Holy, Holey, Whole

I'm a socialist at heart; if I have extra and you need some, it's yours. The problem I sometimes have is determining if I actually have extra. I end up passing out my own rations and going hungry. That's okay once in awhile, but if I keep doing it without you doing what it takes to bring in your own food, we're both gonna be hungry and at some point, I won't have what it takes to bring more food in anymore either. If that keeps up, eventually we're both starving, desperate husks, our desiccated fingers pointing and mummy lips snarling in each others general directions. 

   

But that's what I learned of love growing up: we may be impaired, malnourished, suffering souls, but all we have is each other and we must stick together no matter what, giving whatever it takes to keep the other alive on meager resources. If we don't stick together in the pit, we just end up in the pit alone. The only thing worse than a crazy, filthy pit dweller is a lonely one, damnit.

Occasionally, one of us would try to crawl outta the hole and the other pit dwellers were quick to pull them down. We didn't do it consciously; we were unconsciously carrying on the chain of abuse, doing what had been done to us, what we'd learned to do. On a deeper level, we were afraid- afraid for the climber: it's dangerous out there, are you crazy? Stick with the tribe man. Besides we need you. Another part of us was terrified: what if they actually make it? What the hell will that mean for me?  That means that the story starts to crumble and the earth under my own feet suddenly becomes questionable.

We can see this same dynamic at play in the culture around us all the time. "Who are you to be free? Get back down here bitch!" Sometimes it even looks like, "Damnit, I LOVE you!"; even, "I'm doing this FOR YOUR OWN GOOD."

So it can be freaky to watch someone get out, to watch someone even try to get out. As hole dwellers, we rarely have words for these feelings, especially if we're used to living in a daily state of low level panic, fear and anxiety. These were daily companions in my growing up home and are for many of us today. As kids we weren't capable of naming our feelings, much less identifying why we were snapping at someone's heels as they tried to exit. We may be adults on the outside now, but some of us are still kids-in-the-hole on the inside. 

  

Some of us learn this kind of giving as a way to survive or at least keeping our companions-of-the-hole by our sides. As a kid, it was a survival thing imprinted on me early- keep her alive so she doesn't leave me, because the alternative was (literally) death. Many of us have our own versions of this in varying strengths and for a lot of us, it's now costing us our own life force if not outright killing us (literally).

So, if I'm really honest with myself, when I'm giving too much, my motives aren't all that pure anyway. There's at least a tinge of "if I take care of you, you won't die and leave me alone" involved. It isn't pretty, but there it is. It's left over from my days in El Mundo Malo, the Country of the Dead, where Queen Wasp ruled with an iron fist and I dashed myself bloody on her studded skirts in desperate bids for love and sustenance. There's rewiring to do yet. I'm on it. I can even see that the seed of "taking care of each other" is a healthy biological survival imperative that gets warped beyond reason by extreme situations. How do we know when help isn't healthy anymore? 

There is no hard and fast rule for how much help is too much. Our best bet is guidance from our feelings, intuition, or a trusted source, inner or outer. I have trouble listening to that guidance sometimes. Especially when I love someone. The more I love them, the more bonded we are, then the more likely the code "keep giving no matter what" is to kick in, particularly when they're struggling. It's a challenge that still gets triggered in certain situations.

This is what I know as of right now:

Tho he didn't go joyfully...

1) Crawling in the hole with someone only means that now there are two people in the hole. Maybe they aren't as lonely anymore, but still- it's a hole. Holes can be nice sometimes, but do you wanna live your life in one? Even Smeagol got out eventually. Besides, there is lots and lots of company to be had outside the hole too. And trust me, some of them will be thrilled to hang out with you and it won't cost you a thing (Look ma, no blood price!)

