Category: Singles

It’s been a long time since I was married to a man, lived with a man, and made love to a man.  What a man thinks or wants means very little to me.  What he thinks his heart is telling him means even less because it is my belief they are extremely fickle when it comes to emotions.  Maybe I have such a low regard for men because they are so needy and can never seem to get very far without the assistance of women like me.  So what’s the point in relying on them if they wear you down, sap your energy, and then cheat on the one who loved and washed their dirty drawers?

I am so done with men!  There is absolutely nothing a man can do for me on a personal level.  You see; all of my hope and trust is in God not man.  And, the Bible says to put no confidence in man.  I’ve been around the block a few times, and I wasn’t born yesterday, so when other women say, you’re still young and attractive don’t you want a significant other?  I want to answer with a definitive NO!  But, being the polite person I am, I say Jesus is the man in my life.  What I really want to ask them is why their husband looks so much younger and they look so run down.  What I really want to say is why do I need to add being a maid to my daily schedule.

There are women who are not lesbians, who can sustain themselves without men.  The Bible says it is better to be single if you can refrain from fornication.  When you get to be my age; in menopause, empty nester, and with resources, what exactly can a man who lasts two to five minutes in bed do for you except make you wonder why you bothered in the first place.

I’ve been paying attention all these years and what I’ve seen makes me sad, anger, and wondering why women let men take advantage of them to the point where she’s destitute due to his inability to support himself and the babies his seed brought into this world.  And, why is she opening her legs to someone who left his Mama’s house and moved in with her instead of getting his own place, in the first place!

Women are too easy, insecure, and superficial.  They would rather have half a man, a man who bounces between women, than have no man at all.  In the meantime; babies are being born to women who’s safety net is hanging by a thread from the get go.

Check it out!  There are more women in college than men.  Don’t men think they need an education past high school?  Women head of households are more likely to be poor and on government dole for the majority of their children’s lives.  After government assistance stops then what…shack up with another man who abuses and uses them.

Wake up ladies!  Resources are limited and if it wasn’t before; its fast becoming a dog eat dog global society where only the strong survive and handouts are resented by those who work hard and are taxed to pay for your inability to say no to those drippy words whispered in your ear.

Knowledge is power!  Paying attention and searching for a way out of going nowhere relationships with men who don’t have a clue is one of the best things you can do for yourself.  This mountain of strife will only become steeper if you don’t start picking away at it little by little, a day at a time.

How do I know so much?  I’m an observer of humanity.  I’m a lover of people.  I’m a realist!  And I don’t beat around the bush.  And if you didn’t hear me the first time, I could care less about what men think or how they feel.  They change after they get you tied up in their drama.  No more going out to dinner, movies, date nights.  They become the boring human beings they really are and you realize you are the one carrying the weight of the relationship on your shoulders.  And they happen to think we are the weaker sex!

Ladies, seize the moment, the day, the week, the month, the year and step outside of that convoluted box you helped make.  Stop waiting on him to do something.  You take the initiative.  Start designing a life you want to live and start by keeping your legs closed.  What can he do but go back to that other woman, or go back to live with his Mama.

I’ve been married once and earned my PHD living with that monster.  I woke up after I found God, and then I had the energy to call the police and eventually leave him.  Before it was all said and done; he bought a house to entice me back into his deadly web of hits and licks.

I lived with a fiancée twenty years later and realized being equally yoked is more about communication and education than just sitting in church together.  Three and a half years later I left his house and moved back into my home.  He cried and hollered just like my ex-husband, but after trying to communicate with him the three and one half years we slept in the same bed, I was done!

Sometimes you have to go through some things, some men, to see the light and to understand how the “world” works and what you need to look out for.

Look out for AIDS and other sexually transmitted diseases.  When I hear statistics about the number of babies born to unwed mothers into households already at or below the poverty line, I think of contraceptives and the importance of protecting one’s self from not only pregnancy but disease.  Obviously some people aren’t taking available information to heart nor are they thinking about the future, and how having a mouth the government has to feed, or a disease that has no cure leads to death.

