a word until its sequel. And then I began to recall some of the lessons from Sunday school that taught me the purpose of Jesus' arrival on this planet was to dispense of the laws of the past, and that we now could be absolved of our sins through our Lord and Savior blah blah blah. This discovery completely rocked my world. The fire and brimstone message I'd listened to and believed for all of those years was in direct conflict with the words in black and white on the bible that had been waved around as the one and only manual for living a good and pure life.

I looked at what I'd written and began literally cutting the page apart. Sentence by sentence, I rearranged pieces of paper across the floor while my world view shifted. I had to choose, before 3:30 pm the following day, whether I was an Old Testament follower or a New Testament Christian. It would have been easier to correctly attribute the eye for an eye jazz to whomever said it and let the first argument stand. But I couldn't. I salvaged what made sense and disposed of what didn't. And I began scribbling new notes, new reasoning, and the new rock upon which my new belief system would be built. Even 25 years later, my Facebook profile lists my religious view as "Some Benign Brand of Love Thy Neighbor Spirituality," which was borne of that revised essay.

Over the years I've disposed of all the Jesus stuff and have only kept the love and forgiveness and good will toward men (wink wink) parts of my upbringing. I believe in science. I feel we're at our best when we're good to one another. And I'm pretty sure that when we die, we die, so we'd best make a positive difference in the short time we're here.

I would like to think that I would have shed those stodgy (and often dangerous) principles sooner or later in life, but I love that this is how it happened. I so vividly remember perusing the good book to prove myself right, only to be stunned by the truth. I pieced together my new mindset from a puzzle of paper strips strewn about my living room.

Words hold so much power. I dealt with my divorce through writing way back when and it helped me grow in ways I cannot explain. And here I am again, looking to learn from myself and my words. It wasn't until I penned the About Me section today that I realized I'm on a quest to be just uncomfortable enough to become a better me. When I read what I'd written, I hesitated for a moment and almost deleted it, but I couldn't. Perhaps it's time for me to get the paper and scissors out again to figure out where I'm going this time.

Truly, Madly, Deeply

I am utterly smitten.  Unable to concentrate, I want to drown myself in this new love. Since meeting, I can think of nothing else. I envision decades of bliss after only two hours together.

Trail running, where have you been all my life?

I've been complaining for some time that running has lost its glimmer for me. While my last marathon resulted in a PR, I felt confused for most of the race. Seriously...as the crowd of runners crossed the starting line, I looked around and thought, "What the hell am I doing here?" I cried on and off for four-plus hours (for several long-winded reasons). And when I finished, I was just as befuddled as when I began. And I have hardly run since -- three, maybe four eight-milers, and short jogs here and there to make sure my legs still work.

Granted, training season for the last race coincided with a dissolving relationship and a stressful internship. And since the new year, I've spent most of my allotted fitness minutes at a fantastic cross training facility. But running kept calling to me. It was a key piece to my recovery from divorce, and a significant player in the most important romance of my life. I couldn't just let it slip away, could I?

After repeated recruiting attempts, an ultrarunner friend coerced me to give running another try, but from a new angle.  I've argued against hitting the trails because I would have to drive so I could run (then drive back home, of course). The gas guzzling minivan is a thing of the past and I'm now a hybrid owner, so I'm far better able to justify the fuel expense now (and I adore driving the new wheels). This morning I found my way to our meeting point along with four more of her trail minions and we headed out for my inaugural rocky run.

And just like that, she drew me into her seedy underworld. It was absolutely magical. Stones and sticks and dirt and trees and hills and obstacles were there for the tripping and falling (an important milestone, I was told. Check.). The time and the miles flew by despite the necessity of a slower pace. Zigzagging my way through nature, I never found myself winded, nor did I consider turning toward home prematurely (like I so often do on the streets). Since the minute I stopped running, I've obsessed about when I will find my way out there again, speculating how far my legs will take me next time.