2) Standing on the edge of a hole while someone in the hole pulls on you constantly will wear you out. If you expend too much energy trying to get them out of that hole, you will eventually fall back in yourself. This isn't the end of the world- you can get out again, but it's fucking exhausting. Or you could die on the edge of that hole with your arm hanging out of it's socket, having missed a lot of great concerts. And your buddy in the hole will still be in it. So, do both of you and the world a favor and make sure you do what it takes to stay out of the hole and out of tug-games at the edge of the hole. Remember, your own oxygen mask first!

3) If you're out of the hole, then you have an amazing gift to offer the hole dweller: You speak holey language and the person at the bottom of that pit is more likely to hear you, believe you more than one who hasn't done their time in the hole. This may be the most important thing you have to share with a person in a hole:   

If you got out of the hole, anyone else can get out. Period. You may indeed have what look like superpowers, but you didn't have them when you were in the hole either. Like me, you probably worked super hard for those superpowers and so can they. But often they don't wanna hear that. I didn't want to hear it when I was stuck, starving and dying. The person in that hole is scared shitless. Remember that when they're cussing and cursing you for a cold hearted bitch as you smile at them from the outside or (the nerve of you) walk away. They're terrified. They might like nothing more from that vantage point than to pull you back in and say, "See? There really is no 'out of the hole'. I knew it. Let's just stay down here and eat each other." 

They might try the falling apart, heart wrenching sobbing, don't-leave-me bit too. There's no blame in it. It's a tried and true tactic among hole dwellers, system approved- you remember. Of course they're sad. Pits can be sad, wretched places. The question is, what are they going to do about it? Not, what are YOU going to do about it. Their hole = their climb.

Don't fall for these or any other "grappling" tactics. Stick to what you know. The perspective of an ex-hole dweller is especially valuable to the still holey one, not just because you've been there, but because now you're not. What good are you to them if you move back into Holeville? From outside, you can describe the scenery, the quality of the air, what it's like to run, sail, fly and see vast distances. You can tell them how you escaped. You can break trail, leave bread crumbs and come back to tell of your adventures. If they aren't really ready to climb out, but just want you to save them (translate: ease their pain by filling up their holes inside- black holes that can't really be filled anyway and will eat up your known universe like The Nothing. Dramatic? Hell yeah it's dramatic! Take this shit seriously. It's your life.)...... erm.....where was I....

If they just want to be rescued, they'll probably find your message irritating as hell- can't you just save them already and shut the fuck up? You may eventually have to walk away, having passed on what you have to share, and know that you will see them out in the big ole non-hole world sometime. Or not. Either way, sometimes you just have to let it go. After all....

4) The only one who can really save us is ourselves. Really. Of course we can help each other out along the way, but each of us has to make a decision, a commitment to our own freedom in order to get on the path. I can't do it for you, you can't do it for me. It's an inside job and though we don't have to do it alone, we do have to do it ourselves.

5) There are a plethora (secksy work alert!) of resources out there. I promise you, you are not the only one in the world that can help this particular hole dweller. If you honestly feel that it would be damaging to you or them in some way, SAY NO and point them in the direction of another resource. The world is full of resources, some sources are even more abundant and more appropriate than you. It's okay to say "no". Hear that? It's okay to say "no". It's okay to say "no". It's okay to say "no". Say it with me: It's okay to say "no". Say it LOUD, like you MEAN IT: IT'S OKAY TO SAY 'NO'! woot!!!

Does that make you cringe a little? No worries. Me too. Say it anyway, do it anyway. It gets easier and your self will thank you for it. And who knows, the hole dweller may one day also. Some of the biggest helps I got along the way came when people walked away. It was painful and I even hated them a little, but now I see how they helped me wake up. Not only is it okay to say "NO", it may even be better for the denyee too. It's healthy to have a bottom line. 

But don't expect the hole dweller to agree with you. After all, they probably don't know this for themselves yet. How can they allow it for you? 