Pundits keep saying we need to educate people, and I keep saying people educate themselves on what they want to know.  Cars, clothes, shoes, jewelry, and other tangibles are gotten by these uneducated people because they see value in what they wear on their backs, what they drive, and what they look like.  The intangibles like education aren’t even put on a back burner; they aren’t on a burner at all.

Educations is the KEY, but forcing people to spend some of their twenty four hour day educating themselves or their children is counterproductive to them when they can lay around all day doing absolutely nothing.  Pick up a book, newspaper, or tune into current events or better yet read to your children and stop this vicious cycle of crib to street to jail.

If men are depending more on women to fill the void and women aren’t focusing on long term initiatives, then the blind is leading the blind.  Under water households isn’t just mortgage terminology.  It’s the reality of how some people live from day to day.

So, if a man answers my phone, you probably have the wrong number!

Proverbs 4:23 Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life.

Mothers laid our heads on their hearts, breasts, or some say bosoms.  These areas form the core or center of our emotional being.  If the heart nurtures us, we sometimes develop healthy dispositions and positive attributes that help us overcome the issues that continuously confront us as we walk or run through this life.  Mothers should not keep their hearts from babies who need to feel the innermost feelings of love and protection.

But, a mother’s love is different from the love a woman feels for a man.  Keeping thy heart or holding onto oneself is not what makes the world go around.  The world is dynamic and graceful diligence is hard to maintain when matters of the heart steer us in the direction of desire.

Relationships are born and dissolved each day as we come to the realization that the issues of life are real and a wrong choice causes much ado.

Issues of life stem from consequences or results and are what life is all about, but some issues we allow to happen or cause because of disobedience and lack of attention to subtle nuisances.

We play with fire and falsely tell ourselves we won’t get burned because we know just how far to go, but we deceive ourselves, and our lack of attention to that little voice of truthfulness sets us up for failure.

The desires of the flesh are substantial and require much genuflection for what comes naturally.  There is no easy out as we prayerfully make our way through mazes of temptations painstakingly designed to prevent us from receiving blessings only God can pour upon us.

I believe there is someone for everyone, although there appears to be a shortage of eligible contestants.  Matters of the heart derail us into thinking we must help God out.  God is faithful and needs no help from nature’s born in sin.  We should wait, instead of selecting choices that derail us from the track, which leads to the fulfillment of our heart’s desires.

We indulge the opposite sex as we let our imaginations take us into an unknown setting of unfulfilled desires we hope our newfound interest will quench.  Daydreaming about what we want to happen and how we plan to initiate the first move leaves us eagerly participating in a world of make believe.

Life is a hard road, made easier when we take someone along for the ride.  We imagine all life has to offer as we forget about the routineness of all love affairs when the newness wears off.  Newness robbed by instant gratification.

We know the downside, we know bliss does not last forever, and we know our imaginations beget issues too much to bear.  But we indulge anyway as we satisfy our hedonistic tendencies, and we call it love.

Keeping it real reveals who we really are and what we truly want.  We want to be loved but we don’t know who we are.

Not knowing who we are, we settle for what we can get.  We expose ourselves and wonder why we don’t get “that quality time” with the man or woman we’ve given so much pleasure to.  Did he or she approach “head first”, behind a disguise of meaningless words and strained actions?  Were they saying all the right things but really saying nothing?  Duped again… because we lay bare all too soon.  We long to be chosen, and we are, but only for a season.

Sex comes in all disguises.  It’s shoved in our faces, daily, and we turn a blind eye to the underlying messages sent, while waiting for someone to receive and respond back.  Sex.  Sex.  Sex.  What’s all the ado about sex?  Do you really think the man or woman of your dreams only wants sex?

Sex is but a small part of why couples choose to stay together.  Sex is over rated and miscast as love.  But, why want sex if you really can’t enjoy it forever and a day?

Enjoying sex isn’t just climaxing.  It’s basking in the sun when there is no sun.  It’s sinking deeper into bed covers when it’s time to go to sleep.  Enjoying sex is about closing your eyes and feeling like every bone in your body has just turned to jelly.  It’s not getting off and getting up.

