Ready?

Last night was an interesting evening spent tooling around town with Baron von Philadelphia. The Baron is one of my oldest friends. He's known me for almost half my life. I blurted out a half formed thought: I think I might like to be in a relationship again. It's been a couple of years since I left my Ex. I want someone to go to the movies with.

Interestingly, being with Dad feels a lot like relationship. Things there have sort of come full circle: my relationships with men have been informed (true for all of us) with my experience of living with my father when I was growing up; and now my relationship with my father is informed by my relationships with men as an adult. Seriously, we behave just like a staid homo couple. ("Oh heck, I'd better get those dinner dishes cleaned up before I settle in for a night of television.")

Anyway, I think my chances are slim. I'm unemployed, and living with my father. Not exactly date bait.

And there's another thing, too. The Baron and I were talking like this. Most of my exes have been to some degree obsessive compulsives. I don't think I'm particularly attracted to O.C. guys. So why do I end up with them?

I'm sort of a rock. Steady. Reliable. Right there. Always the same person. Good in a crisis. Impassive. Immobile. And those aren't bad qualities, right?

But here's the thing. I'm fine on my own. I'm bad about pursuit. Half the time, I figure that a lack of a response or a lukewarm response indicates that the other party isn't interested. And the other half of the time, I choke and don't do anything, afraid of being rebuffed. And the third half of the time, I drop the ball. Follow-through has never been my strong suit.

So the only guys who make it through that gauntlet are the ones who are willing to make me their obsession. Attaching themselves to rock-me like barnacles.

Huh.

I guess that all might have something to do with fear of letting others get too close or something.

I wonder if I can change that? I wonder if I can be solicitous?

Oh. And I still want a slave. More than ever after my days and nights at Inferno.

Now how does that fit into the picture?

Sorry about this half-formed-thought blog. I'll ponder some more.

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