6) I read this in The Wanderground by Sally Miller Gearhart an age of moons ago: That which I give that does not come from my overflow is poison (paraphrased). That means it's not good for anybody, including the hole dweller you're trying to rescue, for you to give, in a way that damages you. Make sure your own well is full before you go givin away all your water. That way, you and your horses live to ride another day, spreading the teachings of liberation and well diggin across the land. And you get to dance and eat sushi and be Whole. Dessicated husks in holes just get to be holey. Maybe that's your thing- just remember, you have choice. It's easy to forget that in a hole. 

Sometimes people know there's more than life in a hole, but they don't want to do the difficult, amazing, sometimes tedious work of doing what it takes to get out of the hole. They want to latch onto you like a velcro monkey, pretend they're you and get carried into where you are in life, just like that, *presto bang*. But even if you manage to pull both of you back from the edge, it doesn't work that way. Because "No matter where you go, there you are" applies here too. They could step into your life, but they'll be walking dynamite in a terrain that they have no tools for, the tools you've developed through doing the work (and you know what dynamite makes when it blows, right? A new hole). It's like putting someone in the drivers seat of a plane without the hours of training it takes to be ready. Disaster is assured. It isn't their world yet, they have to grow into it themselves, in their own plodding, tortuous, miraculous way.

There are no shortcuts to saving your own life. Believe me, I tried them all and found them false. The only way out is through, for each of us. Not only is it bad for me to try to carry someone when I can barely carry myself some days, but it robs them of their own experience, the gifts that the struggles and discoveries bring. Sometimes I hate this- I want to be able to save them. If I was farther along, I'd stop putting energy where it does no good; I'd stop giving to the point that I'm exhausted and angry; or I'd be able to stand at the side of a hole, dribble some water on the hole dwellers eyes, say "arise and walk" and *poof*- that would be that- less hole people and more dancers in the moonlight. I would be an Un-Holey Saint. I'm not there yet and maybe I never should be, but it's an understandable wish.

It's not like the work stops once you're out of the hole anyway. In fact, the work/play/self-creation process is actually the whole point. Getting out of the hole is just the beginning. That's when you really start to get on with it. The good news is, it gets more and more fun as you go, in ways you can't even begin to imagine if you're still in the hole. Wanna find out? Here.... here's a life line and instructions. If you have questions holler~ loud! Help will come, but you've still gotta do your own climbing.

Monster Love

Can you spot the monster in this picture?

Monster love is kicking my ass lately. I mean, really? I went from months of no- or very little- romance or physical intimacy ( I guess I could've just said SEX), then a few months ago I kind of gently put it out to the universe that I was maybe ready to start dating again. Within 4 weeks I was seeing two new people and seeing relationships from afar deepen in ways I hadn't previously imagined. It's a little like being flushed down a toilet (and no, I am NOT being dramatic!!!) to a magical, alien world where little is familiar and even that is twisted just enough as to be unsettling. And effluvia- always with the effluvia! Sheese.


One of the most up-front-and-center things about the romantic relationships I'm currently engaged in is that uncertainty is blatantly, in-my-face built in, complete with flashing neon signs and fog horns. HERE BE MONSTERS- leave your silly, pointless armor at the door, go deep or go home. It's so obvious that it can't be ignored, I can't lie to myself, even a little teensy bit. There is sweetness, comfort, love songs and fantastic sex (oy!), but there are also communication snafus, disappointments, delayed gratification and the kind of letting go, over and over and over, that comes with everyone getting to take care of themselves in the best way they can; accepting gifts from each other, but not demanding or obligated. It's a trip. How the hell did I get here? Where's my map? aaack!

I Monster: beauty and beast divine.

And somehow every time I really stop and face the Monster, I end up looking into a mirror of such clarity that it aches and shimmers, moans and sings in the bell of my being. It often seems what I'm learning to love truly, is myself, through you. *sigh* Some days you're the monster, some days you're the bug(s bunny).







