A Different Kind of Celibacy

I’ve wasted today. Done nothing, nothing, but sit in front of my computer and play computer games, two to be exact. I’ve played spider solitaire and free cell until my mind is numb and sad. Actually it was sad before I started, which is why I was here, in front of the computer, to start with. I did not exercise. I did not shower. I shuttled Kevin to school, started the dishwasher, fed the animals, cleaned the litter box, joined Greg on the couch for half an hour of television while I ate left over pot roast and a lovely salad of my own creation and design, but besides that, I’ve done nothing. I answered emails, talked on the phone to a few sympathetic friends, and I had a difficult conversation with New Guy.

Ordinarily, it matters who ends a relationship. It matters to the level of pain, the deepness of the cut. After the first several breakups, I felt a niggle of doubt whenever we whispered to each other in the dark, so this time, I don’t think it matters. It just is.

I am angry, instead of hurt this time. I am angry because I wanted to test the boundaries of my relationship ability. I wanted to see if I could be in a romantic relationship for more than three months. I was going for a record. It saddens me, I feel like a failure, regardless of the reasons behind this particular mishap.

That sounds so shallow and calculated, but I don’t think it really is. I did make a good effort. I tried my hardest. I put my doubts aside, I remembered to think of him as a person, remembered all the wonderful people in my life with conditions similar to his. I will always want them in my life, so why would I turn away someone just because his brain works a little differently. I wouldn’t. I didn’t. I loved, for a brief period of time.

In my defense, I am still friends with, active friends with, everyone with whom I have tried to love in the past several years. I’m capable of long term relationships, but I seem to have trouble with the romantic variety. At first, I wrote intimate variety, but my friendships are intimate, sometimes every bit as emotionally intimate as the ones my friends maintain with their love interests. I just can’t seem to get right the magical chemical composition of a relationship that is both emotionally and physically intimate. I know how to do emotionally intimate really well. I know how to share, to be open and honest, to soothe and be soothed. And, I think I’m pretty good in the physically intimate variety as well. I am able, with a few compliments and a little coaxing, to let go of my inhibitions and exhibit unbridled passion. It is combining the two that has me shaking my head in dismay.

I am taking a vow of celibacy. Not physical celibacy. I’ve done that, and although it did seem to clear my head, I don’t think it had any long term effects. This time, I’m taking a vow of emotional celibacy. I will have no orgasms of the heart for the next six months. No twitters, no twitches, no pillow talk. No euphoria…and therefore no gut wrenching letdown. I’m on break.

The problem with roller coasters is not so much that they go up or that they come down. The problem with roller coaster romances is that you can’t stay on them forever.

At some point, you just have to get off.

Leftovers

My house was warm and toasty last weekend, starting on Wednesday with the annual baking of the pies, ending Saturday with the simmering of the post turkey stew. I had a party on Friday, a leftovers party. Everyone brought something to share, be it a bottle of wine or a board game, and the vast remnants of my thanksgiving feast were consumed, amidst laughter and loving.

I like leftovers. I like not having to cook. I like spooning previously prepared food onto my plate, lighting the microwave flame, and settling onto the couch mere minutes later. I like simply slipping my plate into the slot of the dishwasher, nary a crumb on the counter. In my house, leftovers are tolerated for a very short time, then they are visably shunned. My children have never known want, never known need of any kind that wasn't acknowledged and appeased in short order. My waste not, want not gene kicks into high gear this time of year, as financial matters loom dark and gloomy amidst the seasonal spending frenzy. December and January are lean months in the life of an accountant. I'm glad all of our birthdays are in May, when prosperity rolls in the door like an exuberant soccer ball.

The whole world is holding its breath, looking anxiously about, trying to discern the direction of the economic powers that be. The sandy shore shifts with the heavy weight of each sunrise, the footprint of each evening leaving traces of erosive doubt. "What comes next?", we all ask fearfully, mindful of each footfall.

And yet...

The winter sky still beacons us. The snowflake falling lightly on my windshield attracts my attention, ellicting a quiet "Oh!" as she reveals her intricate design before melting before my eyes. My youngest son's quiet smile, my middle son's jubiliation of getting all A's his first sememster of college, the antics of the half grown cats that bound across my kitchen floor remind me that the worry is wasted energy. We will weather this storm, my family and I, through strength and perseverance and attention to detail.

Love knocked on my door, asked permission to stay awhile. I held the door and stepped aside, quizzically watching as she perused the place. She has always been welcome, but has taken her time to find her way to my door. I have warmed a place for her, and I'm hoping she makes herself at home.