Breaking the Silence

So, I've had a lot of people begging me to do a new post. And I can understand why they're begging me, I really can*. But here's the truth, I've been too busy. I hardly find a spare moment for myself these days, let alone to do a post for you, my many, many fans. Plus we got rid of the internet at home and so any time I want to use it, I have to go to Luis's coffee shop or Stoker's school. I have thought of you, often, my fans, and I've even written some posts, but haven't gotten around to transferring them from my hard drive, to the thumb drive, to an internet near me. And I can't do it here.

Here I am at the coffee shop. There's this guy sitting at a table near me using his laptop, with one of those portfolio briefcases on the table by him (Luis's shop is really, really cool. If you live in Mesa, you must come by). I'm not sure why he has it. Maybe he carries it with him everywhere, like a security blanket. Anyway, this lady came in, real chatty, obviously friends with Luis. She sees the portfolio on the table and asks if she can look through it. The guy says something to her that I don't hear because I'm not listening, nor am I interested. (I'm moving soon, not getting attached to anyone is my goal. What a wimp, I know). I think he says something along the lines of, "If you don't mind. . . " Something. I don't know what. So then she's looking through the pictures, commenting on them and whatnot. I look over and see one of the photos as she turns the page and it's some kind of black and white female with red lingerie panties on (I hate the word panty, I only use it here for lack of a better term). She says something like, "Oh that one's good . . ." And then I see her turn another page and it's another female, this one's nude. Some kind of banal comment, some kind of pandering to the artist. Turn page, repeat.

And you know what I'm thinking? Lame. That's what I think. That's why I'm writing this, so I can complain about stupid art. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I can appreciate that this man sees beauty in women. What with all the crap in the media right now about men being secretly gay and all that (see Willie Nelson's new song), I really appreciate that there are still men in the world who like women. But now I feel uncomfortable around this guy and I think that that woman was most likely full of crap. And jealousy. And a bunch of other confusing emotions. Isn't it strange? Women, well, most women, live in this constant state of wanting to be desired and wanting to just be human and nothing else, not an object of desire. At least that's how I feel. I want to be appreciated for my strength and my mind, my sense of humor and accomplishments, and sometimes I want to be noticed for my physical beauty. If I even have any. And it's funny (and a little annoying), but I felt attractive and desirable right up until I got married. Then, suddenly, bam, I'm dumpy and homely. The kind of girl no one notices. And I know it's me. It's in my mind, it's some kind of psychological hurdle I've got to get over. Who knows if I will.

Remember that episode of Seinfield when George wears the ring just to get noticed more and to be more desirable to women? It works, doesn't it? Well, I don't think it works for women. It's the opposite, I think. Not that I want to be sought after, because obviously I'm wearing the ring to ward off evil, as it were, and because I want everyone to know that I'm committed to Stoker. But I still want to feel good about my appearance. Which goes back to the problem of my mind. Someday I'll get used to all this. It's a strange transition, no one really talks about why the first year of marriage is hard, but I'm thinking it has more to do with getting used to yourself in this new state of mind, rather than getting along with your companion. Stoker and I get along great and I adore the hell out of him. It's the rest of the world, outside our little circle, that makes it tough.

Anyhoo. This started out being an address to my many, many fans. How are you? Talk to me. I'm doing great. I quit my job at the Desert Botanical Garden. Last Wednesday was my final day there. I will miss it, in a way. I wrote a post about it, but it's on my thumb drive. We're moving to Nashville around the 13th of March (the Ides? I'm not sure. I think that's the 9th). It's stressful as hell, it really is. I think I'll have more time to do things for myself now that I'm not driving back and forth between Mesa and Phoenix and Mesa and Gilbert a million times a day. I'm hoping to really dig Nashville. At least we'll be there longer than 8 months, so I won't have to feel transient the whole damn time. The problem with Arizona, besides the dust, the million days without rain, the complete lack of weather, the dumpster outside our bedroom windows, the traffic and +1.5 million people, has been that I knew I was leaving. So I never fell in love. Not real love, anyway. I'm hoping to fall in love with Nashville. Real love.



*I've been reading Salinger, can you tell. I know, it's annoying as hell. But I'm a sponge, I can't help it. I really can't.