Thank God it's Monday

Well, the moon's waning so I'm in the bad mood phase of course. Thank goodness it's new moon soon so that I can start feeling good and be happy again. It's Monday and my day started with me making a perfect cup of coffee only to see it spilled on my hallway carpet. As I picked up the thermo mug off the floor I managed to spill the remaining coffee in the mug all over the front of myself. I was off to a good start, it was well and truly Monday if I had doubted it.

It's miserably cold here in Sydney and I long for company, I long for a man to cuddle up to and share things with. Were it not for my trusty German Shepherd I would probably have kidnapped one off the streets by now but as usual he didn't mind a cuddle and a belly rub. Where would I be without a dog in my life?

I do wonder though, how on earth I am ever going to get back into a relationship again when there's not a single man out there appealing to me except for James Purefoy who's already taken. He's done what I would like to do, he's opted for a much younger squeeze. I figure it's the only way for us people in our 40's to keep staying young and I have to get on the bandwagon here. James is probably onto something. I'm not sure if this plan of mine will succeed but for the moment, while the moon is waning anyway, I will persist in keeping it as my plan. Next week, well who knows how I'll feel about life and James and younger models. Probably more depressed.

Self Discovery....

This is something I wrote a few weeks after I had separated from my hubby:
For most of my life I have been looking for signs of beauty in me. Countless times I have found myself standing in front of the mirror examining the image on display, searching the face and the body for signs that I am beautiful. More often than not I did not find those signs and the feeling beautiful kept eluding me.

This search for signs of my own beauty has been going on for decades. At times I have looked at photos of a much younger self and found beauty in them although I clearly remember at the time I felt all but beautiful. It made me wonder why I could not at the time see what I see years later or why I was not feeling beautiful at all at the time. I have wondered why there had to be a so much time between the me I would later think was beautiful and the me now that still sometimes stands there and searches the mirror for signs of beauty in myself.

Of course for me finding signs of beauty would mean that I would be lovable and acceptable. Not being beautiful meant that I was not one of the lucky ones who deserved to be loved and to have many close friends in my life. Not being beautiful meant that I was not measuring up and that I was forever doomed to hope that one day I would magically change and blossom, that I would one day know without doubt that I am beautiful and therefore worthy. Everything else would fall into place then, but until then I had to wait because it was not going to happen because I was not beautiful enough.

Today I went for my usual Saturday/Sunday two hour walk with my trusty German shepherd (who seems to be of the opinion that I am very beautiful and most definitely lovable and acceptable, and worthy of his close friendship). I brought my iPod this time and with Oliver Shanti’s Medicine Power streaming through the headphones into my ears I walked in a world where my pace was set by drums and gentle Native American chanting. I find with that with Medicine Power I am like a tree that can not help reaching ever taller to get closer to the sky so I walk taller and prouder (and my dog loves this calm assertive me because then I am a pack leader he can trust and be really proud to walk with). My fellow travellers were an eclectic bunch of lone walkers, dog walkers, cyclists and families varying in size and generational span. There seemed to be more smiling faces than normal out there in that bunch today and as I walked on I allowed myself to let the wind pass through me so that I could feel not only tall and proud but also light and breezy.

On our return home I gave my dog a bowl of fresh water and seconded a bottle of cold water from the fridge for myself. Dog and I shared the simple pleasure of cool water after exercise for a moment before he flopped down on his favorite spot in the hallway and I lowered myself into a warm bath to soak a body satisfied from physical exertion. With the echo of the drums and chanting still gently sounding in my head I closed my eyes and relaxed in the bath while the warm water caressed me. It is a simple pleasure that never fails to satisfy. Something stirred me to open my eyes to leave that pleasure though.

