The good thing about being sick is when it curbs the appetite. At least that's what I'm going with, and I cancelled the doctor's appointment when the sharp pains ceased. In the Miami airport I saw Robin Quivers talking about 21 Pounds in 21 Days and I thought, "That sounds interesting. A fast would be good for me." But then I paid attention to all the other stuff required. No colonics for me, thank you very much. My body, however, seemed to get only the first part of that decision - that it would be interesting to fast - and not the ultimate rejection.
German showed up early this morning with a rake and a smile. I woke up feeling like hell, so I'm glad he showed up or I would probably still be in bed. (I mostly felt like hell because I didn't sleep well because he called me late last night, when I was almost asleep.) And because he was nice enough to bring me the rake, I felt obliged to use it and cleaned out my back and side yards. Again. Sitting down and feeling sorry for myself whenever he couldn't see me. They've cleaned the yards out twice, now I'll do it several times. There's a lot of glass and nails still - I'm assuming from the hurricane. Or maybe they've been accumulating there for the last 150 years and I'm the first person to protest.
I got blisters.
I just made myself eat miso soup and even that is meeting with protest. I was able to keep down some cottage cheese with fruit earlier, so I'm not too worried about myself - I've got enough protein and carbs to be fine now, even if I can't eat more today. I have all the fixins for a great salad, but chances of that being successful are slim to none. Thinking about roughage makes me want to hurl. I couldn't even look through the supermarket ad without waves of nausea.
Hm. If I eat only 600 calories a day, I could lose a pound, maybe a pound and a half, a week. That's not that much. Damn metabolism. Because I wouldn't have enough energy to do any exercise. Today's raking knocked me out.
CRUSH ALERT (don't read further if you don't want to be nauseous yourself): He just stopped by and asked me out for "Spanish lessons" on Saturday night. That's what the cool kids are calling it these days. I was kinda like, "Really, that late?" [8:30] What's WRONG with me? I want to go out with him and see him naked, but I tell him I'm sick and don't know if I can make it. And he even fondled my biceps several times. I wish he were fondling muscles rather than fat. We had an almost-moment there; I felt some sparks in the dark kitchen as we discussed my nakedness under the towel I was wearing when I'd opened the door to him earlier. Oh, and I took a picture of him. Which I'll post here if I can ever get up off the couch.
And I'm feeling weather stripping envy because he's doing that for my neighbor, but he's going to try to get me an entirely new door. He's being really nice to me. He must seriously have a gazillion women throwing themselves at him - he goes to church and tango lessons every week - both of which are totally woman-heavy concentrations. But really, now much fun will I be? I quit drinking and I feel like shit, and I have to shit any time I eat or drink anything, and I want to be in bed by 10:00. This would be a fun time how?
So, in my body self-deprecation I sound like Tiffany, and in my wanting to just stay home on my couch rather than go out with a man who appears to be interested in me I sound like Jenny. I've become my friends.
It's just a date! And I wanted it! But I'm sending him some pretty mixed signals now, and I don't even know how I feel about it. Dayton and I didn't get married, but it felt like it in a lot of ways - such as the exclusionariness of it. I thought I'd never be with another man ever for the rest of my life and I was happy with that. And now here's the Hot Honduran Handyman, whom I've wanted since the moment I first saw him, and I'm backpedaling. Even just the thought of a first kiss ... it feels like cheating somehow. I'm afraid we'll kiss and I'll start crying or something really sexy like that.
I talked to Amy today and she gave me a major pep talk, and she's way angry at Dayton for wasting two years of my life. Before her complete and happy settling down, she was the "next girl" and encourages me to get in touch with my own inner next girl. Move on to the next boy. And so on. I even used her friend John as a next boy at one time.
But it's more complicated than I'm allowing myself to remember. With intimacy comes ... intimacy. I'm still missing the damn Korean - from long before Dayton, and with whom I was never physically intimate. I miss K2 because our minds and spirits melded there for awhile, and there's a void within me because I still miss him. It's been like three years since we've even had any contact and I still miss him with a solid ache. I miss Dayton like a stabbing pain, and it's been two months. So what happens if I fall for the Hot Honduran? I *know* he's leaving. He sounds like a wonderful rebound boy for just that reason ... but I already LIKE him. And I'm vulnerable now. So if we were to sleep together, how can I be sure that I won't get all confused (which, won't happen this Saturday, thank you menstruation). Now, pre-coitus, I know we wouldn't have a happy real relationship - I feel like I have a pretty good sense of him and we're not really compatible. Fun is not a future. I'm not confused about that now. But with intimacy comes all sorts of complicating emotions.
I'm just not sure that I will be able to get over Dayton any other way than to spend time with other men. I don't want to be alone and lonely in my attic forever. I'd love to get back to how I was before - not needing anybody. But I don't see that happening with the way I feel right now.
Well, even if I wimp out and all that - I got a nice ego boost. Thanks, Hot Honduran Handyman.
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