When Tom ended the M/s portion of our relationship (after being directly challenged in therapy) he said: “It’s not worth the effort.”  I took that as a statement about his belief about putting effort into our relationship as a whole because as a 24/7 slave… that’s a big deal.  We never recovered.  He didn’t want to get married or have kids with me.  He wanted me to just kind of exist without getting any of my needs met and keep company with him doing the shit he wanted when he decided he wanted it.

It occurs to me this morning that I’m approaching hunting wrong.  I go through a lot of effort to meet people where they are.  I do the driving.  And as a result people don’t value me much.  They stop responding to me.  I’m chasing them.  I think I should stop.  Why in the fuck am I out wasting energy on chasing people?

I think I’d like to be chased for a while.  I think that I’m going to stop sleeping with people on the first date because the first date is going to have to be really convenient for me.  And that means sex isn’t on the table.  We aren’t going to do that at my house.  I think that part of the problem is that people don’t generally properly appreciate the fact that it takes a lot of time and energy to drive as much as I do.  Maybe they should bear some of that cost.

This is where I have this funny side thought.  People tell me I should be very careful about talking about where I live.  Some one could come after me.  My response is, “What are they going to do?  Put a gun to my head?  Rape me?  And this is a change in my life pattern… how?”  They can do that whether I am hesitant to list my address or not.  I’m not hard to find and I never will be again.  There are too many people I kind of hope will come find me.  Like Belinda.  Or Michael Paul Douglass Goble.  If he ever wants to look up Krissy Archer I hope he finds me.  That means I have to take the risk of other people finding me.

It’s really a statistically low chance.  People are far more likely to be killed by their families.  Given what I have survived I’m just not all that scared.  I mean, I am.  Let’s be real.  But not enough to shut up.  Ever.  I can’t.  Never again.

And this is all tied together.  I need to feel like I am a destination worth reaching.  It’s ok to talk about where I am.  I’m in Fremont.  If you live in Berkeley and you think I am interesting you had better get used to driving south.  And I have a weird ass schedule.  You will have to be flexible.  And smarter than me.  

Or worth seriously traveling for.  Once someone has established that they are worth going to, ok.  I do want to have sex and all.  But I would like to be courted.  I have never made anyone court me before.  I wonder what that would be like.  But I still can’t date or have a boyfriend.  I’m just making friends.  I’m seeing if there are people out in the world I should occasionally go see when I have spare time.  Because I need more of those people, right?  

I get something from sex.  And I give something.  There is an emotional transaction.  I need it.  I don’t know how this is going to work.