Was I too harsh in my last post? Blame it on my writing style. Third person plural can sound accusatory, so today I will stick to “I” statements. This is what was really going on inside my pretty little head:
At about 24 hours post slump-bust, the insecurity set in. A doom-and-gloom thought train thundered through my mind. An icky reopening of old wounds ensued, followed by the desire to define the indefinable, play the “he likes me, he likes me not” petal-picking game (no daisies handy this time of year), and rebalance the bean-spilling scale, which is freakishly askew because he keeps his feelings to himself while I plaster mine all over cyberspace (which he later reads). To call this awkward, uncharted territory would be an understatement.
That’s why I avoided sex for so long! Because it makes me feel vulnerable…and (gag) needy! It makes me feel like a GIRL. It makes me feel, period!
I was reminded of my first breakup with Jail Bird, when he told me he wasn’t “ready for this”.
“Ready for what?” I’d asked. Thus far, I’d been the sugary, supportive, patient girlfriend. Aside from the potato mishap, I was perfect.
“I’m not ready for…these human emotions,” he said.
“Kinda hard to get through life without those,” I thought at the time. “Unless you’re a fucking robot!” (Which, ironically, was how Jail Bird fucked. But I digress.)
I know men aren’t mind readers, but women don’t wanna be drill sergeants. So I ask you, humbly, how does one communicate her needs without sounding like a nag? ‘Cause I need to feel needed.
This issue used to come up with another ex, EconMan, frequently. His response was always, “But I DON’T need you. I was fine before you. I’ll be fine after you.” Gee, just what a lovesick girl wants to hear. How very Zen of you. Asshole.
Am I missing something? (Besides my Slump Buster?) Don’t we ALL need other people? And if you don’t…why aren’t you living on a sailboat in the middle of the ocean somewhere? (Jail Bird’s dream. I shit you not.)
One dating guide, “The Surrendered Single”, says if you miss him, tell him so. But saying “I miss you” to a man makes me feel so emotionally naked. It puts all the power in his hands. He’ll know he has me hooked!
You probably all think I’m blowing this out of proportion. That may be true. Thank your lucky stars that I have a Shrink. (For the record, this appointment was made way before I re-entered the dating world. The slump-busting didn’t necessitate an emergency session or anything.)
“You realize why you’re having these thoughts, don’t you, Erica?” Shrink asked.
I did not. (That’s what her $120/hour fee is for.)
“Because of Puck,” Shrink said.
Ugh. That word. The “P” word I’ve been so diligently avoiding. I’m loathe to admit it, but Shrink was onto something. The one-year anniversary of my last date with Puck just passed. It took incredibly thick blinders to pretend it hadn’t happened. It took a shitload of willpower NOT to recreate the meal we ate that day. Resisting the temptation to post a melodramatic effigy about it was easier because I’ve already written and rewritten that bittersweet story (reserved for the forthcoming book, of course).
“Puck did so much damage,” Shrink sighed.
My mind regurgitated all the mind-fucks Puck inflicted, like his 48-hour-minimum-response-time to texts (even when he’d initiated them); how he’d make dates without naming a time, then leave me hanging (even on HOLIDAYS!); how he’d disappear for long stretches sans communication, then reappear wanting to see me at the drop of a hat. His UN-sexy elusiveness. His defensiveness. His unreadable demeanor. His unwillingness to express what (if anything) he enjoyed about me, yet pursuing me more fervently if I withdrew.
I want nothing to do with that crazy making ever again. I’ve moved on. I’ve matured. My relationships have evolved…haven’t they?
“Slump Buster is NOT Puck,” Shrink reminded me.
Yeah, I noticed. When I’m with Slump Buster, I feel exposed, but safe. He looks at me and I feel transparent…and a bit unmoored, in that “I can’t hide here” kind of way. He’s not intimidated by me in the least and calls me on my shit. That should be scary, but it’s actually freeing, because keeping up the devil-may-care act is exhausting.
And when I’m naked with Slump Buster…hmm…
(Excuse me while I step away from the keyboard for a moment…ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I came. I’m back. LOL.)
When I’m in a naked with Slump Buster, I feel more comfortable than I’ve ever felt with anyone before. (I know “comfortable” is not a sexy word. But that’s how I feel in the non-fucking state. The fucking, however, is beyond description delicious.)
