I’m easing my way back into regular posting. I don’t feel as scattered or lost as I felt through April. Don’t get me wrong, I still don’t have a clue, but I’m far more comfortable with my cluelessness than I was before.
Because you know what? I’ll figure it out. Somehow. Some way. I’ll take some steps and either they’ll be right and I’ll move in that direction or they’ll be wrong and I have to change course. But either way, I’ll figure it out. I fully believe that.
I’m going to offend the men who’ve been in my life up until this point, and I’m sorry. I will assure you all that when I was dealing with you, I truly believed you were the best thing since sliced bread. But I’ve gone through my list and realized I’ve never dealt with a man who was even remotely close to being smarter than me. It may be because I don’t like to be challenged. It could also be because real chemistry is such a rarity for me that once it’s established, I follow it relentlessly. If there’s a spark, my mind will make you the Most Interesting Man on the Planet. Word to Dos Equis. Me and these dreaming eyes of mine.
I don’t know what this means for whomever may come next, but I’m feeling like I should do things differently. Not forsaking the importance of the physical, because I’m still me and I still need to feel chills and toes curling and all that, but there’s gotta be some more going on upstairs.
The other day, I had a conversation with an old friend. One who does have a mind that I respect. Who annoys the hell out of me when I speak to him too often, but a once-a-year chat with him always get me right.
I re-read Joan Didion’s “On Self-Respect” yesterday, and I’m so glad I did.
I’ve also read 50 Shades of Grey and am reading 50 Shades Darker. I understand the writing is crap. Cinematography on pornos suck too, but that doesn’t stop men from getting off to it. Bottom line: I don’t need my porn to be literary.
While I’m on the subject, I’m not a fan of porn as a movie genre. I mean, you can pick up a tip or two on how to please men, but it doesn’t turn me on at all. Mostly because the women look dead in their faces, like they’ve mentally checked out and are just doing their jobs. There’s nothing sexy about that for me.
I spent Wednesday in the hospital with a swollen face from a food allergy. I promise I looked like that scene from the movie Hitch.
Currently stanning for Danielle LaPorte’s blog/philosophy. She’s a beast.
It’s usually the latter.