Sex is best when it’s with the one you love and you’ve been together a long time, and you know both of you are on the same page and share the same values.

When two people have a common purpose in life, they love each other, and they fall asleep in each other’s arms each night; that’s probably as good as it gets.

Qualities we think are important to the maintenance of a strong relationship are soaked in the look, taste, and touch of another human being we call our significant other.  But I think there has to be more than what we see, feel, and salivate for.

When we’re old and gray with wrinkles, false teeth, and a cranky attitude…what then?  Eye candy eventually fails and we cling to the intrinsic value of what we know is real…and that has nothing to do with physical sex.

It has a lot to do with communication.  Not just physical but mostly verbal sensuality.  Few lovers or wanna be lovers know how to verbally make love without touching.  The art of true lovemaking has long been forgotten as in your face buts, G-strings, breast, genitalia and Lord knows what else take control of our imaginations and fuel a fire steering us in the direction of failed intimate relationships.

Nothing is left to the imagination anymore, and we are lost in a sea of double standards not easily defined.  How can he or she say they want a good man or woman when the physical captures their attention and draws them into a world of make believe?

 

The smell of incense floated through the air like the sensual musical notes spilling into the atmosphere.  Candles placed here and there dramatized flickering flames dancing around the walls like silent observers in an environment made for lovers.

Many months had passed since she last shared myself with someone she considered special enough to touch her in the way all women want to be touched when they’ve had too much of the mundane.  It had been six months to be exact.  Six months of not being sinful.  Six months of abstinence.  Six months of wondering if she would ever be sexually free.

She thought she knew what would happen that night.  She always knew what she wanted, when she wanted it, and whom she wanted it from.  Physical attachment and intimacy were never primary needs for her, but when the physical aspect of intimacy surged to the forefront, she knew her body would keep reminding her she was a healthy sexual being.  Just the thought of what it would be like with him encouraged her body to express itself.

His shy pecks turned into kisses then small nips along skin.  His hands finally found her breast and began to caress her in a way that reminded her of her high school sweetheart.  But, she was no girl of sixteen.  She wondered who had taught him how to love a woman.  Obviously it was someone who did not know how to ask for what she wanted.

She didn’t feel like coaching.  Instant gratification, penetration, and nothing more was all she wanted.  His way of making love to her did not make an impression.  She squeezed her eyes tight, trying to stay focused as she thought about the last six months and how focused she had become.

He felt her body as if afraid he would break her.  Like a forty-four year old adolescent engaged in his first sexual encounter he’d fumbled before he’d started.  His bark was worse than his bite and he would not make her feel good about breaking six months of being good.

The music stopped and her disappointment was like the smell of incense… barely noticeable.  For a woman, there is always more than one way to skin a cat.

He explained his failure as over excitement.  He said he had been dreaming of this moment for a long time.  His kisses and caresses were automated, cold, and abortive.

He was pensive as he tried to portray an image of strength.  He “was” strong.  He “was” pensive.  He “was” gentle.  He “was” almost believable.

 

Dreams tell us much about our situations and ourselves; yet we discount them as hallucinations of the mind.  The images seem so real, so alive, and so fanciful.  Our bodies take on forms we would never visualize ourselves in, if we were in a waking state, but these forms are significant when we attempt to decipher the hidden meaning behind this subconscious state of being.

I will tell you about a dream I experienced but was not able to draw an inference from, until after I had gone through nine months of passion, heartache, nervousness, negative self-talk, reconciliation, forgiveness, and release.  I have learned to tune into my dreams … for they tell me much about past, present, and future.

I saw myself as a small creature along the side of a road.  I could have been a mouse that stood on two legs or I could have been any of God’s small creatures.  Size may have meant that I was small and insignificant in comparison to the universe and all its wonders.  But anyway, there I was on the side of a dirt road.  I was hitchhiking.  I was on a journey and I believe I was pretty sure about where I was going and what I was going to do when I got there.  I wasn’t afraid of being the only creature on the road and­ I wasn’t concerned that what little traffic there was, moved in the opposite direction of where I was headed.