On an intellectual level, I'm well aware that uncertainty is built into everything. Everything but EVERYTHING is temporary; some things are just more temporary than others. But historically (from my 20s on, more or less) I would place myself in romantic situations where I could at least pretend or hope (usually hope was the gas that fueled my engine) that this could be a permanent thing, a thing I could count on come hell or high water, someone who would finally, once and for all and forever, have my back. In other words, I could hope I'd finally found the parent I never had and always wanted. Better yet, I had found GOD incarnate and god would be mind all mine. Oh yes. MINE. Forever. I would then proceed to direct a huge amount of energy towards making that person and relationship fit the bill. You can imagine where that got me. My poor partners! Anyway...

Love it and squeeze it and name it...MINE!

I got better at picking people who fit my "bill of certainty" a little more as the years went on, also better at boxing up, tamping down, hiding pieces of myself in exchange for their faithfulness. Which, let me say here, isn't what I'm doing now, but that doesn't mean it was a mistake then. Each of those relationships taught me an plethora (sexy word alert) of things about love, communication, myself and most importantly, why it wasn't worth it to box up, tamp down, hide pieces of myself in exchange for an all too brief dream of security. It never worked. When my marriage ended 3 years ago, I hit bottom with the security addiction. I had done ALL the "right" things damnit and it ended anyway, for no clear reason. When I saw that much of my rage and betrayed feeling was about how much "I have given up for this! How well I've behaved!"- well, the subconscious deal I'd been running with the Love Gods began to be exposed and unraveled. It was a very painful wake up call.

Since then I have been on a path of consciously experiencing love with less bullshit, less rules, less measuring of the certainty factor. My desire for assurances and specific outcomes have not gone away, but it's not the boss o' me no more. Most of the time. Every relationship ends in death or dissolution. So, what was I trading away my spark, my juice, my intensity, my living-out-loudness for? Why was I avoiding my polyamorous tendencies? Why was I settling for less than the sexiest, most passionate, intimate sex ever? Why was I hiding out in 'safe' relationships (and lifestyles) that weren't even really safe at all? 

Silly Bunny

It's been an interesting 3 years. Now here I am, madly in love in three relationships that are not certain in ways that are too obvious to allow me to fool myself (and that's just the romantic loves. One of the deepest relationships in my life is a non-romantic, non-sexual one and she's moving away soon. *oooowieeeee*). There is a part of me that frequently wants to run, from all and sundry. It rants at me sometimes: are you FUCKING CRAZY!?!?! and I say, yes- that's quite likely. But the me that is the witness to all the ranting, panicking, gibbering terror, the witness that sees how really perfect this is for me, my path, and I trust, theirs too- that part keeps making the choice to lean in deeper, to open more, to see what's there when there are no guarantees, even of the obvious in the moment, "I will be there for you tomorrow" kind. The realest part of me knows that I am, in fact, going sane.

Some people ask me "Why? Why open more when you know it's likely you'll get hurt?" This reminds me of the 'keep it simple, marry a nice girl, get a good job with benefits, have a couple kids and settle down in the country' talk. I mean, if that's your shtick, then I support you. I have found, the more honest I get with myself, that it's not so much my thing. Parts of me wish it was. But my bent for adventure is an inherent source of aliveness for me. Even if I did settle down in anything that looked like the scenario above, look deeper and you would see me pushing the edges, dialoguing with the darkness, telling the hard truths over Sunday coffee in bed or after some lovely ass play or a flogging session; you would see me crying and laughing like a maniac at times, dancing nekkid under the moon and/or talking to god, who answers. Cuz that's just how I roll.

Gossamer goes metrosexual?

