Married Men and Online Dating

i dated a man who is married.  i didn’t know.

i still feel really yucky about it. really. i even broke it off before i knew, because it was too much daytime (read: bed) meeting and i just wanted to go out to see a movie or have a drink on a Friday.  (…and i was deciding that i wanted more than just sex. and he was lovely, so sweet, and i wanted to hold hands… )

but i broke it off, because he couldn’t do any of those things, which i didn’t understand, and honestly, it never even occurred to me that he was MARRIED. (now, i am different.) he had said he was separated, that they lived in separate places, etc. and that the reason they weren’t officially divorced was because of logistics… who was going to get the house, etc.   So away it went.

and then we kept in touch.

because i keep in touch with almost everyone, because i keep liking them. with him, its very random, months pass…its just messages on the phone, nothing more.

and one time i asked him, in seriousness, why it hadn’t gone any further, and he gave me the truth.

photo of person holding black pen
Photo by zoe pappas on Pexels.com

and i feel terrible. even though there is literally nothing going on.

and i want to yell about it. how these are our husbands! and then, i realize that they aren’t mine. my ex would’ve never gone this route, because of the utter exposure of it, he would’ve been much too private for it, i think .  i am not casting aspersions on his character, just what iffing.


and i’m sorry, but it is THEM, not the ladies that like them… it is THE MEN who are taking these actions.

there are so many of them. so damn many.  it causes a welling up of sadness in me. like, a real one.

deep pools of sad.


(and thats my poetry for the day.  nyuck nyuck. but really. dear god, sadness. )


Songbirds, song birds… song…

My head is a living forest full of songbirds. – jena schwartz

a sort of poem in response…streaming:


song sounds like an Asian name, and i don’t know enough to know which language.

but song.  Song.

I think of artwork rendered in one-dimension line drawings, always with a bird, a bird, a bird.

not living, like an abstract intellectualism of flight. a spot on the landscape that happens to move when not caught on paper. pinned.

and yet, how i love abstract intellectualism. abstractly.

while my heart is filled with the noise and chaos and cacophony of the dawn in my pre-winter days. . .

the fully fleshed, but ah, a spot on the landscape… a twitch in the bramble.


—sigh, you guys. i still choose joy. i still choose the twitch in the bramble. but i fell off the earth this week, clutching at tree branches as i spun out.  the whole monkey mind thing really took me out, and yesterday i took a nap. its a sign of my inner chaos, i think, bigger than i was aware of.  and i’m trying to assess how much of it is because i’ve been handling all the things so calmly, the car, the pipes, the cigarettes, the pinkeye, the no heat, the grief, the birthdays, all of it… the holidays have become such a strain on my impressionable psyche, I might just spin until january, when it all drifts back down to the ground again.

so thats where i am.  i’ve stopped texting ‘that guy’ and i’m not yet clear enough in my head to not be making up stories, and i’m getting pissed off at myself. i cannot currently tell the difference between intuition and compulsion, and thats a freaking biggie.  so, hands off everything til that one settles out.

but i love you, i do.  that much i know. if you know me, you know i do.  if i don’t know you, let me. I’ll love you too. I will.

(but i won’t smell that good while doing it, thats all. ) 1211181322


Skipping it.

so, double pink eye . on me, tha mother.

this sucks it.

but i got  some new curtains and i love them.

they are pink velvet .  and they have tassels. because. target.

1206181413my mom is not coming over to take the littlest to dance bc of the contagiousness. so we are going to be skipping it. which will make this littlest SOOOOO  happy and will make me only have one trip out for a child, which makes me SOOOO happy.

the days of darkness have arrived.

any more metaphors out there for me?

my vision is literally clouded.

the ceiling has fallen.

the beaten down yeast has risen again, and been cooked.

what we most fear (being duped) happens to us again and again

the pipes have burst.

the windows to the soul are full of gunk. crud.

pink the color of dawn. pink the color of contagion.


Divorce, Humanity, Uncategorized

Fog continues. Grief. I know fabrics.

Today i’ve turned off all the kitchen lights, and am typing by computer screen, sparkle lights and a damp grey morning. soft wool. 1120180831a

people are really lovely, they really are. above all.  cashmere.

and still, yesterday i almost crawled back into my bed while the kids were here.  it can be done, but i can only handle it when there is no will left in my body, and vomit is coming forth.

so i must have some will left in my body while the fog is here.  i stay out of bed while kids are here.  old school corduroy, stiff, scratchy.

but man, this grief is hitting hard this year.  and its been five years, so there isn’t a real trigger, except in realizing how much time has passed and how mad i am at my dad for not being here for these five years, and how i would really like to have him around, mad or not.  and how i still look for him everywhere. piles and piles of washed cotton, cold and damp.

its been a big five years.

i think i’d still be unhappily married if it weren’t for what his death showed me.  it uncovered the truth of my unhappiness. the untrustworthy man, the unreliable man, the inexplicable man that i was married to brought Bold in the loss of what in many ways was his opposite.  the things i loved so about my husband were washed out by the things which really make him ‘not the marrying sort’… no matter how many times he tries.

and here i am, swamped into the tub, barely reaching the lip to see out.  turning down work, or asking for delays while i sink.  flannel.



its been a big five years. plasticwrap. (not fabric, but still. how it feels.)


morose. but willing.

it snowed last night. Around here, its really early for a first snow. and it was at night when it happened, so that whole lovely ‘first snow’ feeling never happened.  and it just reminded me so much of the winter wherein the snow never melted and we all went a little crazy, like northern maine crazy… jack nicholson crazy.

so there is that feeling upon waking up… trapped.

and yesterday i laid down a cool 4 thousand dollars to keep my car on the road for another few years.  now, unlike the new fridge of a month or so back, there is no glory feeling, no feeling of accomplishment.  money was fished out of the sock drawer and the credit card was used.

and the car is still full of kidcrap, and it is all very very unsatisfying. they had to move everything out of the trunk (why? WHY?) so all that crap is now in the backseat of my car, staring me right in the face. and it snowed last night, so i don’t really want to deal with it today.

whatever. i’m morose, and dealing with it. at this point, i’ve felt most of the nontraumatic feels i am going to feel in my life, and i’ve bounced from every single one. so i’ll bounce from this.

I’m eating cashews for breakfast and lunch and that’ll take me a long way back towards pleasure.

i’m back on the dating sites. one guy just asked me to send him money. for real. another guy? i thought i’d be going out with him tonight, to hang out and be new friends.  but no, he disappeared. and its not the first time, for him, or in general.

and there’s no crush, my feelings aren’t hurt… its just mildly disappointing and a little confusing. i’m not really a big fan of being confused.

and i would have preferred to not add confusion to the morose.