A friend posted on Facebook about the difference between men and women is men cannot decorate.
After moving to a bigger place, I had a housewarming. A female friend asked if she needed to take me furniture shopping. No, I can handle it. I bought my all the furniture I have on my own and can deal with the future needs too. After buying a dining table, a different friend asked if my girlfriend helped me pick it out. Again, I did it all on my own.
All the photographs hung in the sunroom are my own artistic work including the frames. I chose the theme of those photos to be around nature to go with the view of the back yard. The Hokusai and oriental art in the library combined my two loves.
The color schemes came with the house, but I am mostly happy enough with them and have been able to work my own art into them. The themes for the various rooms are my own choices. I think the approach to decorating one’s place is all about creativity and expression. With a roommate I basically restricted my decorations to my own room. With my own places I branched out much further.
I have a long way to go before my full vision is realized.
And apparently I need to take more photos with my girlfriend.
So, I gave Fiona one of the posts on here. She then went through other posts prompting the opportunity to talk about them. To me this is a great thing.
Blogging is how I lay out my thoughts at the time on things important to me. I will dig up an old post on something to send someone as an explanation for what I thought about a topic. If my thinking has changed, then I will update the post. It is often easier to provide a link to a post than recreate all of that on the fly in my head. Especially when the post has links to other things.
Of course, there are posts I have probably forgotten. Blogging allows me to remove the issue from my mind.
My girlfriend should know about the blogs and use them to gain insight into me. And, of course, be fine with what I write about “us.” My style is not to record the kiss-and-tell kind of stuff. Instead, it is more musings about my headspace about what I feel.
I guess there is a first time for everything. In my 40s, I actually have a girlfriend for the first time. A woman actually put up with me for more than a couple dates and really wants to be with me. It did not really seem likely ever to happen. It did not seem like she would be the one to land that position.
So this is unchartered territory for me. In a land I never expected to need to explore. (Well, not since my teens.) So, this ought to be an interesting adventure.
My imposter syndrome screams that Fiona* still has no idea what she is getting into because she is high on oxytocin and dopamine and long deprived of them. Once those wear off, she will realize her mistake.
I have lived alone for a decade. And just a roommate for another decade prior. OK, most of that was with my father, but after the first few years, he stopped trying to control me as a child because… well, I was too independent.
This woman I have been seeing has needs. I enjoy the cuddling and kissing. It may not be an every day need for me like it is her.
The scariest thing about all this is the disruption to routines, shifting priorities, and juggling my deadlines.
For me, it is easy to find a reason to end it. My Imposter Syndrome notes all my flaws showing why I am not deserving. I try to keep it in check by ignoring it. The thoughts run through my head, but I try not to base my actions around them.
The other day Fiona* says she has a “secret” to tell me. There is this long pause. Like several minutes long. Which means my brain is going through *ALL* the scenarios. She is breaking up with me. She is really a guy. She is knocked up. She is moving far away. It ended up being sweet and cute.
I tend to go with the safe picks in dating. My imposter syndrome dictates that I feel undeserving of good things. That generous, beautiful, intelligent woman falls completely out of my league. There is no way she would be interested in a geek, freak, and all around reject like myself. Her laughter at my jokes sounds hollow with platitude.
Friends express disappointment in my picks. They picture me with the generous, beautiful, intelligent woman. Instead I barely muster the courage to handle the nice, homely, average woman.
It will never work because how can one build a relationship on a facade?
She launched a thousand ships. She is the archetype of the woman who a man scapegoats in his revision of history to account for the idiocy of men.
I have had a few Helens. When attracted to a woman, I become more intelligent and helpful. They have me wrapped around their pinkie and get me to do things I normally avoid. Like, I do not know how to dance, so getting me to go to prom was insanely crazy. One of the firsts asked me to go with her and she is the only reason why I did with only a week to prepare. Another got me involved in trying to be an organizer as her “lieutenant.” Thankfully, most of these girls never knew the extent to which they manipulated me.
But these Helens mostly all impacted me between 15 and 25. So, I made the mistake of thinking I was past all that.
The latest, let’s call her Briseis, had me wrapped around her pinkie without me realizing what was even happening. I am an idiot. I don’t date. Instead I collect beautiful women who would make fantastic partners, never venture into dating, never discuss it, and then when she fades from my life let the feelings fade with it. This is not the idiot part as I intentionally use this to keep from getting hurt. The idiot part was I somehow opened up to her way more than I should, I think because she was a Helen. Not just once, but over and over with how I felt about her specifically not very specific. She sussed out what was going on. The wound hurt. She felt it better to know than wonder. I… don’t. I thought at the time I was just allowing her to become a great friend, but really I veered off the path into the Black Forest.
This post was inspired because her namesake is another character from the Iliad. I was going to write a post about her with her named Helen when I realized that I have many.
Apparently my heartbeat is too fast? Every woman I have ever kissed has commented on it. That’s only 7, so that sample is pretty small. Plus it tends to be years in between. So I guess there is some excitement at the prospect.
I’m only reminded because of a comment the other night from my date. In overthinking the whole thing, I landed on her remark.