But when silence descends between the dates and all I have to go on is ambiguity and imagination, the little girl inside me becomes convinced that I’m going to get Puck-ed over again. The urge to protect myself reappears, despite the fact that sex with armor is no fucking fun. (See Jail Bird Robot anecdote above.) Then the bitch in me emerges, hijacks the laptop, and writes passive-aggressive manifestos like that last post.
Fret not, ADHD readers. The ah-ha conclusion is coming…
The other night, I was in that lonely state of waiting, itching to contact Slump Buster for reassurance that all was well. “Do not initiate. Do not initiate. Do NOT INITIATE!” I repeated, brainwashing myself a la The Rules.
To keep my hands away from the phone, I made pancakes. Pancakes are an excellent distraction from toxic thoughts because they are labor intensive. They require babysitting. Leave them alone, even for a moment, and they will go up in smoke. (Kind of like a woman who feels ignored…)
So there I was, supposedly prepping these pancakes to freeze (perhaps for a future morning-after breakfast?), and one of them fell apart as it slid off the griddle. I inhaled the berry sweet scent, that olfactory promise of comfort, and decided, “What the hell!” (Consider this my attempt to eliminate any evidence of failure.)
I’d eaten these pancakes before. I knew they were fantastic. No surprise, then, that I couldn’t stop at one. I downed three before realizing I wasn’t taste-testing, I was self-medicating!
So, being the self-aware woman I am, I prayed. Before you label me a Jesus freak, let me say that I did not invent this get-yourself-together tactic. It’s a technique espoused in the “Weigh Down Diet”. When you feel out of control, you ask God for intervention. Don’t laugh! It (almost) always works.
In a life-is-stranger-than-fiction moment, as soon as the “Amen” escaped my mouth, Slump Buster texted me. (That man has a finely attuned damsel-in-distress radar!)
I put the pancakes down. I flirted with Slump Buster instead. I went to sleep with a smile on my face.
The next morning, while photographing the short stack, I doused the pancakes in blackberry syrup to make them look prettier. The title “Black-and-Blue (Berry) Pancakes” came to mind, as did Sugar Boy by Beth Orton. ("I told you I love you/Now what more can I do/I told you I loved you/You beat my heart black and blue...") The beautiful, but painfully sad, break-up song played on repeat in my brain.
I didn’t want to apply such a negative connotation to something so scrumptious…but maybe that’s where the lesson is found: Puck may have beaten my heart black-and-blue, but I can still transform that disaster (err…I mean “learning experience”) into something sweet…and serve it up to someone better…
Here’s to more good mornings…and even better morning-afters!
BLACK-AND-BLUE BERRY PANCAKES
INGREDIENTS
For Blueberry Pancakes:
1 cup flour
½ cup whole wheat flour
¼ cup wheat germ
¼ cup brown sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 ½ cups low-fat buttermilk
½ cup fat-free milk
2 large eggs
¼ cup olive oil
½ teaspoon pure vanilla extract
12 ounces frozen (or 1 ½ cups fresh) blueberries, thawed
For Blackberry Syrup:
2/3 cup sugar
6 ounces fresh blackberries
METHOD
• In large bowl, whisk together flours, wheat germ, brown sugar, baking powder, baking soda, spices and salt.
• In separate bowl, whisk together buttermilk, milk, eggs, olive oil and vanilla.
• Add wet ingredients to dry ingredients. Mix until just combined. (Over-mixing will result in dry pancakes.)
• Refrigerate batter until firm (about 2 hours).
• Meanwhile, make syrup by combining sugar and blackberries in saucepan. Simmer over medium heat, stirring often, for 20 minutes.
• Remove saucepan from heat. If not serving promptly with pancakes, cool syrup slightly in pan, transfer to container, cover, and refrigerate.
• When batter is ready, spray griddle with cooking spray and heat over medium high heat.
• Scoop batter by ¼ cup full and pour onto griddle. Sprinkle blueberries on raw side of pancake.
• Cook until lightly browned on first side; flip and heat until cooked through on second side. (About 2 minutes each side.)
• Top pancakes with blackberry syrup and serve.
Comments