spammers

Okay, I mean come on. Who invents these names that show up in my bulk folder?

Today a guy named Castillo Harvey sent me a spam. Then there was Napoleon Huddleston and apparently his brother Jarold Huddleston who both wanted to tell me about tickets they say I'm being billed for.

Who has names like this? Who even invents names like this?

Ridiculous.

In other news, as the Auction nears, I'm surprisingly calm. I had a meltdown week last week, and my favorite guy friends were insanely nice and supportive, and this week when I'm doing fine they don't seem quite to know what to do with me. We've hung out and had good times, but sometimes they just seem...puzzled. "So, you're doing okay?" "Oh yeah, I'm doing fine now. Everyone says things are coming together well, so I decided to believe them." "Oh...good -- that's good." (Maybe they think I'm an insane woman, freaking out one week and blithely fine the next.)

But the thing is that the meltdowns tend to be few and far between. Ordinarily, I'm really fine. Sometimes I half-wish I were consistently broken, just because it seems to motivate men so much to try to make it better, to be there, and they make the greatest companions. And I grant you that I'm pretty lonely. But I can't fake that I'm doing poorly, when I'm usually doing fairly well.

I'm not sorry I'm doing well; I was broken for awhile, and I don't miss it. I do wish that I could find a way to be close to men without having big problems for them to try to fix. My only big problem is that I'm lonely and want someone to share life with, day by day. But how do you tell someone that? (Although I'm starting to.) So, usually when they ask how I'm doing, I say, "Fine -- yeah, everything's fine."

When it's kind of not...I mean, my life is great. I have a great job, great cat, great apartment, great friends, and I really feel like I'm settling in. But I keep coming back to the bare, bald fact that when I consider what I most want in life, it's a family. And I have no control over acquiring one. I have to wait.

But even with the frustration, the loneliness, the yearning, the hunger for intimacy in all its forms, I'm still not broken. And often that seems to drive the good men away. Like I don't need them. When I do need them. Not to fix me, not to save me, not to complete me; but to live alongside me and love me and see me.

Bah, it feels corny to be complaining about it. It'll happen, when I'm not clutching for it. I know this.

So it's a matter of cultivating contentment, a matter of time, and a matter of enjoying the people I know right now, while I have them. Everything will fall into place eventually. Everyone says so, so I think I'll believe them. (Because "all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.")

Right?

Right.