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| Camping in My Car |
Let me tell you about my needs. They're quite simple, actually, and they do not include your penis.
Some background: I work behind a bar and I love trying to make connections with people. It's one of my needs, actually. Listening to stories from all walks of life helps me to feel less detached from the world since I chose to move away from my lifelong friends and family. I CHOSE to move away for a reason. My current situation is by design.
Let me explain further: Like everyone else on the planet, I'm dealing with some shit. Some deep shit. Aging. Confidence. Self-Worth. Aches and pains. Matters of the heart. Matters of fact. Matters of alternative facts. Properties of matter. Black lives matter. Plant matter. Christ, I could really write a whole blog about things that matter. The thing is, I feel like a bear who has gone deep into the woods to lick some wounds and, hopefully, come out in the spring with a few scars and a slight limp, but alive nonetheless.
So, part of my job is to talk to people. Find out what they do, what they know, what they think about their lives and if there's anything they are interested in that I might be interested in, as well. We talk about books and politics. Movies and science. Baseball, Hockey, Jazz, Blues, Food and, of course, "What are you up to this weekend?" I learn at least twenty new things every damn day and I LOVE that. Sidenote: Thank goodness for Google, the great equalizer; solving bar room debates since 2016.
Inevitably, we discuss love and what it means to love another human. Love is a many splendored thing. Love lifts us up where we belong. All you need is love. (Moulin Rouge!) The most common thing I hear, though, is that Love is a Battlefield (Pat Benetar), Love Hurts (Nazareth) and Stinks (J. Geils Band) and Bites (Def Leppard). But, not for me. I loved a man for 26 years and continue to love him. It's just a different kind of love now. It's not a passionate, eager, ownership kind of love. It's a fondness, a sad reminiscing, a wish for good things to happen for him... with just a hint of "Fuck that Guy" What? I'm not human? Gawdamn right, I'm bitter. Happy as a tick on a fat dog, though, and that's what counts.
Unfortunately, I can't say this to anyone, because the idea that I am an independent woman, loving her life and not looking to be re-branded anytime soon, opens the door for the most dreaded four words I will ever hear someone ask: "Don't you have needs?"
The answer is, "Hell yaaaassss, I have needs! I need to eat. I need chocolate mostly. And I need to try new foods. Fruits I've never seen before. Spices that I associate with a country on the other side of the world. Delicacies and comfort foods. An amuse bouche and a shit ton of gravy and cheese.
I need intellectual conversation. I need to be cerebrally stimulated. Challenge me. Change my mind. Tell me about numbers, codes, underground movements, the dark web, easter eggs! Teach me how to duggy. Expand my horizons. Open all the fucking doors to the universe.
I need to move. I need to run and jump and dance. I need to feel the wind in my hair and the sun on my face. I need to ride horses and swim in white water. I need to see the four corners of the world in all the seasons. I need Greased Lightning. I don't even know what I mean by that, but it sounds fast.
Finally, I need comfort. This one is tough because I don't want pity. I don't want to be coddled and cuddled. I want to know that someone has my best interests in mind. I want someone to have my six. I want to be able to call someone when I've had a shitty day or when I've accidentally killed someone on purpose and I can't figure out what to do with the body."
Do I need an orgasm? Maybe. Can you give me one? Prolly not. My vagina is inextricably connected to my stomach and my brain and the brick wall surrounding my heart. Regardless, I don't want anyone getting in my way right now. When I'm ready to jump back on that horse, and ride it like the dirty stallion that it is, I'll post it on social media. Until then, let me be free.