So I keep showing up because it feels right. When I question it myself (and I do, believe me) I get a steady, firm YES. I do it because my heart is stretching, bursting, I'm feeling more love from more directions that I ever thought possible. At times I lose track of specific sources and just feel, be, know LOVE. I suspect that herein lies the security I have always hungered for- in a universal experience of a tribal love that's SO huge, so powerful and so far beyond 'this person at this time in this way' that it will answer all the questions for, by and about love that I have ever had. It's a love so omniscient that it cannot be taken away, I cannot lose it because I AM it. And it is me. This is the tribe that always has my back- it's just bigger and less localized than I thought it was. This is the reality that cannot be undone by departure of a particular "one". This is the heart that cannot be broken, because, like the Dude, it abides.

These people are embodying it for me right now and I honor that, I'm attached to these bodies, but I know on a deeper level, that our embodiments will part someday in some fashion, but the love- the magic we're creating right now and here, the ways we're growing, singing each other bigger, breaking each other open and exposing our hurt, nasty bits, this love we make- this is ours forever and ever. That is how it's always been, no matter what story I've been telling myself about "contentedly-ever-after". This is the truth and I want it. I've known it forever, but I'm getting to experience it now through this dinged and scratched human lens. I have somehow grown the balls to actually LIVE it. I'm frequently terrified, often ecstatic, swept up in a libidinous frenzy I have never know, then peaceful and easy. Often in complete, utter awe of the process and our beauty as we do the dance together. I'm am in love. I'm beginning to know what that really means; just beginning. It's killing a lot of my old notions which makes lovely compost for what grows in the ashes.

I do it because it feels right, because it's making me a better person. I do it because these people I love are simply, stunningly amazing creatures that fascinate me endlessly and I can't seem to stay away from them even when fear wants me to. I do it because it's incredibly interesting. I do it because the sexiness is rich and moves me like nothing else I know. I do it because it brings me joy and life flows through its every channel. I do it because they want it, it makes them richer too, in ways I only begin to comprehend. I do it because it's part of what's propelling me to the next level of my evolution. Like any trip through a birth canal, it's uncomfortable, painful, exciting, powerful, inexorable and infused with mystery- I have no idea where it's taking me really. Really. No fucking idea. But I'm here for the journey and, when all is said and done, that's all there is.

It ain't too pretty or pop-song romantic. This is monster love- it's messy, honest, painful, thrilling, undefinable (though trying is fun!), unpredictable, and free; both devouring and creating. This is the void where anything and everything is possible. Mystery rules. Lean in... lean in... lean in....I'll see you inside....


(Thanks to Luke and Marc for inspiring the Gossamer additions. Such an innnnnteresting monster....)

Romeo, Romeo- to the Back of the Bus, Mister

(photo "His Heart's On Fire" by Wesley Kirk)

Ready for another post about LOVE? In case you're just making my acquaintance for the first time, be assured there will be NO love songs, NO chirping bluebirds, NO hearts and roses, and absolutely NO sonnets concerning the ebony shade of my true loves heart...erm...hair. At least not today. I've got nothing against those things, in fact they happen to be a particularly sharp and pleasant torment of sorts right now, but I'm not about that bit at the moment. The romantic lover in me is, for a sec or two, moving to the 4th row back on the left, along with the hopelessly romantic teenager (who is still recovering somewhat in the self-esteem department) and the lust consumed perve who wants to write sonnets to the curve of my love's hip scoops. They'll have a great time back there, sighing and sweating and longing; ooooh, the longing....

Meanwhile, there's an fairly functional adult up here in the driver's seat for the moment. Sharing front row with me are the Artist and the Spiritual Warrior and, on my more responsible days, the Business Manager and the Housekeeper (but those two are taking a nap at the moment. Psychic rufies rule. They've had plenty of air time today and will get more, but I don't need them for this discussion and they'll just bog us down with side trips to do the dishes and check the bank balance). Where was I .....

Ah, love. Hmmm...o_O

So, I've moved beyond states of smittenness and infatuation. Maybe a deeper level of infatuation. Dunno. But more than smitten. There is definitely love here. There is love and lust and respect and curiosity and tons of like-like-like and a generous helping of romance. It's the romance I'm suspicious of.  I'm not sure why romance gets to be the bad guy in this scenario, but it seems to have fallen out that way, at least today.

