I'm Not Trying to Replace Anwar

I wrote this letter to Nicola. It should explain a lot, I hope.


Dear Nicola,

I'd like to reply to the part of your letter about freeing someone to
"find someone else." Because lately I've been acting like that's a
good idea, but there are caveats and a back-story...

Two and a half years ago I sensed that part of your intention was that
I be encouraged to find someone else. I never had liked that idea
because I always liked people just for who they were and not for the
idea of some niche they could fill in my life. I didn't feel like it
was particularly important for me to be involved with someone,
although I welcomed it in the unlikely event that someone I liked (one
of my "muses") chanced to like me back.

So what changed? Well, as it happened, Anwar approached me and I
surprised myself by liking him back. He wasn't replacing anybody,
just being his charming self. And now he's been gone a mere 3 months
and I'm already trying to meet people. Anyone would think I had a
hard, callous heart to do such a thing immediately after a breakup
like that. But I want people to understand. I'm not callous. I'm
not trying to replace Anwar or anybody else ...

It's just that I hit an unlikely number by finding mutual affection;
and I thought that, if there was a possibility of hitting it again,
it'd be silly not to take a few shots at it while I'm still kicking.
That way, if I hit it, great. If I don't luck out, it's not because I
didn't leave the door ajar. That's all I'm doing, really -- leaving
the door ajar.

However, this is reality, not Tennessee Williams. so it's not like I
or anyone else has missed out on life by not finding a partner. I
don't know if I've told you anything new here. I never know how you
take these things. Maybe you think I have my head up my butt. If I
do, it won't stay there for long. There's too much going on out
there. I'm taking the liberty of posting this letter on my blog, if
you don't mind.


Sincerely,
Kitty Lane

ISO Closure -- Steal My Letter

Recently I placed a personal ad for the first time in my life. Quel experience. Anyway, I found myself writing this rather self-explanatory letter to one of the respondents -- a letter that belongs in my blog, not only because it expresses me, but because others can use variations thereof to seek the closure you don't get when people are vague or non-explicit about rejecting you, or when you're not sure if they are rejecting you.

I've always felt that there is honor and dignity in being explicit, and this kind of letter gives both parties a crack at it. If readers feel the same way, they are welcomed to STEAL MY LETTER, altering it in any way appropriate to their particular situation. OK, here goes:


Dear Kyle,

I haven't heard from you much lately and I realize that it's possible
that you've rejected me. I don't blame you if you have. For one
thing, I'm old. For another thing, I'm a stranger. Also, I have a
theory that we never quite know what we're reacting to when we decide
for or against courting a particular individual -- ya know?

My only thing is, I need your help with this. My being in the dating
game means I'm going to face rejection repeatedly; and it would really
help me to clear these hurdles emotionally if I knew for sure when
someone was passing me by (versus just being busy) and (as far as
you/he can tell) what they don't like about me. The challenge to my
vanity in this case is that it was right after I sent you my pictures
that you stopped calling. Am I too skinny for you?

Having so said, if you drop the ball and don't write back, I have what
it takes to find closure on my own. But it would help if you would
clue me in. Also, I'm aware that it is still possible that you like
me so far but haven't had time to communicate. I'm still open meeting
you, if you want.

Sincerely,
Kitty Lane

brain dump

I don't know if I'm going to get away with creating anything that's fun to read this time. Tell you what: if you want polished writing, just scroll down and skip ahead to "generation pap," the post I wrote this afternoon. If you want to play fly-on-the-wall and bear with diary-style scrawl, you're welcomed to peruse this post too.


A few days ago in the middle of the night I was jogging in place in front of the TV. That's often what I do for a workout. Suddenly, I started crying over Anwar. He'd left me so suddenly. I missed him and I needed to make more peace with his sudden departure. I think it was early this morning while trying to get to sleep that I made that peace. I realized that Anwar's new lady was probably taking good care of him and that he was probably very happy. He needed someone right away, whereas I would have had him wait 18 months while working through an annullment before we could get married.

I hope I never need someone right away. That would really narrow my choices.


I have to wash clothes, vaccuum this carpet... Sorry, carpet; I don't care for having carpet in my apartment. I'd rather have a wood floor and a happy little kittycat with his own door and his own ladder to get down to the ground where he can do his cat business. I'm more allergic to carpets than to cats.

Got forms to fill out, sundry tasks to rake together and sort out.


And Nicola, oh Nicola are you reading this? Did I ever tell you how mysterious our communication was? ...

The usual dynamic you get when two people converse involves about 6 personae -- Mike, Shanna, Mike as Shanna sees him, Shanna as Mike sees her, Mike as he thinks Shanna sees him, and Shanna as she thinks Mike sees her. If any of these folks are missing, there is a problem. One or both people will send in sonar to try to scope out the missing personae. Between Nicola and me, a bunch of them were missing. When I sent in sonar it took the usual form -- that of talking "too much" for the other person -- too much for Nicola.

Now, Nicola is a shadowy guy, and I'm sure that many people have this experience of him. He probably thinks that many people -- or that most women -- talk too much. Perhaps emailing him a few times a year is more of the same. But what can I do? By hugging the shadows, Nicola makes himself an irresistable mystery. How do I see Nicola? How can anybody see Nicola? What does he think of the things I say?

Lately I've been working up demo material for a cruise ship gig. Last night my allergy was so bad that I could hardly sing. I took steamy lemon honey tea and that worked somewhat. My guitar is standing by, daring me to add more music to today's to-do list, which I haven't even written yet.

I hesitate to write a to-do list because all the stuff is so sundry I can hardly wrap my head around prioritizing it. Well, it's 2:30 and these things need to be done. Later all.

generation pap

I got an interesting letter in response to a personal ad I posted. He writes:

Is there an age range outside of which you don't date?

I respond:

[Friend,] I've had to deal with that question a lot lately because lots of people outside of generation X (1965 to about 1980) have been contacting me. I've decided to stick with my m.o. of considering everyone as an individual regardless of what century or what galaxy they were born in, bearing in mind that a 40-year-old has a better chance with me than a 20-year-old or a 60-year-old.

I've thought through the question of whether this preference for near-contemporaries is silly or shallow. And it kind of is; but isn't every preference we can name necessarily superficial? If a preference for, say, redheads or musicians weren't "shallow," would we even be aware of it? It's the preferences we're not conscious of that might go deeper, but we'll never know what they are.

The age range thing is endlessly fascinating. Anyone contemporary with my sister scores instant points on account of the birth order dynamic; while baby-boomers have to back-peddle through the legacy of generational friction in the '70's. It's wild. It's never personal. Maybe this belongs in my blog.

Did I answer your question with all of this? We can meet, even if you are old.