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enfinblue's Bluey (credit to Fifi for the nickname!) Diaryland Diary

"I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart." -Vinc3nt V@n Gogh

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Yes, dating is a complex thing.

I had the weirdest night. I couldn't fall asleep, so I sat up in bed reading my Florence 1900 book. It's quite German-centric, which is interesting, as I tend to think more of the English ex-pat community in Florence (for obvious reasons, and in part because I've been snubbed at the British Institute by their 21st century rearguard). :)

In any event, German philosophers are quite amusing, in the way that I was amused by C. when I first met him (he never cracked a smile; now, he even has laugh lines). :)

Yes, Arcadia.

Do you know, that younger, handsome guy who contacted me on the dating site wrote back to me again. I am now thinking that he'll have mommy issues, however. More importantly, I am sure that I am not sufficiently confident in my womanly characteristics to date him. I feel as though I should start offering to men that I manage their finances or something. I do not feel at all attractive or womanly these days. I don't know when it happened, but obviously at some point between the bright, sunny and flattering days with Andrea and Marco at the end of October, and this lonely February 12 in Ottawa with its chapped winter skin, tired eyes and drab hair (in spite of the best efforts at combat).

I don't know. It's not even that there is anything wrong with the parts. I look in the mirror and say, OK, what do I see?

And the answer is that the hair is maybe a bit too short, but frames my cheekbones and my eyes. And of course my eyes are large and blue and smile when I laugh. And especially now that I'm working out again, my body looks fantastic. I have the body of a 20 year-old, which is not something to NOT feel grateful for, when you're nearly 40.

SO I don't know why it is that I think of myself in relation to a handsome man as completely inadequate. I think it must be that I've always felt less feminine than other women. It started in grade school, when I was better at math than virtually all of the other girls. I was always sequestered with all of the guys to prepare for competitions and the like. And then you add to it the fact that other girls were...girly. They whispered and gossipped and always fought with each other to choose a person to share the bus seat with, or a partner for field trips. I was mystified as to why anyone cared who their partner was on a field trip. Somehow I missed the "I need to declare a best friend" gene. And as a result, I was always on the friendly periphery of girls' groups, but never at their epicentre. No one disliked me, but no one was declaring me their best friend. I remember in fact one girl declaring me her "second best friend," and I'm sure that the crease between my two eyes that I've had forever started at that moment in which I learned to furrow my eyebrows in puzzlement.

In high school I didn't learn to wear makeup (my mother has never worn any). My mother took me to second-hand shops to buy my clothes. I did not have a purse until I was maybe twenty-five. I've only had a manicure once in my entire life. I have certainly never had a brazilian wax. I have only coloured my hair once, and I hated that as you know because ultimately in maintaining it the person turned me into Ron@ld Mcdonald.

So I feel inadequate, I guess, as a female. All of the things I'm supposed to understand I don't. (I recently spent one particularly disturbing lunch with Ava and a friend as they discussed engagement rings.) And of course, I've never particularly wanted to have children. I find children to be marvelous, and most especially the creative pathways that they take to organizing and consolidating new information, but I think of them a little bit in the way that I did The L!ttles. My idea of the worst demon on earth, however, is a teenager. I don't know how parents get through those 5-8 years. Honestly. I don't know how. I think I might be an advocate for boarding school. ;)

Anyway, that was an aside. I'm not being self-pitying here, and I don't need compliments. I'm just stating the facts of the case.

It's true: women are a mystery.

Egads! It's already 8:10. Had best get ready. I had an inadequate sleep last night. I even woke up at 7, thinking that someone was making coffee in my apartment. It really smelled like it, and I'm completely puzzled as I don't believe there are any vents to the apartments upstairs or downstairs, and I couldn't smell anything when I opened the front door. Hmmm..

XOXO

Oh! My Art!st's Way book arrived, as did my Italian Made S!mple! I have the music from De@r Frankie and Paul Gilb3rt's The Comp@ssionate mind also coming (plus The Voyage Out, the Prix M�dicis-winning book L'�nigme du retour, and something else but I forget). It's almost too fabulous for words. Of course, I will not be off the hook if I don't do my morning pages every day next week! Wheee!! I had an argument with a friend the other day about not buying books. This was a splurge for me, to be sure, but I needed those books (I gave up on The Art@st's way at the library, after not hearing for six months about the hold I had put on it; I was 112th in line for the Paul G!lbert, which tells you something about Ottawa). I usually do go to the library. On the other hand, however, who is going to support the authors if no one buys the books?

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7:54 a.m. - 2010-02-12

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