Perhaps it's not romance itself, but our tendency (my tendency) toward addiction to it. Romance can be a tricksy bugger- one part sweet, a little (ha!) obsessive, starry eyed, love-song-humming, generous and shiny shiny drug-high shiny; one part ravening beast, drunk on life force and self-centered as hell, growling "mine mine MINE"!, doing it's best to latch on to a good thing and hold on for dear life, no matter the cost to the rest of the team. Even if it means everyone drowns in the end. Tragic? Yes. But they drowned for LOVE damnit.

Romance dreams of the future: houses in the country, kittehs and dawgies, posies in the window, Princess in an apron (only) bringing me a cold beer while I tune up the farm truck, which leads invariably to sex in the garden. Romance wants to know what's gonna happen and likes to put things in boxes with lots and lots of preservatives. Cuz romance is on a crazy rollercoaster ride with two ways off: sailing off into the starry sky and an eternal bliss of happily happily or a fiery crash on a ground that only seemed to disappear for all those weeks and months of the honeymoon phase. One can't really fault romance for trying to stave off the crash at all costs; however ineffective (and sometimes self-fulfilling) it may be, it's understandable.

Romance. *sigh* We hate to love it, love it too much or love to hate it. It seems we all go through it at some point. Romance itself can be a fine thing- like everything else it's our creation. If it's flawed or dangerous, it's only because we make it so. And often we do. Dangerous because almost always for most of us, it's got a healthy helping of blind spots and dreams built on sand bars. It always hurts to lose illusions. Romance is dangerous because those illusions are built around and affect other real live human beings (in most cases, but I am again in danger of digression....)- beings with dreams, needs and illusions of their own. *crash* It ain't purdy.

It seems the problems happen when Romeo gets to drive the bus. If I can enjoy romance as an oh-so-tasty side dish on the plate of my life (maybe even a little hors d'oeuvre and dessert....and second dinner....), but keep the keys out of its hands, I'm usually doing okay- a little crazy, but a basically-sane person is basically in charge. Romantic feelings are powerful and tons of fun, maybe even useful in keeping us motivated in moving deeper when the FREAKED out control freak in us would otherwise say GET THE FUCK OUT, NOW. Romance may feed the bonding that becomes glue that helps us stick out tough times, which will surely come and make us want to RUN.

Romance is a rare delight. I'm not out to kill it. I like it. Just maybe too much.

Besides romance (see there? the problem child always gets more attention) there is a lot of love here. What's a lot exactly? Hell if I know. But it's intense. Love that doesn't give a shit about what's coming tomorrow. Love that knows a broken heart is the sign of having loved well and life well lived, that knows that despite my daydreams about walking away from the wreckage unscathed, it just ain't thatta way. Walking away unscathed is the sure sign of a bystander. Or a Saint. Don't wanna be one and ain't yet t'other. Love knows that getting good and scathed is one of the main points of it all. Scathing moves and marks us, it changes our landscape, inside and out. It makes room, cracks where the light can get in.

This recent slough of romantic, secksy love in my life has been a veritable bull-in-a-china-shop with all my carefully laid plans- plans for the day, the year, the next couple of life times. The things that go on in me these days- such a beautiful mess! But it feels right. When I get quiet and ask, something deep and calm in me says "yes". And I believe in that voice. It has never steered  me wrong, even when it's steered me into crashes. Sometimes fiery wrecks and broken china is exactly what I need, whether I know it or not at the time.

So here I am, stumbling through acts of radical trust, even when I'm feeling, like.... like five years old and utterly stompable; there I go, choosing Love: monster love, messy-honest-growing-pain-warrior-love; Love-capitol-L with lots of room for silliness, sexy sex, brilliant creativity and yes, even Romeo. If only he would stop stealing my keys.