Then, another creature appeared on the road.  This creature came from nowhere, looked just like me and there was no differentiation as far as sex.  Now, there were two of us on this lonely road.  We talked for a moment and decided we would walk to a tower we saw in the distance because it was getting dark and it looked like a storm was on the horizon.

This tower was not in the direction I was going, but the other creature seemed confident we could find shelter for the night in the tower, and then start afresh the next morning.  I don’t know why I followed this creature.  Maybe it was because darkness was coming on and I had not gotten a ride to help me on my journey or it may have been because the creature was persuasive in some way.  All I know is that I had a definite plan about what I wanted, where I was going, and what I was going to do once I got there.  But I followed the creature anyway.

We ascended the steps of the tower and immediately got lost although we walked up in a winding direction.  There were no hidden passageways.  We walked, and walked, and walked but never reached a plateau.  As we walked, the creature started to get tired; started to complain, and also started to blame me for what appeared to be a never ending search for something we could not find.

Then the keeper of the tower spoke.  The keeper told us we would never leave the tower and that there was no way out.  We would become perpetual walkers of the tower that had no end.

The creature’s complaints about being tired became more severe, so I allowed the creature to get on my back, and I started walking in the opposite direction.  I walked down the stairs even though the keeper of the tower kept reminding me there was no way out.

I wondered why I had let the creature talk me into straying from the path I knew to be true for me.  I wondered what it was in my chemistry that lacked the fortitude to stick to my guns.  Had I been looking for a savior on that lonely road?

I carried the creature for what seemed like hours.  The tower was dark now, where before it had been light.  Was all hope lost?  Was there a way out?  I stumbled, fell down the steps, unloaded the creature, and found myself back on the road where this fantasy began.

I woke up saying to myself that I would never let another creature persuade me to desert the path I intuitively knew to be right for me.

Months after this dream I met a man who said all the right things, was tall, dark, and handsome.  I persuaded myself that this was the man for me.  There were inconsistencies but I overlooked those and did my best to help him.  After all, I thought he had good intentions.  I found out during the nine months we knew each other that he was all talk and no action.  He blamed his failed marriages on the women, blamed his troubles on the job, on his supervisor, and blamed me for taking him away from God.

While trying to help him I found myself falling just like I fell down the tower stairs.  Once I realized that he was more of a burden to me and that I could not save him from himself, I let go, and he fell away to his own devices.

It took me several months after that relationship to stop the negative self-talk and realize that I’m no different from anyone else on this planet.  I too am looking from someone to be my companion on this lonely journey we call life.

Lonely not due to a lack of companions, friends, associates, and relatives; but lonely because many of us will never be happy with what we have, and therefore we get sidetracked into thinking the opposite path is easier, is sheltered, (i.e. the grass is greener on the other side) and we find ourselves in the tower going nowhere.

The choices we make determine our destiny.  Those choices can be positive or negative.  We should let no one change the path we know to be the right path.  We may stray away from what we know to be true but sometimes unloading excess baggage will get us back to our true self so we can reach the plateau…the next level…that keeps us moving forward.

Some women go through life bitter about what they have control over:  their lifestyle, the words that roll cross their tongue, the number of children they have or don’t have, the man who occupies their bed, how much education they have, the job they work, the amount of money they have to spend, and where they live.  The aforementioned choices are under their control; therefore changeable.

Poor decision making leaves little quality time to think about whom or what circumstance got you down in the ditch.  Not taking the time to think about why you’re depending on someone other than yourself to claw your way up and out is yet….another poor choice

.Not only is agitation and rocking the boat a good thing to do; sometimes it’s the only way to get to the root of the problem.  We are the problem.  We are our own worst enemy.  We are excellent when it comes to deceiving our self, and find it hard to get out of our own way.  Admitting your life is your responsibility is the first step to rehabilitation and progress.