A small mirror balances on the bath tub taps and it was in that mirror I saw beauty staring right back at me through clear blue eyes that seemed to reflect the sky that I so often let my eyes scan for signs of my beloved ravens. Those blue eyes rested on pillows made of rosy red cheeks flushed from a walk in the fresh air. Full pink lips formed a gentle smile that softened a face surrounded by a cascade of blonde long hair that seemed to be made of rays from the sun itself. The lines under the eyes that previously had looked like signs of aging now spoke of years of smiles and laughter. There it was – a perfect picture of beauty lovingly locking eyes with me not from a distant past but now in this moment. There I was in all my glory and in all my beauty.

But what was I really looking at there in the mirror? Was it the external features that I just described to you in few words or was it something else? What I realized as I sat there and studied that glorious image in the mirror while it seemed to look back at me with the same curiosity I looked at it with, was that I was looking past all that is the shell that is my body and in this case my face. I realized that I had seen through all the masks I wear and what I saw was the glorious me that lives in the center of my being, that ever beautiful, loving, joyful and peaceful part of me that always is whether I allow myself to acknowledge it or not. I had seen the me that is always going to be beautiful no matter how much my shell is worn out and carries the signs of the life I have lived. I had seen my own beauty and worthiness and better yet it was looking at me with all the love and acceptance I would ever have wanted someone to give to me so that I could feel whole. In that moment I was a perfect being, perfectly worthy and perfectly peaceful and perfectly loved. I was me and from this moment on I will always know that it is who I am whether I choose to see it in the mirror or not.

Organizing moods

I have decided, to make it easier both for myself and for those around me, that my moods will now be tied to the moon phases.

During the waning of the moon I will be in a bad mood, seem withdrawn but emotional and I will shun human contact.

During the waxing of the moon I will be sociable, approachable, happy and able to apply logic.

It may mean that people start to suspect that I’m bipolar but once they get the hang of the pattern they will know when to avoid me and when it's safe to socialize with me.

Finding a good prospect

Is it really so hard to find a good prospect? My gut feeling right now is that it would be a lot harder at 41 than it was at 20. But then on the other hand (every cloud has a silver lining) there should be a surplus of men that are coming out of relationships at that age a bit wiser and a bit more willing to bend over backwards for the right girl. At least I hope so, or else all may be lost in my case.

I have spent a lot of time recently thinking about what it is I want in a relationship. The wish list is quite impressive and I sometimes pity the poor bloke who turns up to apply for the position. Not only will my bar be raised a lot higher and my tolerance a lot lower now, he will also have to get past my friend Liljana Marijana, a fierce Yugoslavian lady who has very little tolerance for amorous guys. A full mental health, credit and criminal record check may get them an interview but during their probationary period they will be closely watched. I find it somewhat comforting to have this extra security because heavens above knows that I have been fly paper for freaks in the past and I need all the protection I can get.

My friend Markus Antonius says that women seems to “keep it together better” than men most of the time, especially if they are mothers which he says is because they have to keep track of the kids as well and you can’t afford to lose the plot then. Men on the other hand don’t seem to be able to do that, he says, even when they have to take care of kids. I think it’s his roundabout way of saying that men needs us womenfolk a lot more then we need them. I'm not so sure that it's a comforting thought.

No Sex in the City (or no sex makes me shitty)

Sex. Never do you want it more than when you have no one to have it with. When I was still with my husband I used to dread the moments when it came to having sex. I used to pray that it wouldn’t be the same old thing and that it would be over and done with quickly. Not that I didn’t want to have sex it’s just that it usually end up the same or in an attempt to make it more “special” someone tries to make it a marathon sex event. I’m quickly getting to the stage where I’ll settle for a smouldering look from a tired fellow commuter on the afternoon train.

I never enjoyed marathon sessions that inevitably leaves you unable to walk properly for days although I do enjoy prolonged foreplay. (I’m a woman, you didn’t expect any different, did you?) See making out is hugely underrated. I have no idea when it got a bad reputation but it’s really more fun than the act itself I feel and I say that because having sex usually means that lots of parts of your bodies end up being neglected whereas when you are making out you have to pay more attention to them. It’s an innovative and creative thing I feel.

