88 lines...

Mmm, mildly late-night blogging.

Was over at a friend's place watching Dollhouse. I love that show.

It's not just the show, actually. His apartment makes me feel very relaxed, just drains the anxiety right out of me. It's very minimalistic and clean, and the air conditioner works wonderfully. I'm a total A/C girl. Best way to get me to relax is to put me in a dim room with a bed and pile of blankets and, of course, the A/C running.

It's a childhood thing. When I lived in San Gabriel Valley my bedroom had one of those air conditions that would stick out of a window. My bed was directly below it and, on summer days, I would sit beneath it and inhale the cold air through my nose. Something always made it smell so good. It helped to put me to sleep, helped relax an energetic child.

My mother likes to recount the day of my birth. I was the firstborn, a project that took them five years to achieve. My birth was quick, I came out clean- no blood, no mess. I had done absolutely no damage to my mother's body upon exit. I did not cry, just settled in on her chest and slept. We've been bonded since that moment, if not before.

Of course, then I was constantly sick. Anything I could have, I did my best to acquire. I think my crowning achievement was getting Scarlet Fever when I was two, which is what is theorized to have done the damage to my heart.

I was, as I said, the firstborn. Not just to my parents, either, but the first grandchild on my father's side of the family. There was no shortage of babysitters and caregivers for me.

But something was a little off, and commented upon. Women rarely soothed me, including my mother. I would spend all morning, all day even, screaming with whatever sickness I had gained, my mother half out of her mind with dealing with me being so sick every day, but as soon as one of my male relatives or neighbors came by and she put me in their arms, I was calm.

This continued through my entire infancy, noticable enough that relatives still comment on it.

I still feel more at ease around men than women. The significant majority of my friends are male, and it has always been that way. I don't feel comfortable touching women. Even when C hugs me or touches me, I lock up without thinking. I don't know if it's a scent or the sounds of their voices, but I just cannot relax with most females.

I hope that I get through this one day. It's something I've been working on.

... ... ... ...

I am approaching the one-year anniversary of the end of my last relationship. In truth, I do not know exactly when it was. Not the day, not the month. I'll have to go digging through old journals to find it.

This is the longest I've gone without getting into a committed relationship since my first serious relationship.

This has been a goal of mine.

Singlehood. For a year. I was so craving freedom during the last six months of that relationship, so craving the stimulation provided by other people, wanting to roam and explore, wanting to get out, to go out, more.

And I have been. This year has been a fairly active one for me, though I feel like I've gotten mildly stagnant on the personal progress front, especially where it concerns tackling my social anxiety and doing things that make me uncomfortable, but only because I'm frightened of the unknown.

But a whole year.

A whole year of not being tied to a single entity. Of not having to think of a partner's concerns and wellbeing.

Of course, now that I've vocalized this, some random man is going to come into my life in the next few weeks, sweep me off my feet with what usually does it for me (intelligence, banter, drive, and sexual/social dominance), then tie me up and bone my brains out, then request exclusive access to my body.

Because that's my usual luck.

In the hopes that that does not occur, once I hit my one year mark, I think I'm going to do something special for myself. A vacation or something, all on my lonesome. And then I start plotting for my two-year anniversary.

It's not that I don't want to be in a relationship.

I'd like it, eventually.

But I don't think that it'll be easy (or possible) to find a man that truly suits me. That I suit.

And why should I get into a relationship with someone who doesn't entirely fit? I can get sex from any number of sources. There's no reason to settle.

Oh, gods, I'm beginning to sound like all those other blogs (usually by men) about the search for that one special person, and how they'll continue to live life and party it up until they come in contact with them. Save me from myself.

What am I going to do?

Well, this week:
-Drop my transcripts off at the university
-Register for fall semester
-Register for CSET
-Review my transcripts and compare what is needed for the two programs I am planning on entering
-Potential concert on Tuesday
-Dinner with friends on Wednesday, or a date, depending on if he gets back to me in time.
-Movie night with friends on Thursday
-Another concert on Friday
-Study for CSET, then BBQ on Saturday
-Potential date on Sunday, or Arrested Development marathon with a friend

Somewhere in there, if I manage to meet the man of my dreams, I will report back right away.

But, really, I think Henry Rollins is out of town, so there's no chance of me running into him.

(End note: I'm tired, I'm rambling, this is silly. I'm going to bed.)

(Secondary End Note: The more I've thought on this, the more this chain of thoughts keeps circling my head. I'm looking for someone worth pleasing, worth serving. Worth submitting to. Someone worth linking myself to in every way, though not necessarily right away. But I really do hope that one day I find a guy that I can respect in every way, a man that I can bow to, who will understand that particular dynamic not just as a sexual one, but a social one. My need to serve, to support, to please, runs so very strong. I want to belong to a man, I want him to own every piece of me, and value that ownership.

Until then, I'm going to run free and become the best I can.)