Bitter women also take their problems into the workplace, out on the street and especially into interpersonal relationships with other women.

Bitter women are haters of self and hate it when you look good, smell good, enunciate, are sociable, educated, confident, and not afraid of looking stupid because you ask questions, have a positive attitude, don’t genuflect to men, and treat others the way you want to be treated.

A bitter woman is always complaining about not having a man and takes her problems out on other women.  Some women are single by choice.  Some women are single because they moan and groan constantly about not having a man and their complaining attitude turns off other women and men.

I’ve met bitter women in the workplace and have them in my family.  When a bitter woman peels back layers of her own skin, looks at herself in the mirror, and is honest with herself about who she is as opposed to who she wants to be; then and only then will she be able to change her circumstances.  She must also rid herself of the thorn or thorns in her side that plague her well-being.  Sometimes getting on with life is about getting out from under whatever it is that holds you down.

A friend of mine was a bitter woman for years.  Her husband was chronically unemployed (by choice), a marijuana chain smoker, and emotionally abusive.  She finally divorced her husband, became a pleasant person to be around, and moved on with her life.

A co-worker was envious of my promotions until she went back to school, got her degree, and became a positive person to work with.

I feel sorry for the woman who made her bed, has to sleep in it, but won’t get up long enough to help her out of it.  You can’t pull yourself up by your bootstraps if you have no boots, but you can pick up a book, read it, and think your way out of what you thought yourself into.

Blaming someone else or other groups for your bad choices or living your life in your own way; then expecting the government, other institutions, family, or friends to pick up the pieces to put you (Humpty Dumpty) back together again has grown old, irrelevant, and falls on ears that are tired of hearing excuses.  Maybe you (Humpty Dumpty) shouldn’t have been on that wall in the first place!

He asked me to blow him a kiss over the telephone lines and I felt apprehensive about such a small act of commitment.  I knew him not.  We had only met once, two weeks before, and communication by phone had so far been our way of getting to know each other.

Yes, I can tell he is an aggressive man who no doubt hungers for something more on the side of romance then he has found in past relationships.  His aggressiveness intrigues me only because he reminds me of someone in the past, who took the ball, ran with it, and scored my heart.  Can he play this game of love to win or will he simply dribble around the court waiting for me to take “him” to the hoop.

I welcome his calls.  His voice is strong, deep, and controlled.  Our short but challenging conversations tell me he is intellectual but tells me nothing of his heart or why he is single like me.  I wonder what it will be like when we stand face to face with questioning eyes that ask, “Who is he”, “Who is she”?

I feel myself drifting and fantasying about what the feel of his arms are like.  Does he know how to hold a woman to his body so she later sighs at the thought of his embrace?  I wonder how much passion is in his kiss.  I wonder and yet I know that I must resist his manly magnetism at all cost, or else all will be lost, lost to pleasure only; with no deep spiritual knowledge about who he is and who he would like to be.  I want his mind and then his body will follow.

Yes my apprehension about a kiss via the phone line is real.  It’s real because it exposes “me”.  He shouldn’t know that I long to be kissed.  I want to see inside him not him see inside me.  I blush, and I ask him not to make me blush and he responds with, “Aren’t you a woman?  Don’t you want to feel good?  What’s wrong with blushing?”  Yes, his tone is authentic and much about his personality is revealed as manipulation but I can’t help myself.

Doesn’t every woman want to be manipulated by a man one way or another?  I prepare myself for our next encounter hoping that the next will draw him closer to “my” web.  Has the fly ever eaten the spider?  Does the hunter enjoy the hunt so much that he desires to be hunted?  I don’t want to be chosen; I want to choose.  I want control.

I can’t just let it happen.  I can’t just go with the flow; or else I lose the only thing I really have to give…myself.

I want him to know me…to know how loud the emotions of my heart sing within me.  I want him to untangle the webs that years of frustration have knitted between man and woman.

I must hold out at all cost.  I can’t let him have me before I truly know him or else our close encounter would have been a waste of time.  Oh, how much I desire the physical aspect of love and all of its pleasures, but I do not relish the pain that comes with lying down too soon with someone who knows not his own heart; least of all mine.

