This made me think, rather painfully, on the presumption that most men have made of me in my dating career: that there is something wrong with me because I am so profoundly moved by intimacy.
For reasons proven by this month's mini-heartbreak, who just does not seem to have a database for a woman who faints from being kissed by an attractive man, or doesn't generally go around kissing men without knowing their middle name, birthday or handedness, I understand some of why I hardened my heart all those years. He very honestly was just the latest insult in a lifetime of insults.
It's been very difficult for me, over the years, to meet people who actually want a person like me.
When I am attracted to somebody, it is so much an all body affair. I am undone. I'll be a quiet, catnipped zombie from their scent. I tremble and make little noises when they touch me, I gaze on them and drink them in with my eyes. And, in fact, I'm a swooner. I have been known to faint when I'm kissed by somebody that I like.
The intensity of my reaction makes people think I am totally in love with them. I have had so many people I like break up with me over this, and in fact, the ones I've kept interested are the ones I'm not that attracted to.
Daniel Jackson Clone was not the first person to be perplexed that I was a swooner. I've swooned on other people before, and generally got the same reaction. (Maybe this should go in my OKCupid profile.)
Most people these days actually are repelled by women who have emotional depth. A hundred years ago, such a thing was considered desirable, but it's not these days. It makes me alien.
On the other hand, it's considered desirable now when a man has emotional depth; it's a sign that he's a sensitive soul.
Go figure.
I wish I could just marry Wendy Shalit. She's the only person who understands me.
The rest of the culture doesn't. There are times that my faith in my LOA and in Buddhism is not strong enough to keep me from considering that my options are the nunnery, Paxil or death.
I would in fact go more "modest" if I lived in a cooler climate. I'd wear long skirts with lace-up shoes. Maybe the right Victorian man, or woman (because I've decided to be open-minded) would know me on sight, and care to court me.
Meanwhile, I'm rethinking my stance on medication; next week I may end up going and getting a scrip for enough Paxil to stun an elephant.
Unless the Universe gives me a sign by then.
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