the lure of November

It seems odd, that my year in review occurs in November, and not, in say, January, or perhaps in March, around my birthday. I cannot find a reason for this, other than every couple years or so, usually around the end of October, my life seems to upend itself and unravel to nothingness, and then I spend two years on a blog detailing the reshaping, the weaving of the new life that began in November.

It dawned on me recently that I started this blog about a year ago. I won't go through the tedious work of listing what's changed and hasn't changed, since you have been here with me for the last year and lately I've talked a lot about my emotional state. Let me just say that it has been a very interesting year and I have learned about myself and who I want to be and how those two beings aren't so separate and distinct anymore. This year I really learned how to be comfortable in my own skin.

There is something to tell you. There is a man who shares my bed with me sometimes and I haven't talked about him because I didn't know what to tell you. He's not my next boyfriend, he's not going to be my husband, he may not be a long lasting part of my life. And yet, he has already had a huge impact on me in just a couple month's time. He's helping me get over the love of my lifetime and he is fulfilling a wish I made over the summer to have a man in my life.

He has this amazing solid huge body and I find myself fascinated by the way his muscles drape over his limbs, the way the shadows fall across his arms, the way his shoulders feel under my palms. I am amazed by his arms, huge heavy things I can barely wrap my fingers around and I am pleased to be given permission to touch and hold him. He sits next to me, afraid to disrupt my motions, while I explore his body as if on a topographical mission. I love watching the tree trunks of his legs move through the world, he is like a centaur and his body is sensual, suggestive, and he isn't even aware that it might be. He travels through the day in a tangle of awkward mentally induced bindings, but I get to see him unbound and it is the most beautiful thing.

As if the pleasure I derive from his physical being isn't enough, he has a brain that would stir envy in the hearts of most men and he shares it with me, in short bursts throughout the day, in occasional long conversations on the phone (which is rare for me) and I am constantly intrigued by what he has to say, how he views the world, what new piece of knowledge he happens to be dissecting every day. This is the part I fear the most. I could easily not fall in love with a body, but I find it hard not to love his brain. I relish in just about every interaction and constantly long for more, knowing full well that I could wring a wet rag out to stiffness and still not be satiated, so I try to leave him be sometimes.

I think more than anything, this year, I have finally found the freedom to be pleased, to have pleasure, to seek out pleasant things. As a kid, as I grew up, I was very careful not to have too much fun. Having fun was how you got hurt. This summer and my friends have helped me learn how to reap a joyous pleasure from life as a adult.

So I will spend the next year continuing on this libertine path, I hope I will learn how to relish with words what I have learned to do so well in person. I have never been able to celebrate the good things and always been better at moping over the miserable aspects of my life, especially in my writing. It'd be nice if I could find the words to celebrate my life. If that is the case, perhaps that means I will blog more often...

as always, thank you for being here with me.