Apprehensive?  Yes!  Scared, no!  I’ve been down this road before and I’m tired of the charade, the unfocused moments, and the speechlessness after we are sexually gratified.  I want to breathe the aroma of romance forever and a day.

I too am guilty of taking and not giving, holding back, putting off, and unloading when the prey has been devoured.  You see; it was the moment that held my attention.  The moment died when the predator was captured, stripped, and consumed by the heat that emaciated from “my wants”.

Can we make it last forever?  What does “the kiss” reveal to him about me?

Somehow, I feel the pressure of being a woman.

The caller sighed deeply and sounded as though she was on the verge of tears.  A feeling of depression filled the airwaves as the disc jockey and listeners listened intently to her trembling voice.

She wanted desperately to be married.  She wanted a family of her own.  She wanted to be loved and to love, but she could find no one to reciprocate her feelings of wanting to commit to only one.  Where were the eligible men, she asked, and why didn’t the available men want to commit to one woman.

She was thirty-four years old.

The hopelessness in her voice reminded me of an old Twilight Zone episode about psychological solitary confinement.  Was her confinement self-imposed or societal?  Why did being single seem like a death sentence to her?  What was her hurry?  What pool of men did she consider eligible?  What made her think marriage was the answer to the void she identified?

I listened and felt empathy for this woman who saw the glass as half empty instead of half full.  Her emptiness dialed into a public forum in search of reinforcement from other lonely hearts who shared her feelings.  I shared her thoughts but not the feeling that she needed someone else to make her whole.

A sign of the times, I thought, as traffic slowed to a dead stop.  There is always too much or too little.  There was never a happy median.

I heard a cry of desperate longing and faithlessness in her conversation as her monologue progressed from sharing her life to wanting to belong to someone other than herself.  This sense of possession rang out as unintelligible garbage to me.

Why should any human being feel the need to “belong” to someone else?  Is possession truly what we want or do we simply want to share ourselves, our lives with others.

I tried not to judge, but the life she thought she wanted sounded like a living death sentence.  I enjoyed being single, and happily broadcast that fact to those who assumed I had to be married, because I’m happy doing so well on my own.  Being the elusive butterfly in a world rapidly changing for the worst suited me. Snap decisions, instant gratification, date rape, aids, and moral decline; helps me stay above the fray of negativity inherent in men and women who discard reason in favor of hedonistic lifestyles.

It is the nature of man to conquer and seek challenge.  Most men become bored with being able to possess totally.  What satisfaction does he get, knowing you live for him, and not yourself?  Women that hold their own and are not sidetracked by the game are doing quite well emotionally.

Men are full of game and will always try to gain as many women to their harems as possible.  But, a woman to be gained and tamed is more in demand than one who begs to be caught.

Now, I started to feel sorry for the caller.  I think it was her outlook on life that caused me to change from empathy to sorrow.

She was not satisfied with herself, I thought; she didn’t know who she was, and she wanted to depend on someone else for that definition.

I had learned long ago that the women in demand are the ones who never take no for an answer, who dance to the beat of a different drum, who love themselves, who don’t like to waste time, who strive to achieve goals, and are  “Women Who Run with the Wolves”.

Maybe I should call the station in response to this woman’s search for someone in-between her knight in shining armor and the man she would eventually settle for.

Traffic started to move and I accelerated into a higher level of consciousness as I blocked out the daily rat race.

Was I missing something?  Was I too smug?

The traffic slowed again and I changed stations, looking for something else to keep me in tune with my expectations.

Forever single lingered in my mind.  Forever single in a world where two incomes gave one a feeling of security built on a false sense of worth that only multiplied the loneliness felt by those who wanted involvement any way they could get it.

Do women need children and a man to be whole or do the norms of society contribute to this feeling of helplessness and shallow lack of self-worth.  Are women hoping for past practices in a unisex society that is slowly placing less emphasis on gender?  Seems like some things never change as we attempt to hold on to what was in a society where marriage is declining and single households surpass traditions.