It seems like it's been ages since I've locked into a new fitness obsession...like, maybe since January when I got hooked on EnduraCamps (hmmmm, perhaps I fall more easily than I realized). But this time it feels different. I think I could build something worthwhile, something that has meaning, something to latch onto for a good long while.

This could well be the perfect partnership for me right now. The trails will give me fresh air and a fresh perspective on life, love, and the great outdoors. And I will offer my sweat and an occasional chunk of flesh in return. I'm happy to take scrapes and bruises over chocolates and roses. Talk about falling head over heels...

Flirting With Disaster

It's no secret. I'm a flirt. You can see it in photos at the age of three, thirteen, twenty-three...the cocked head, the sparkly eyes...eagerly awaiting validation for some shallow physical trait. It's deeply embedded in who I am. Unfortunately, I didn't get an owner's manual for the effective management of this characteristic and have spent most of the last 43 years with the switch locked on, rarely easing back, even in situations where it is clearly contraindicated.

I realized while at work a few days ago that I really need to find a way to shut it off. There are octogenarians following me down the hallways and complimenting my wardrobe choices and making requests for snug sweaters on my next visit. Male nurses are begging me to become their personal trainers. And I feel giddy when the handsome cook shyly helps me find my way around the kitchen. Nothing good can come from teasing any of these fellas, yet the compliments and smiles they pay me keep my flirt in overdrive, leading them on, coercing more kind words and sly looks.

Work isn't the only place where I don't know how to shut off my misleading ways. I recently did a short stint on Match.com (two...maybe three weeks is all I can tolerate). I take a decent photo and I write a pretty good profile, so I caught the eye of a few gents. I only accepted a few dates, and knew within minutes of meeting these men that I had no interest in pursuing something deeper. Yet I chatted, I flipped my hair, I told my story, and I hugged them goodbye, with a promise of, "yes, I'd like to see you again."

The current quiet in my life (that is so rudely interrupted with work and workouts and children and dinner and insomnia) should be a great time to explore why I am who I am. I'm sure I'll find a thousand things to do and think about so I don't have to tackle such a sticky subject. And even if I figure out the why of who I am (I've been blaming it on middle child syndrome for most of this lifetime), I then need to decide if that's such a bad thing. And if it isn't such a bad thing, how do I merely temper the tease?

Most importantly, even if I don't do any soul searching, I must learn to tell an unwanted suitor "No." One syllable. Two letters. Should be easy, right? Ye....ahhh...ummmm.....well....actually...

No.

Note to My Future Self

Remember the smile you had on your face this morning as you rushed out the door with your briefcase and your lunch and your coffee cup. Think about the joy you felt as you started your car and headed toward work. This feeling won't last forever, but take to heart all of the hard work, energy, tears and frustrations that led you to this place. Sign your name with pride, J. You have come so very far.

Enjoy the glow, but you mustn't stop moving forward, Dear. You are at your best during a struggle. You shine through challenges. And your ass looks great as you hurdle those obstacles.

Mixed Messages

There aren't many things I like about being single. After a couple of months sans partner, I've realized I don't rock the kitchen like I used to, my goal setting skills have tanked, and I drink too much. One thing that I do dig more now that I'm unattached is flirting. Now, I have always enjoyed engaging with the opposite sex. I'm sure the boys from my third grade class would concur, as would the handsome neighbor across the street, as would any bartender, server, clerk, or handyman who has crossed my path. And I was never asked to stifle my teasing while I was attached.  But as a loner, I've taken my game up a notch. Or two...

I'm not looking for trouble here, but I'd be a big ol' liar if I said I didn't love attention from the fellas. Some might even say I seek it out in less-than-positive ways. So when a friend's husband messaged me [half-drunk and on a business trip] with praise about my physical appearance in a Facebook photo, I didn't stop him in his tracks and ask how his wife was. I batted the compliment around a bit, engaged and teased, and crossed a virtual line that probably shouldn't have been crossed. And only then did I check in on how my married friend was doing.

(This post has almost nothing to do with flirting, by the way.)

