Tuesday, January 12, 2010

85 Days and The Loneliest Job in the World

I haven't posted in a while about relationships. That's what happens when you give up men for 85 days and counting.

Actually, that's not true and you know it.

Cause we're always still wondering aren't we? When he'll show up? That knight in shining armor. Damn tardy but on the white horse nonetheless. It happens to everyone so when will it happen to us... to me?

My therapist gave me an assignment last week. "I know this sounds a little 'online dating-ish' but bear with me. I want you to make a list of 'must-haves' and 'can't stands.'"


But every time I do this I start to feel guilty because what if my Mr. Right isn't a Christian? What if he's a spiritualist and we're the perfect grounding for each other: me in religion and him in mystery? Or what if he doesn't like the theater and I teach him to love the theater and then he ends up volunteering on the board for the local community theater? Hell, I watch football now, it happens. People change one another.

And one of my main problems with men is that I usually say yes. "Yes I will go out on a date with you." Sometimes my therapist and I practice saying No back and forth to each other just so I can get used to it. But I often say yes to a date because I feel bad judging people. I feel like I shouldn't pre-judge someone on their job or their looks or what kind of car they drive or if they make too much money or how they voted in the last election. I feel like everyone deserves a chance to be themselves without my judgmental eye. So yeah, I go out with a lot of people.

"But Ann," my therapist said, "this isn't the church. Not everyone gets in. This is your bed. This is who you go to sleep with at night and who you wake up to in the morning. Be judgmental."


"I'll probably write a blog about that."

And now I am because tomorrow I go back to therapy and I've only got three things on my Must Have Can't Stand list and none of those even have to do with religion or God. But what my therapist said feels so profound in my heart. I want to make a list, i just can't get out of my head.

And there's no way in hell I'm telling you what the list is because I don't want to be judge by you, blogworld.

"That's so sad, Ann," my friend Jess said the other night when I shared with her my reservations about telling people about my list. "You shouldn't feel bad about saying what you want."

But I'm still not putting it on here.

At least not right now.

Maybe in a few weeks when I get a little more comfortable in my judgmental skin. But until then, I leave you with this poem which I think is lovely...

As soon as you begin to ask the question, Who loves me?,
you are completely screwed, because
the next question is How Much?,

and then it is hundreds of hours later,
and you are still hunched over
your flowcharts and abacus,

trying to decide if you have gotten enough.
This is the loneliest job in the world:
to be an accountant of the heart.

It is late at night. You are by yourself,
and all around you, you can hear
the sounds of people moving

in and out of love,
pushing the turnstiles, putting
their coins in the slots,

paying the price which is asked,
which constantly changes.
No one knows why.

The Loneliest Job in the World
by Tony Hoagland

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