However I could talk about sex for days now that I’m not getting any because it’s suddenly riveting stuff. Nothing gets the juices flowing like the lack thereof.

When everything’s heading south (like a sun starved Scandinavian)

When I was younger I used to hate when men looked at me in that special way that makes you feel like all they’re thinking about is humping your leg.

Now that I am forty-something and I find that while my looks are fading fast my need for attention hasn’t, and I actually miss those looks being thrown my way. When you forty-something you’re suddenly overlooked, almost invisible and no one realizes the painful truth of it more than I. I realise that I have wasted a good twenty years spurning these men when I should have been “working the room” so to speak, making contacts for the future. Problem is that I have so perfected the death stare over the years that it now comes completely natural to me. It’s as much part of me as the cup of coffee I need in the morning to get started and it will be levelled at any poor sod who has the bad taste of looking at me like they even remotely are thinking about doing the horizontal mamba with me. You can’t blame me. It’s hard to forge a serious career when you are a young blonde blue-eyed little thing which apparently screams anything but business, especially if your chosen field is engineering. It teaches one to become a snarly witch if for no other reason than to make people take notice. Because of this I probably don’t stand a chance in the dating game nowadays because I’m way too cynical and sarcastic, and I have realized that I will now have to “work for it”. Ugh!

So let me tell all you youngsters out there (on the off chance that someone is actually reading this) that as time passes you will eventually be faced with a dilemma or two. You will be wrinklier and parts of you that you didn’t think could possibly sag actually will (you will without any doubt for the first time in your life have no doubts about gravity’s existence). In fact, everything on you seems to be heading south with the same enthusiasm as a Scandinavian seeking sun and warmer temperature after a long dark winter. You can’t eat or drink like you used to. Your body refuses to take up positions it formerly did with ease. Parts of your body also start hurting which in itself is not a real problem; the real problem is they don’t stop hurting, it becomes chronic thing. I guess you have to be grateful for that because at least you know they’re there because by now you can’t be sure; your vision is starting to fail at an alarming rate. If you were ugly to start with this is the time to count your blessings because you have nothing to lose. Those of you who were “blessed” with good looks are at a severe disadvantage because your looks will be fading fast and you will be faced with having to make decisions about ways to keep your looks that could potentially make Extreme Makeover look like child’s play, never mind the cost.

Forty-something Reality Check

Let me define the forty-something (or at least my forty-something) reality check for you: Two of the people you have recently hired as writers on your team turn out to have mothers who are basically or exactly the same age as you are! These people you previously thought of as peers and colleagues are now “kids” which means that they think that you are not some hip career woman that they can model themselves on (both of them being female). You are someone who is like their mum and worst of all you dress like her too, like a hippy!

None the wiser (but oh so cynical)

So, after 20 years in Long Term Relationship Land I’m none the wiser as to how the male gender of our species functions. It’s true. I’m completely clueless. It’s sad to say but I don’t even know what motivates them, nonetheless what they want. They all seem to want to be loved but in reality only seem to need sex. It seems to be that intimacy equals sex to them. When you break up to them they are very quick to point out however that you’re the one who withdrew emotionally and physically, that you didn’t kiss or hug anymore, that you didn’t tell them that you loved them. I don’t get that. If you’re a man and you are reading this, can you please help me get it? You could save some poor sod a whole heap of trouble here. I’m saying that if you can’t do it for me, do it for him!

In no man’s land

I’ve been married twice. My first marriage lasted ten years before it ended in divorce and my second marriage lasted seven years before we separated.

That’s where I’m at; in separation no man’s land. I’m in that lovely stage when my “ex” still calls, e-mails and SMSes me professing his undying love to me. I find myself wondering why he couldn’t do this while I was still interested, while I still had hope that it was going to be a lifelong union, that he was “the one”. When I asked him about this he told me that it’s because he had given up on us before. Apparently my need for sleeping seven to eight hours a day was completely annoying and left him without hope; it made him feel neglected. It’s completely beside the point apparently that he could only sleep about four hours a night because of this post traumatic stress disorder. It’s also completely beside the point that he wasn’t working and that I not only spent eight hours five days a week at work but I also spent three hours a day traveling to and from work.