For Love

Yes lover, for you. 

Yet more still- for Love

Unfettered, 

On a scale larger

Than youth's dreams could ever hold. 

They shatter-

I bleed terror and delight, 

And expand beyond....

Unbound

From that small, lonely dock

I once pinned my heart on. 

Swing, glide, rock n roll wild, 

At sea on possibility. 

Singing, sweet harmony-

And Love's echoes sing back from everywhere, 

But most from the depths within.

Not IN it; I AM it. 

I cannot be unmoored, 

For this Love is my dock 

And my ocean. 

This Love is my boat

And my sail. 

Love- the very soul alight within me! 

I, this shard of god

That fell to earth. 

The dream of exile,

I slowly rub from my mind's sleepy eye, 

And awaken to the truth of ubiquitous power, 

No prodigal to anything but my self, 

I find I am abundantly home. 

Say not my love or yours, 

But only Love, miraculous and terrible. 

This is my home. 

This is my self. 

Our selves-

Love. 

We cannot lose what we are. 

Or win it. 

Only see true.

I weary of battles with mirror ghosts, 

I Lay down arms, 

Release-

Into the aweful beauty that is the only guarantee....

For now, love. For you. 

But yet more, 

And always, 

For Love. 

copyright 2010 Calleaghn Kinnamon

(I don't know who to credit for the photo. If you do, please tell me so I can add it!)

And Speaking of Turn Offs...

Reading an article earlier from Cracked.com that talked about 6 of the things men do that turn women off and while it made some good points, there was (at least) one glaring omission that seems to be happening a lot in my world lately. 

Conversation : (1) oral exchange of sentiments, observations, opinions, or ideas (2) : an instance of such exchange : talk 

Please note the key word "exchange": (1) the act of giving or taking one thing in return for another : trade; (2) b : reciprocal giving and receiving

In the past 2 weeks alone, it has happened that 5 people (who all happened to be men) have expressed interest in getting to know me and then proceeded to completely dominate our conversations. Seriously, they spend the entire time talking about themselves. If it seems worth it, I may give them one more try. I mean, maybe they had too much coffee that morning, maybe they just get really nervous with someone new that they like, you know- like "that". Or maybe they're crack heads well into their 5th pipe of the morning. I think it's most likely that they're at one of the extremes of insecurity-narcissism, polarities that can actually look a lot similar from the outside.

It's baffling to me that this seems to carry on even when they've actually asked me a question about myself. Goes something like: So tell me about your time in Alaska- what was that like? Then before I can finish one sentence, they've started talking over me, telling me about their freaky bear encounter, how much they wish they could travel and how cold weather gives them hives. In every one of my recent encounters like this, it's been a challenge to even catch a break in the flow of talk so that I can excuse myself and end it. Sometimes being polite is a handicap. I'm working on it.

When I've managed a word or two here or there, I had to really fight for air time and frankly, I just don't have that kind of energy to spend. It's exhausting.

Later they'll tell me how great they think I am or how much they like me, without having asked me any questions or given me the chance to share anything about me. I mean, how would they know how great I am? From my profile page? From my photo, my wise cracks, my Vampire Wars level ups? That's a glimpse, but a personal conversation is a getting-to-know-one-another delivery device, right?

I know we all get nervous, especially if we're talking to a new person that we're somewhat attracted to. But it's a deal breaker for me. When I'm nervous, the default settings seem to be "babble" and "hush". I get it. But I'm a basically a big mouth myself, semi-recovered. I need at least equal time to feel like there's a conversation happening. I'm not interested in being a full time audience for someone else's lectures, life story, soliloquies (I just spelled checked it and can't believe I spelled that right- I know, total randomness). Why would I believe someone's interest if I feel invisible, if I'm sure that a cardboard cutout that murmurs "uh huh" and nods every so often would be enough to keep them going indefinitely?