I Am a Whole Cake, Not a Doughnut!

I was going to write a very funny post relating all of my Chanukah adventures, replete with a collapse leading to a Christmas Eve trip to the ER (not me), a horrific and bloody cell phone hit and run leading to the untimely and quite smooshy demise of my beloved ever-present crutch, and a text message from my father to Doc Harley leading to who the hell knows what.

But I'm not writing that post.

I'm not writing that post because as I sit here at the sdj trying desperately to prop up a body that is slouching further and further downward as the day progresses, it strikes me that there is something else that I'm much more compelled to write about - the newly discovered territory of me.

I have been spending much time in hibernation, holed up with my yarn and crochet hook in the remote recesses of my consciousness, and I like what the excavating has yielded thus far. Yes, you heard right, I am liking being with myself. It only took me almost 30 years to even get an inkling of what that feels like; 30 years of frantically avoiding and running from it. Furthermore, I am discovering and fully owning the wholly joyous epiphany that I do not need men; I am a complete and whole entity in and of my own right. A damn funny, interesting, intelligent, and creative entity at that (and I certainly do enjoy sex with myself as well). Men are supposed to be icing on the cake of self, not the flour, sugar and eggs. I hadn't looked in the cupboard in a long time; I was shocked to find the ingredients were indeed all there (the flour was hidden underneath some spilled nuts that I had neglected to clean up until now).

I talked to Mr. Emotionally Unavailable on the phone tonight for quite a long time. It was wonderful to hear his voice, wonderful to laugh with him over familiar things, and yes, I am definitely still in love with him - that might never go away. But I don't need him, and I don't want to get back together with him - not with what obscene disparity there is between what I am ever learning I want and what he is prepared to give. It didn't hurt when he said "I like you", it merely felt nice to know that someone likes me. I like him too. But I don't need him, and I love saying and owning that. I loved that I hung up the phone feeling good about myself, and the conversation and this man that I care deeply about. Without disappointment; unqualified. When he told me that Doc Harley was a fool because he didn't know what a catch he was letting go of, I didn't think "Why did you let go of it?" or "Why is DH doing this?"; I thought "That's right. I am a catch, and they are fools." And I meant it.

Things with Doc Harley have pretty much ended already, the conversation is just a mere formality. We most certainly have not been behaving as a couple for a little while now; a healthy couple does not go a whole week without speaking to eachother at all and then pretend like nothing's strange about that. The more time that goes by in this limbo-land, the more I am leaning towards ending the relationship completely rather than opening it up to seeing other people. I am also realizing that perhaps I was more in love with the idea of him than the actuality. Whatever the case, I certainly do not love the reality that is this man right now.

Even after last Wednesday's text message in which I believe I was very clear about how I did not care to text message anymore, his response still arrived via text...and not until Sunday night. He wrote that he was coming back into the city the next day and hopefully we could talk live in person on Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday. My father composed and sent a reply back to him, which said "God forbid you should lose a couple of fingers. You'd be mute. Happy Chanukah, Synge's Dad." While this might not have been the best course of action, it certainly provided us with endless hours of laughter and turned what was a frustrating and hurtful situation into a lovely family joke. I do believe that's the way things like this should be handled; I am tired of being disappointed, angry, hurt, and the like...I much prefer the laughter and empowerment route, hiccup inducing though it can sometimes be.

If he ever responded to the message, I have no idea of knowing, seeing as how my cell phone is in various flattened components resembling more a bizarre Rorschach test than a once functioning tool of torture..er, I mean comunication. But the fact remains that he is only making a half assed effort, and that's just not good enough for me. I don't need that kind of treatment, and I don't need someone for whom I am an afterthought when its convenient for him.

Because I am a whole entity. I am a delicious homemade cake, not a processed crappy doughnut awaiting my filling.

(even if I may be a fruitcake)