To be honest, I was exhausted which is simply no excuse for not being all perky and ready to party at the end of the day I gather. Do I sound bitter? I guess I am. I never came home to a cooked meal or to see my house properly cleaned but who am I to judge even though he wasn’t working. How dare I ask that he sit down with my daughter to do homework when she needs help because of her learning difficulties? I expected too much of this other human being and that's the sole reason my second marriage failed.

However, I blame no one here but myself because the only person who sold me short was me. In both my marriages I have “settled” because I thought I could do no better than that, that I was somehow so despicable and worthless that I had to take what was thrown at me and be content with it. In both my marriages I have ended up with broken men whom I somehow, with some la-la land thinking thoroughly applied, thought that I (Wonder Woman) could help fix. I probably even thought, deep down inside some dark messy corner of my mind, that they would be grateful for the sacrifices I made in my self sacrificing quest to help them. However, they didn’t want my help. At best they wanted me to love them while they would be allowed to be their own self accepted immature selves. That’s the problem. I wanted them to grow up but men seldom do grow up, do they, or did I get that wrong about them too?

It’s interesting to be in this no man’s land of separation in a sense because you realize that humanity are basically divided into two teams: the hopeless romantics who think that you will never be whole without that special someone (and he’s out there desperately seeking me) and the hopeless cynics who advises you to get toy boys (in my case boys, although a lesbian friend or two would possibly advise me to switch camps) if you feel a strong need for human intimacy and to make sure you swap them out often so that you don’t run the risk of getting attached to them. It’s also surprising to see who falls into what category. People who are in happy relationships don’t always promote the idea of there being such a thing as a happy relationship.

Back to Single Life– Geronimo!

I started a couple of blogs about a year ago then promptly left blogging behind again without so much looking over my shoulder. What did I have to say that could possibly be of any interest to anyone? I left it and I left my dream to write because when it comes down to it, I love to write, I love to paint pictures with words although it is at times a very painful process. Last night I decided to chase up my old blogs and they were still there, no doubt still unread by a single soul. I read the posts and I actually enjoyed reading them. It was interesting to see where I was a year ago. At lunch today I decided just to sit down and pretend blog (free write a bit). It became an “inspirathon” and it poured out of me as though I had not been allowed to speak or write for years. I have no idea if any of it is any good but I have decided that it must not matter what this time, that if it is complete garbage you, my dear reader, do not have to keep reading it. I’m comfortable in the knowledge that you’ll have enough sense to use whatever means available to you to get away from this page and that you will waste no time in doing so....

I'm at a junction in my life. 41 years old, recently separated from my husband of seven years. It’s my second marriage. My first marriage lasted ten years and in my humble opinion it was a miracle I hung in there for that long (and that it didn’t kill me). Common sense should have seen me leave it all behind a lot sooner. If you stick around and read I will tell you more about that later no doubt but be warned, it’s not a very nice story.

Problem is that as much as I didn’t repeat the same mistake the second time around things still didn’t go all that well. Not only should I have been wiser the second time around but I should also have dealt with things in an entirely different way. I didn’t though and despite that I will say Non Je Ne Regrette Rien (I have nothing to regret) as Edith Piaf once sang. We live and learn, eh? The truth is that I like me as I am today, although faulty and aging, and I wouldn’t be who I am today were it not for the experiences I have had so far in life. And so, I feel grateful, for some peculiar reason, while something keeps nagging at me telling me that I should be bitterly disappointed with myself. (Mum, is that you?)

In case you're wondering, my other blogs are dead now. I did the kindest thing I could do for them; I had them put down. There was no other option available I realized. May they rest in peace, unread, unloved and ultimately unwanted but safe in the knowledge that they provided me with the launchpad for this blog.