Wednesday, June 23, 2004
what a girl wants...
Several weeks ago, while I was camping in Big Sur (hard to believe that was nearly a month ago), I dreamed. Which was a good thing, because that meant I was actually getting a little sleep, which had eluded me thus far over the long holiday weekend.
Anyway, in this dream that I dreamed - of which I remember little, which is the nature of the majority of my dreams - CuteNerdBoy was featured.
(I'm sure y'all aren't surprised by that, but considering he's actually not in many of my dreams, at least that I can remember, I was actually a wee bit surprised. But not too surprised, considering what constant companions he, MoulinRougeFan and I were over the weekend. But I digress...)
He was sitting on an overstuffed recliner in what I believe was my parents' old living room in Granada Hills. Which, considering he's never been in said living room, might be interesting and of itself. I was sitting on the floor in front of my folks' glass and wood coffee table, which was situated not too far from the recliner (which also existed in my parents' old living room, but not in that configuration). I remember him asking me several rather pointed, personal questions, the answers to which were interrupted by something or other. I formulated my answers while I waited for the interruption to pass. I opened my mouth and --
"I'm sorry, Carol, but you were snoring again." I sleepily opened an eye and saw MoulinRougeFan's face hovering over mine. I mumbled a heartfelt, if barely heard, apology, rolled over and tried to fall back to sleep.
But I couldn't. My mind raced and raced, chasing away the remnants of slumber despite the comfortable coziness of my comforters and the sleeping bag that CuteNerdBoy had lent me. All I could think about were the questions that DreamCuteNerdBoy had asked, and the answers that I had been prepared to give him. Finally I bundled up against the deeply chilled early morning air and left the tent. I sat in one of the collapsible chairs set up around the cold fire ring and I wrote. I wrote about the dream and I wrote about my answers. I wrote pages and pages of my answers, trying to work it all out in my too-logical-mind and too-tender-heart.
Some weeks later I read my conclusions to my writing group. That's a lot of what we read and write for the group - creative journaling. As I finished, one of the group members - the USC professor with the published book who has braved Bill O'Reilly on air and lived to tell about it - stated how much clarity she heard in my writing. Clarity of thought and action. I laughed. A half-hearted laugh, perhaps, but still a laugh of sorts, and I replied, "Yeah, this week."
I thought about that "clarity" tonight and wondered where it went. Thing is, I am frequently clear about what it is that I want, but sometimes what I want just isn't available. Such as a family that hasn't been torn apart. An older sister that is still living. Affordable health care. Jonatha Brooke and Common Rotation giving me and my friends a private concert. A free all-you-can-eat soup/salad/pasta bar in the showroom at work. CuteNerdBoy.
Which brings to mind one of the questions that DreamCuteNerdBoy asked: "Carol, what do you want?"
Such a good question, isn't it?
Sometimes I want to remain celebate until I'm in an established relationship. Or at least close to it. So that men realize that I'm a woman who is looking for more than just casual sex. Then I remember that I tried that a couple of times before - for several years at a stretch - and ya know what? The men weren't exactly flocking to my door to woo me. Besides, I'm such a naturally physically affectionate person (which I, quite frankly, keep pretty reined in, because I'm always afraid of making someone else uncomfortable) that more than a couple of years of celebacy would probably drive me even more batty than I am.
So how about lots of meaningless sex? I mean, if men just want to sleep with me and nothing more, why not oblige? I like sex. I like sex a lot. At least then we'd both be getting something we enjoyed. But -- no. Not really my style. The last time I came close to lots of meaningless sex - back in the late 90's, though I was hardly promiscuous - I grew tired of it pretty quickly. There's little in the world that's more depressing to me than sex with little or no emotional connection.
As I wrote on that nippy May morning in that Big Sur campground (and I've written here more than once, so please forgive me if I'm being repetitive), I just want someone with whom I can share myself, be myself totally and who will share himself and feel comfortable enough to be totally himself with me. Not a carbon copy of me, just someone whose qualities, good and bad, compliment my qualities. I'd like someone who will be devoted to me in the way that I'd like to be devoted to him. And that someone needs to possess generosity of heart, humor, intelligence, compassion and principles. And, of course, that ever-undefinable chemistry. It's as simple, and as complicated, as that.
If such a man does not enter my life, then I suppose that I'll never have the husband and children that I want. Because I cannot be in a relationship with any other kind of man, no matter how nice he may be.