This gent and I have continued to message one another. Most of what we chat about is mundane -- parenting, relationships both current and past, laundry and pets and coffee and weather, and politics and religion. We've touched on some subjects that are very timely in my current journey, and what I find coming out of my fingertips often directly conflicts with my emotions.

Let's look at a discussion we had about marriage, for instance. Marriage is hard -- only newlyweds and lying liars will tell you otherwise. I am very good in [the right] relationship -- I am no good in [the wrong] marriage. But how can one keep the lovely parts of a relationship lovely once you commit to a lifetime...a lifetime, I say...of togetherness? An example of the things I'll type that are true and wise (to me), but directly conflict with my emotional self: "We tell people that they shouldn't go into business with their friends, yet that's exactly what marriage is. You're combining resources, relying on each other, and trying to continue loving each other like the night you first fucked. Not possible." I think I've expressed more than once that I don't think a lot of marriage. Historically it was linked to politics and religion and money. I'm uncertain of when love came into play, but I'm not sure those four subjects make good bedfellows. Yet marrying for only love and not taking money and politics (and religion, if you play that game) is pretty ridiculous too. The societal expectation of reproduction that is attached to matrimony is doing us no favors, and for so many, the financial implications of making people without having a pretty good monetary baseline is a recipe for disaster. And once those finances fall apart, it's hard to see why it was you loved that partner in the first place.

Once more, I'm not dying to walk down the aisle again, but I definitely have toyed with the idea of a solid future with a special someone. I have no desire to grow old alone and I am undoubtedly a relationship person. I love to give of myself and my time. I adore preparing a meal for an appreciative palate. I crave human touch. But is a real partnership possible without tangling the love with the business? I don't think so. Can you keep them in separate rooms? And at what point does the union become a corporation?

As a forty-something, I'm wise enough to look at more than just the great sex and weekend getaways when it comes to building a lifetime with another. At the same time, I mostly want to ignore the hard stuff and snuggle up under a blanket for the next thirty years. Looking at the logistics of a decision before diving in is so. not. me.

See, I told you this post wasn't about flirting.

So I will continue bantering with my friend's husband. I'm sure we will occasionally push the boundaries of appropriate platonic conversation, but I'm much more interested in him for his brain, and the fresh perspective this new confidant brings to my tired life.

Like Riding a Bike?

I sure hope so. It's been almost two years since I've blogged and I don't know if I can hold to my old standard of reasonably proper grammar and charming wit -- at least until I get rolling again.

So much has happened since I abandoned my Mountain of Laundry. The job that was eating at my soul ended -- abruptly -- when they eliminated my position. "Restructuring" they called it. Being laid off during a prolonged recession is what I called it. It's a classy organization "founded on Christian principles" that releases its single mom staffers in December (or any time for that matter). But I turned that downpour into a pretty darn nice bed of flowers.

I used that stint of unemployment for my greater good. Through hard work and a touch of serendipity, I managed to earn a spot in Iowa State's dietetic internship program in June of '13. Five months later I passed a big expensive test and am now a registered dietitian. I'm really, really proud of myself for finishing what I started way back in 2009. It took another couple of months to land a job, but I now sign my name followed by RD LD/N numerous times a day. And I love it. Every time.

My long term relationship ended. Three and a half years of near-magic began to unravel about the time I began the internship and we called it quits shortly into the new year. It had been quite a ride and we tried too hard (or at least too long) to stay together, but at the end of it all, he was tired of making me sad and I was tired of being sad. We are communicating as friends right now (with occasional benefits). It's impossible to know where this journey will end. Our friendship is one of the most precious somethings I've known. I can't imagine losing that.

Other biggies...I did a triathlon and another marathon. I bought a new [to me] car. The kids are 12, 14, & 18. I got a tattoo.

I am sad that I don't have the challenges and championships of the last two years chronicled, but I continue to learn that it's never too late to remedy the mistakes of the past, so I'll just start from here and we'll see where this goes. I will be more honest and open than before. No more editing myself just in case my mom is reading.

Be well...