One man on the whole damn big ball of rock that I really want, two I'm dating here who are getting less than my undivided attention and I feel bad about that, everyone telling me not to be so jealous and unevolved when I can read about how lovely he is in bed from someone who's had access to him lately when I haven't had that particular pleasure in three months, a pack of concerned mothers and exasperated friends, and maybe-just-maybe I should eat something besides ice cream today and see if that helps my mood at all.
And a partridge in a pear tree. Some days are easier than others. This was not one of them. Three and a half weeks and I'm in Berlin and of course I'm ecstatic about that, but I'm starting to make honest contact with some emotions I've been holding down with a boot to their skinny straining necks, and that is a less-than-ecstatic experience. A friend and I swap the occasional email about jealousy and what it means, and I clearly need to sit quietly with my feelings and tease out what's really going on underneath, but some of it...some of it does not boil down to "fear of abandonment" or "fear of scarcity" or any of the things the Great Thinkers On Polyamory airily dimiss in their books about how to maintain multiple loving partnerships as signs that the monamorous deserve to go the way of the woolly mammoth.
Sometimes I just want something I can't have, and like a slow child I don't understand why I had to let go of a good thing that was going well. Join the crowd, Indri, I hear some of you say. That's just how it is. But I would at least feel better if it seemed like anyone besides my mother and Snufkina and Thread got it and I didn't find myself writing so damn many sniveling, whining emails and blog posts where I beat myself up for feeling something.
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