I'm on the market.
And FetLife isn't my only marketplace.
I'm writing to men.
I'm writing and I'm crying.
I'm taking halves of tiny little pills to stop the crying.
They work only up to a point.
Maybe if it were Spring I wouldn't be crying as much.
I'm trying to find someone new. It's the smart thing to do. It's a distraction. I might even meet someone really good. Someone who lives nearby. Someone with time and money who can take me to dinner and to the theatre. Someone who will make love to me.
Someone who will get me to stop crying.
Not, I suspect, someone who will spank me, except to the extent that it seems to be making its way into the vanilla sexual repertoire. But I just may have to live with that.
I want someone to spend time with.
I want to fall in love again. With someone who is open to falling in love with me.
Oh, who am I kidding. I'm crying through this entire post. Because in truth, I feel like someone being forced into an arranged marriage, thumbing through the book of possible matches while I grieve over the one who is totally unacceptable.
What do I really want?
"Kitten, I was up at 4 in the morning, reading your blog. Reading your new profile. I can't stand the idea of your being with someone else. I'm no good at this relationship business, I never have been, but I'm prepared to give it one more try if you would let me. Say the word and I'll be on the next Greyhound bus down to DC."
What will I get?
"Kitten, I read your new profile. This is good for you. You need to move on. You need to find someone else. I want you to be happy."
This is reality.
I need to accept reality.
I'm going to go wash my hair now.