I was sitting here doing busy work on my computer with messenger open, hoping the adorable younger boyfriend will sign on and chat with me. He signs on, spends a few minutes online, doesn't approach me, and then signs off. So, immediately I am thinking: he doesn't like me, he has tired of me, he is into someone else. Am I not interesting enough? Not sexy enough? Too sexy? Is my verbal sluttiness a turn off? My actual sluttiness?

OK, full stop: reality check. I mean I like him in a not-loving him kind of way. He is nice. That is the grand sum of my feelings about him: he is nice. Yet, here I am, obsessing and reading into everything and I seem to have made such a profound emotional investment in not even specifically him, but in the idea of him, the idea of this relationship. Which begs the question: why? Why does it matter if he is enthralled by me given that I could substitute another fuck-friend in his place. And why do I question myself in relation to the views I project onto him? Why do I not appreciate my inherent fabulousness and understand that it is his to take or leave?

I am not sure why I am this way about men, but it is a consistent theme in my life. I have a lot of trouble relating to men in a non-sexual way and a profound shortage of male friends that I have not had sex with. Actually, up until a year of so ago, of my good male friends that were my friends first (as in, not the husband's friends) I have ONE with whom I have not had sex. ONE - and to be utterly honest, he was the best friend of my high school boyfriend. I guess that is really another way of saying that I do not particularly have any male friends.

Bottom line: I, apparently, cannot relate to men in any way except sexually. Intriguingly, even men with whom I see no future relationship, men that I like but don't really like, charmingly enough, I am capable of being obsessive in an obnoxious way about them. Fuck.