Pretty clear, huh?
Anyway, in this dream that I dreamed - of which I remember little, which is the nature of the majority of my dreams - CuteNerdBoy was featured.
(I'm sure y'all aren't surprised by that, but considering he's actually not in many of my dreams, at least that I can remember, I was actually a wee bit surprised. But not too surprised, considering what constant companions he, MoulinRougeFan and I were over the weekend. But I digress...)
He was sitting on an overstuffed recliner in what I believe was my parents' old living room in Granada Hills. Which, considering he's never been in said living room, might be interesting and of itself. I was sitting on the floor in front of my folks' glass and wood coffee table, which was situated not too far from the recliner (which also existed in my parents' old living room, but not in that configuration). I remember him asking me several rather pointed, personal questions, the answers to which were interrupted by something or other. I formulated my answers while I waited for the interruption to pass. I opened my mouth and --
"I'm sorry, Carol, but you were snoring again." I sleepily opened an eye and saw MoulinRougeFan's face hovering over mine. I mumbled a heartfelt, if barely heard, apology, rolled over and tried to fall back to sleep.
But I couldn't. My mind raced and raced, chasing away the remnants of slumber despite the comfortable coziness of my comforters and the sleeping bag that CuteNerdBoy had lent me. All I could think about were the questions that DreamCuteNerdBoy had asked, and the answers that I had been prepared to give him. Finally I bundled up against the deeply chilled early morning air and left the tent. I sat in one of the collapsible chairs set up around the cold fire ring and I wrote. I wrote about the dream and I wrote about my answers. I wrote pages and pages of my answers, trying to work it all out in my too-logical-mind and too-tender-heart.
Some weeks later I read my conclusions to my writing group. That's a lot of what we read and write for the group - creative journaling. As I finished, one of the group members - the USC professor with the published book who has braved Bill O'Reilly on air and lived to tell about it - stated how much clarity she heard in my writing. Clarity of thought and action. I laughed. A half-hearted laugh, perhaps, but still a laugh of sorts, and I replied, "Yeah, this week."
I thought about that "clarity" tonight and wondered where it went. Thing is, I am frequently clear about what it is that I want, but sometimes what I want just isn't available. Such as a family that hasn't been torn apart. An older sister that is still living. Affordable health care. Jonatha Brooke and Common Rotation giving me and my friends a private concert. A free all-you-can-eat soup/salad/pasta bar in the showroom at work. CuteNerdBoy.
Which brings to mind one of the questions that DreamCuteNerdBoy asked: "Carol, what do you want?"
Such a good question, isn't it?
Sometimes I want to remain celebate until I'm in an established relationship. Or at least close to it. So that men realize that I'm a woman who is looking for more than just casual sex. Then I remember that I tried that a couple of times before - for several years at a stretch - and ya know what? The men weren't exactly flocking to my door to woo me. Besides, I'm such a naturally physically affectionate person (which I, quite frankly, keep pretty reined in, because I'm always afraid of making someone else uncomfortable) that more than a couple of years of celebacy would probably drive me even more batty than I am.
So how about lots of meaningless sex? I mean, if men just want to sleep with me and nothing more, why not oblige? I like sex. I like sex a lot. At least then we'd both be getting something we enjoyed. But -- no. Not really my style. The last time I came close to lots of meaningless sex - back in the late 90's, though I was hardly promiscuous - I grew tired of it pretty quickly. There's little in the world that's more depressing to me than sex with little or no emotional connection.
As I wrote on that nippy May morning in that Big Sur campground (and I've written here more than once, so please forgive me if I'm being repetitive), I just want someone with whom I can share myself, be myself totally and who will share himself and feel comfortable enough to be totally himself with me. Not a carbon copy of me, just someone whose qualities, good and bad, compliment my qualities. I'd like someone who will be devoted to me in the way that I'd like to be devoted to him. And that someone needs to possess generosity of heart, humor, intelligence, compassion and principles. And, of course, that ever-undefinable chemistry. It's as simple, and as complicated, as that.
If such a man does not enter my life, then I suppose that I'll never have the husband and children that I want. Because I cannot be in a relationship with any other kind of man, no matter how nice he may be.
Pretty clear, huh?
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United States, California, Los Angeles, San Fernando Valley, English, Carol, Female, 36-40.
