I figured men out, finally

Actually, I didn't, but I think I figured out what sort of relationship I'd like. Weekends only.

While I'm still convinced that I'm not interested in a 24/7 shackup, the thought of a sleepover appeals. Most of my psyche isn't conventional, but there's still a definite nurturing side. I would like to bring someone a morning cup of coffee, offer to wash his back, that sort of thing. But when the work week is grinding on, I'd prefer to be alone.

Perhaps part of this decision is that I had an early morning call from OOD Saturday, which eventually degenerated into my first foray into what I'll politely call hot chat. Being semi-verbally challenged (I tend to stammer when stressed), I was pleasantly surprised by the tele-tryst. The only backlash is that now I'm back to daydreaming of seduction strategies, when I know it would be wiser to keep my hands off OOD in real time.

I have another appointment with my therapist tomorrow - good news, my insurance is paying without quibbling - so I'll have something to discuss with her. She gets a bit cranky if you don't do your homework.

Today I was oddly cheerful. I say "oddly" is because, in the past, I would be depressed because of Delightful Date's frequent weekend unavailability. Usually he was doing his yoga teaching gig or visiting his mother. More recently, his silence reminded me that the relationship is most probably over. But today, all I felt was free. I went to the lake for a walk, and for once didn't forget my bird-watching binoculars. I saw some red-winged blackbirds.

Still no word from DD. Part of me is convinced that he's simply moved on, and he's not that into me any more. Part of me thinks it's the inevitable outcome when two emotionally unavailable people get together (hint: I'm the one who has her Gmail chat permanently set to Invisible). But another part of me sees the relationship as a chess game.

It's my move - all I have to figure out now is if it's a timed game or not. Strange, no? A sexual submissive who daydreams of being tied up, but who wants to win the romance war.

I need help with my homework

One reason I view cognitive therapy as the only navel-gazing worth pursuing is that you have to be involved. Otherwise your therapist will fire you. Or, at least mine will; she doesn't take new patients and doesn't believe in wasting time. This is one reason I respect her.

I've never understood why classic psychotherapy is supposed to make you feel better, especially if you simply bang on about your imaginary problems while the doc does nothing. When your time's almost up, the doc says something really inane like "what do you think?" When this happened, I was tempted to say "Look, pal, I'm paying to hear what YOU think."

Anyway, back to the cognitive stuff. I met with my therapist last week and, on my way out, I asked if there was anything I could do to prepare for our next visit. She thought a few seconds and then said:

"Try to decide what sort of a relationship with a man you'd like to have."

I'm beginning to wish there was a Cliff's Notes for this question, because I've come to realize that I don't know.

I really don't know.

If truth be told, I want a man to be crazy about me. To tell me "You're the one." An intelligent, funny, tall man who doesn't smoke or drink, and who likes cats. It's one of my favorite daydreams. I used to hope that I'd hear Delightful Date say this to me. But what happens after I hear this? How do we keep the relationship going? Is it possible to sustain passion? If so, I've yet to discover the secret.

Octavio Paz's book "The Double Flame: Love and Eroticism" describes the dilemma:

"... There is a question that all lovers ask each other, and in it the erotic mystery is epitomized: Who are you? A question without an answer . ..."

Why do we continue to ask this question?

I keep thinking of the evolution of my own failed marriages, and of Delightful Date's. His first marriage crashed suddenly when his attorney wife began seeing a psychiatrist without telling him; after a few months of seeing the shrink, she came home and proclaimed the marriage was over. He never saw it coming. And his second wife changed from a compassionate woman to someone who couldn't bother to sympathize when his cat was dying in his arms.

I think of when John Savelle dumped me on my birthday. I was still stupid enough to take him back a couple of years later. What the fuck could I have been thinking?

I think of when I saw David for the last time. He took me to the airport in Sydney. He said that "In all the years we've been together, you've never nagged me." I appreciated hearing this. Ten years later, he died without our ever properly bidding each other goodbye.

The return of Twilight Express

I'm trying to link the Word doc of Twilight Express here.

It's all in order and I even improved it here and there.

Pundit Kitchen strikes again

Not beyond therapy, after all

Sometimes I grow very tired of having an attention-deficit, Type A, can't-get-out-of-overdrive mind. The biggest problem is the lack of sleep it causes, especially when obsessing over my relationships with men, problems with money, worrying about my mother's ill-health, or general discontent.

The appointment with my therapist was this morning and I think it went fairly well. As usual, she zeroed in on the facets of my personality I don't like to discuss. Today it was Melina's Emotional Unavailability. She pointed out that my doubts about DD's interest in me may simply be an assumption that I'm not interested in him. Which, after you consider the fact that I've never let him in my house, might actually hold some water.

When she pressed me as to why I didn't contact him, I admitted that I was afraid he would formally dump me. Regarding DD's possible responses, honest or else, I described them as similar to receiving a Christmas gift from an elderly relative: you don't know what it is, but you're pretty sure you aren't going to like it. While she thought this was funny, she thought I was jumping the gun to assume he was going to show me the door.

She wouldn't sign off on my decision not to contact him, either. So alas, I am still holding the bag on that one. For now, I'm sticking with The Silent Treatment.

We also ended up discussion a suspicion I've long had about myself, which is that I fail to notice my own need to control my relationships. Men I cannot control become challenges, I become obsessed with controlling them, and it's all a downhill mess from there. Either I fail and feel rejected, or I succeed and realize I'm no longer interested.

I don't know why I can't treat the men that attract me as equals; I get on perfectly well with my male work colleagues and platonic friends. But when it comes to romantic pursuits, I'm always reminded of an episode of Sex and The City, when Samantha tries to convince a female friend that men are simple souls: "Men aren't that complicated. They're kind of like plants."

Don't you hate it when you pay someone to make sense out of your neurotic mindset and they succeed?