Woman these days should have more concerns than hoping, wishing, looking, and betraying themselves for Mr. Rescue.  Do these women want Mr. Right or Mr. Right Now?

This problem of marriageable committed men has gained more momentum due to other social ills that are suffered the world over.  There was a time when men did most of the choosing and women were confined to flirting, winking, and blinking.  This I call the age of restrained behavior.

Now-a-days women are free to do more physically to attract, seduce, and domesticate, in hopes of getting a man to commit.  The problem is that there are so few real men left

The listening audience of the morning talk show might beg me to differ and say that there are plenty of men out there, and I would not disagree, except to say that quantity is no substitute for quality.  The lack of quality will be a rude awakening for women who end up belonging to someone who for whatever reasons will not or won’t be able to support basic necessities such as food, clothing, and shelter.

Can you also be forever single and married to?

 

I asked, “What channel was that?”

Instead of him answering, he punched the buttons on the remote.  The channel reappeared and he said, “That’s what channel it is!”

“Ump,” I said as my eyes involuntarily blinked twice and my jaw hardened into a frown I had no intention of hiding.  I said to myself, why didn’t he just say what channel it was?  Why all the drama?  I couldn’t believe all the inconsideration he demonstrated towards me.  The bed sheets were still damp from intercourse shared less than a half hour ago.  I’d just gotten home from a three day trip to Sacramento to visit my family.  He acted like he couldn’t wait to get me between the sheets and welcome me home, now that same old selfish attitude of his had reared its ugly head.

Funny how a simple act, omission, or comment can transform itself into the last straw.

“You knew what channel it was,” I said as I looked in his direction.  All you had to do was say so.  What is your problem?”

He looked at me as if I’d lost it, as if I’d nitpicked him instead of him nitpicking me.

He reached for his pack of Winston’s laying on the nightstand.

He started it, so I kept on railing.  “I just got home.

Those little tactics you think will control me aren’t working.”

“What’s wrong with you,” he asked?

As usual, it was my fault, so I left him sitting on the side of the bed smoking his brains out.  Enough is enough, I said to myself as I disappeared down the hallway and out of his eyesight.  Let him sit and do what he does best; smoke, stare at the television, and think about what an ass he had just been.  Knowing him, he was probably asking himself why he just didn’t tell me what channel it was.  No, he had to be a jackass.  Now he was feeling just as alone as when I was in Sacramento.

Before I knew it, it’s Tuesday and the situation between my once significant other has not gotten any better.  While he’s at work, I’m physically free, but my mind is tied up in knots trying to decide what to do.  B. B. King comes on the Oasis and belts out “The Thrill is Gone”, and I sway back and forth to the beat agreeing with every word he says.

It’s almost time for him to come home so I leave, because I can’t stand being in the same house with him anymore.  On my way to the movies, I make up my mind.  I’m moving out.  I wish I could move back into my house, but it’s under lease, so I’ll have to find someplace else to live.  After living in a house for the past fifteen years, I can’t imagine what it would be like to live in an apartment again.  No that’s out.  It has to be a condo or townhouse so that my baby (Taps the cat) and I can have our privacy.  Besides, Taps likes to go out to do his business so I need a small yard so we can both have some space.

Thursday morning I woke up, started the coffee, and found the phone book.  This morning I wouldn’t sit on the toilet drinking coffee and working a puzzle.  This morning I jotted down phone numbers of property managers.  Half the morning had gone by when I backed out of the driveway on my way to drive by a list of locations realtors had given me.

I immediately ruled out the first location as unsafe.  The next two condos were attached.  I was leaving to become unattached so why would I rent a condo or townhouse resembling a part of someone else’s life.  My fourth stop was also attached, but had a garage.  It was more modern than the last two and the walkways were on the side, so you might never see your neighbor.  OK, attached, but not attached.  Maybe.  I had one more stop to make before going back to the house for lunch.  I wasn’t calling it home anymore, just “the house”.  Yea, it was time to go.

