2003-10-15

2003-10-15 - 1:08 p.m.

The most reassuring sight I know is Katze waiting for me on the couch.

2003-10-15 - 8:26 a.m.

This weekend I am the offical petsitter for my entire family. As of Friday night, I'll have three kitties (Malynn, Millie and Katze) and three dogs (Nellie, Rigby and Mamie) to care for through Sunday night. Luckily all these critters will be down at Mom's house, which is three times the size of mine. There are still some funny logistics. Katze hates all creatures that aren't human, so she goes into one of the upstairs bedrooms. Millie and Malynn stay in the downstairs bedroom suite (it's huge). Nellie needs her own room to sleep in; she's older and wants the younger dogs to leave her alone. Rigby and Mamie will play all day, every day. To make this more fun, Mom's entire house has hardwood floors, so every tiny little nail hitting it makes a clicking sound. I repeat: three cats, three dogs. Two dogs chasing each other constantly. Clickety clickety click click click.

I try to be a good daughter, but geez...

The truth is that I'm very much looking forward to this. My mom will be around Friday night, but after that I get the entire two days to myself. Everyone knows I'll be out of town, so the cell shouldn't ring. I'm not taking the laptop. Just my knitting, a book and a journal. This will be the most quiet time I've had in weeks. I desperately need it.

Any autobiographical writing that's released for public viewing creates a somewhat skewed image of the author. It's a snapshot, a still life that doesn't morph the way that humans do. Look back at any of your own blog entries. Readers and writers think we know each other because of these little scenes. Ah, we think, I know how s/he feels about this. See, three entries ago? That's how s/he feels.

It's just not that simple. Nobody - or at least nobody worth knowing - is that easy to understand.

Even while writing yesterday's update - which is full of giddy girly silliness and my usual kid-in-a-candy-store style (it's like channeling Veruca Salt: Don't care how/I want it now!), I was having an anxiety attack. I ended up in our work bathroom, head against the cold tile wall, trying to calm down.

All of this dating was supposed to make me feel better about myself, to restore some of the confidence that J stripped away and to offer myself back up to the world of men as a healed, happy woman that any man would be fool to reject.

Yeah, um, it's not quite working that way.

I am damned near terrified.

I've proven to myself that I can pull in men if I want to. I've proven that I can fuck like a man if I want to. That's all well and good.

But what I've always really wanted is a partner. No, I don't have those unrealistic expectations of being completely fulfilled by another human being. Life isn't like that. People aren't like that. I expect it to be work. I expect to have to compromise.

Scratcher is going to want a relationship from me. I can feel it coming; I can see it on his face when we're together. There's a way he looks at me when he thinks I'm asleep. It's in the way he winks at me when he knows I'm nervous.

I can't do it. I can't. I am still too scarred. The thought of someone asking me for deeper, harder trust is so frightening that just writing this makes me want to put my head against something very cold for a while. I'm not capable of what he needs yet.

There is nothing in the world I hate more than hurting people.

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