If you read my blogs regularly, you are aware that in a fit of shame I deleted all of my posts. I like to think that they're floating around cyberspace somewhere, and will one day be magically recovered. But, alas, I fear that is not to be the case. There are two, in particular, that now have follow up stories.
The first is the blog I wrote about my attraction to stray cats. I gave a rather lengthy and glamorous definition of the term 'stray cat' as it refers to the men I date. I'm not going to do that this time... Basically, they are very fun and frisy commitment-phobic disappearing acts. And, I love to throw my heart against the brick walls of their defenses. What was probably obvious to the four of you that read my blog (but not at all clear to me) was that I fit the stray cat definition perfectly. It's no fucking wonder I love strays, I'm one myself. Of course, I would be a very sleak and sneaky black cat with a long tail and majestic gait. I would be a mighty huntress with my pick of at least three different homes and food bowls...
I don't know how it took me so long to realize it. I suppose it just took several cute boys running away before I started to consider that my lack of a partner must have at least as much to do with the boys I date as it does my own mindframe. And, then, it was very clear. I am the flightiest of the flighty. I am slow to trust. I'm fun and exciting and at the same time a little mean and abrasive. I'm open about many things but deeply secretive about others. The more I like a person, the less I give away because the more afraid I am of trusting them. I could tell a stranger my whole life story, but when it comes to a boy I like, I usually get anxious and weirdly defensive and end up just creeping him out with drunken stories from my younger and wilder days and weird stories about my broken family. Ah, my strange defense mechanisms designed to push people away before they can get too close. I'm terrified of commitment because it's nearly impossibly for me to imagine living with someone ALL the time. And, why would that be? I don't know, maybe because I'm terrified of opening up? It's not really rocket science. However, I like to fancy myself a scientist of sorts, so I think there is an obvious solution to this conundrum. I'm just going to have to keep practicing until I get it right. Now, that sounds like a fun solution. I have also been making a more sincere effort to recognize when I'm walling up and forcing myself not to do it. I think, for a while at least, this might cause me to reenter the world of rather frequent panic attacks. But, like all things, it gets easier the more times you do it. Lord, please send me cute boys to practice on for Christmas. Thank you, in advance, for your cooperation.
This brings me to the next post I wanted to follow up on. One of the other characteristics of stray cats is that they're wanderers, homeless nomads just looking for rooms to rent for a while. And, I once wrote a blog about how I was a girl without a home. Or, if I had a home I didn't know where it was; but I really wanted to find it. Well, in my first step toward domestication, I have discovered that I do have a home. It's in Louisville where my family and friends are. It's in Louisville where there are local coffee shops in most strip malls and motorists occasionally swerve to hit bicyclists. It's in Louisville where everyone I know is affiliated with local theater and everyone asks me where I went to high school. I could continue on with this list forever, but I'm feeling a bit lazy about it at the moment. So, I will just leave you with the knowledge that I am, in fact, a stray. But, I'm a stray with a home. And, strays with homes don't stay wild for long.
