pantoum's Diaryland Diary

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LET'S TALK ABOUT SEX, BABY

(Wednesday) I think I must have finally written the right description and/or posted the right picture on my personal ad because I am suddenly getting numerous responses.

I quit emailing the beautiful Asian woman who doesn't consider sex a form of communication and who never laughs when she makes love. And I'm still pondering whether or not to reply to another woman who wrote me, but I probably won't.

I guess I'm realizing that I can and should be more selective about who gets a chunk of my time and attention.

Last week, I received a message from a cool Pacific NC artist and writer who is well-published—I've read her poems and one of her short stories, and just ordered some of her novels.

I like her writing and hope that we keep up a correspondence because, as she said, "it's lonely out here in queerpoetryland."

(Yes it is.)

Getting an email from someone who might actually understand what I do and why I do it and have long conversations with me about art and writing and politics and spirituality made me realize that I don't need to be responding to people with whom I have so little in common (even if that means I rarely respond to anyone).

•

Yesterday was a long hard day. I am good at what I do professionally, but am getting burned out on it and keep hoping that hiring a production manager will re-energize me and finally allow me adequate time to devote to the big-picture items that need my attention.

Have suspected for months now that it might be time to move on—and possibly time to leave my happy little town, too, which just holds too many the Ginger-'n'-Bird memories sometimes.

Wonder where in the world I'll be a year from now?

So much of that answer depends on whether or not I suddenly become a parent . I would really hate to leave the people who work for me—many of whom worked for some lousy bosses before me and who had horrible morale issues when I arrived there—but the administration is challenging and I figured out before other managers even told me that they hire you for your expertise and then do their damndest to keep you using it.

I would let them down if I threw in the towel and moved on because of my frustrations with molasses-moving improvements, especially because they know these frustrations all too well and look to me to resolve them. And I do a pretty good job of it. Usually. But have so little energy for bullshit right now and these new budget woes may have just pushed my fed-up button.

Careerwise, five years as director and three years teaching in a top-ten graduate program should be a fine follow-up to my brief stint as a freelancer during Shakespeare's chemo treatments. Don't know if I have another administrator job in me after this high-pressure one, but will definitely need to make at least the same salary if I have a young-un in tow.

•

Tree said this past weekend that she doesn't know how I can stand not having any closure on a ten-year relationship, how I can stand not knowing why the Ginger left me, how I can stand never speaking with her again after I found her with Dickboy, how I've been able to not call her and demand an explanation.

I'm not sure I can stand it either, frankly, and often believe that I'm doing a lousy job at it. I doubt everything about myself now, ask myself if I was a bad lover even though I know that exquisite sex was always one of the strongest bonds between us.

I also know that we did not have enough sex in our last year together, when we were helping her mom die and were so, so sad and running back and forth from our townhouse to their house in the next town over to help care for her and we mostly just came home and cried.

I had been in a long-term relationship by then, and so trusted that this was situational. She didn't have any long-term relationship experience though and so maybe believed . . . oh who the hell knows what she believed? She hasn't told me, so all I can do is sit here and speculate about my shortcomings and her projected wishes and desires.

Hee. If only that were true, Pottergrrl. If only that were true. But yeah, I guess I am a weird mix of both.

(Work, 9:10 AM) Was across the intersection from Dickboy at the light a few minutes ago. Gawd, he still makes the hair on my back stand up! I'm pretty sure he left his wife for the Ginger. I'm pretty sure he's probably afraid of me too. Grr!

And for what? There was never even a trial and no one was ever disciplined, but those peace-seeking students remain dead, dead, dead.

7:14 a.m. - 2005-05-04

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