Bingo!  From the outside it was cute.  Focusing my eyes, I peeped between pickets to get a glimpse of the back.  It had a deck, a big shade tree, and enough yard for Taps to poop, scratch, and feel safe in.

The Realtor agreed to meet me in Desoto to see the one with the garage.  We walked through and I liked it.  Then we drove to the one standing alone without a garage but with the deck.  It was perfect and rented for seventy-five dollars less than the one with the garage.  With the application fee in hand, the Realtor promised to call by Monday.  I drove off, feeling resigned and looking forward to the transition that was soon to take place.

Can you imagine sleeping in the same bed with someone you felt passionate about and all you can think of is getting the hell out?  He laid there snoring and I laid there wishing he would take up space in the room his son use to sleep in.

Monday arrived and I hadn’t heard from the Realtor.  I wanted to move Wednesday, July second, because he was going on vacation July third.  I knew moving when he would be there would only cause more anxiety then necessary.  Can you imagine asking, “Can you get up, the movers are ready to load the bed onto the truck!”  No, I had to move while he was at work.

I got the boxes out of the storage building, found the tape, and began packing.  These were the same boxes I moved into his house with.  I’d saved these boxes three years and eight months, anticipating the day would come when I would need them.  He wasn’t right for me then, but I was so in love, I thought.  I thought we would get use to each other.  I found out it doesn’t work that way.

“We’re still trying to verify employment,” said the office manager.  “Your credit is ok.  It’ll probably be another day or two before we can let you know something.”

“Do you know who you spoke to at the agency,” I calmly asked.

“We didn’t get a name.  The note here says someone will call us back.”

I listened, knowing the temporary agency I freelanced with rarely returned calls.  I was unemployed and the last time I’d worked on an assignment was two months ago.

“This isn’t going to happen is it?”  I asked.  “The movers want me to call back before noon today or else they can’t move me Wednesday.”

“Let me call you back,” said the Office Manager.

I continued to pack.  I knew I was moving come hell or high water.  I looked at my plugged in cell phone a dozen times.  It was on.  No, my ears hadn’t deceived me.  No calls or messages.

It’s eleven o’clock.  I haven’t eaten.  All I can think about is July fourth.  Independence Day.  The catchy tune on my cell phone, get my attention.

“Hello,” I say as cool as a cucumber.

“Beverly, this is Sherrie at Move In Realtors.  I called the owner of the property and she says to give you the keys.  We’ll need first month’s rent and an eight hundred dollar deposit.”

“I’ll be there within the hour.”  I looked up towards heaven with closed eyes.

Getting the go ahead caused my stomach to flutter as I immediately thought about how much packing I had to do.  I called the movers and was scheduled for Wednesday afternoon.  It was going to be all work and no play, so I loaded my car with as much as it could carry and pointed it in the direction of the bank.  After signing the lease, getting the keys, and handing over a sixteen hundred dollar cashier’s check, I rode up highway sixty-seven to my soon to be residence and unloaded the car.  That afternoon, I made many trips unloading little things I didn’t need to pay movers to transfer.

I was tired as hell by Tuesday evening when he walked through the door.  We hadn’t looked each other in the eyes or spoken since the remote control incident.  Boxes laid open everywhere, and I was busy filling, closing, taping, and labeling what belonged to me.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” I said back.

He nonchalantly walked back to the bedroom.  I held my breath, waiting for some comment from him.  We had argued before about me leaving.  This wasn’t the first time I’d packed boxes, stacked chairs on top of the dining room table, took down pictures, rolled up rugs, and emptied the china cabinet, but it was the first time I’d kept the momentum going until it reached a critical mass level with only one end in sight – escape.  After all, it was the first time I’d paid a deposit on a new dwelling place and I wasn’t about to lose sixteen hundred dollars.  It was over.

I couldn’t continue to pack and not say something.  Being the diplomat I am, I walked down the bare hallway where little holes could be seen.  Holes that held hooks, hooks that once held pictures that brought a feeling of peacefulness to the house I thought I was turning in a home.