Merry Lughnasadh!

The wheel turns again and we’ve come to the first of the harvest festivals, for those of you of the witchy persuasion. It’s a holiday that I always enjoy. Mostly because I bake a blueberry pie in honor of Lugh the Long-Armed. Blueberries are in season, and I add lemon for the light of the sun, and poppyseeds, as poppies are used to decorate the wreaths in honor of John Barleycorn, who sacrifices himself so that the harvest can be made and the seeds can go back into the earth to be reborn again next year.

Actually, I always put poppyseeds in my pie, but only just learned that poppies go on the Barleycorn wreaths… Sometimes happy accidents happen.

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Weekend Coffee Share: Nice Boys.

This weekend, if we were sharing our lives over caffeinated beverages, we’d be at Panera Bread. Recently my roommate brought me here for the first time, earlier this week as a matter of fact, and I really enjoyed it. I didn’t order wisely (I’ll explain in a bit), but what I’d ordered was tasty. I came back to try to order something that was within my points allowance…

For those of you not in the know, “points allowance” is a Weight Watchers term.

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Why do we divide ourselves? (part 2)

So a short while ago I started talking about how we separate (or divide, to stick to the title) ourselves into categories and judge each other based on those categories. I had wanted to talk about more serious stuff, but ended up using the whole post to rehash how some of the most recent men in my dating life have stopped seeing me as human, and how it was due to their racial make-up.

No, the irony of me talking about how we shouldn’t categorize people and then me doing that exact thing is not lost on me.

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Why do we divide ourselves? (Part 1)

Occasionally I’ll see something in the news (or, more likely, on Facebook) that makes me particularly introspective. This one in particular also hearkens back to the issues I had with the last guy and the handful of men of a similar ethnic background.

I hate even making that distinction.

I’ve spoken before about how being raised in a family of a different ethnic make-up than my own has given me a particularly different view of the world: I don’t “see” color. I’m told that just saying such a thing is somehow racist because I’m denying the intricacies of a person’s heritage by not acknowledging their race. Or I’m told that people who say that, generally don’t mean it, and yet I do (again, the reason why I hate that I feel the need to make the distinction about several guys of similar ethnic backgrounds and an issue that seems to come from that).

I suppose it would be better to say that I try not to have preconceived notions of a person’s character based on their race, because to me it doesn’t matter where they’re coming from, but where they are and where they’re going and if (at least when thinking about potentially dating them) I want to join them on their journey or have them join mine.

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Back on Track (again… maybe)

I managed to miss the weekend coffee share. I feel a little bad about that, but I posted on the Friday before, and now it’s the Monday after and I’m posting again, so you get more, even though I forgot…

With only 2 weeks and some change until teachers have to go back, I’m trying to get back into some sort of routine. Thus far, this summer was well routined during summer school, but then I took about a week to recuperate, which was destroyed with all the guy drama, and then over a week visiting family and friends in my hometown, and I just finished a week or so of binge watching shows and eating horrible food.

And nowhere in there did I write…

So, now we’re going to try really hard to get back on track.

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Healing Takes Time

I’ve bounced back and forth on this issue a bit. When things fell apart with the last guy, I felt like I had to hurry up and get over it because he had warned that it was most likely going to be temporary, but I had hoped that he could be swayed because of how he seemed to feel about me.

I had promised him that it wouldn’t bother me if it was temporary, and on some level it didn’t. It was the end of an experience, and thus end of story.

On the other hand, he didn’t respect or understand or even care about how I felt about the situation. He couldn’t see it from my point of view and let me know rather quickly that my point of view was completely irrelevant to his life, or at the least to his decision making process. Because that has been a regular theme in my relationships with men, it became something I fixated on, and thus what could have been a relatively quick ending was dragged out for me emotionally.

We won’t even get into the physical loss that was attached to the whole mess…

When a friend of mine posted something on Facebook that felt a little too close to home, it made me realize a few things:

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The Search Continues…

Or maybe it begins again…

While I have been on Tinder for a while, or, more accurately, back on Tinder, I’ve given up on it and gone completely over to Bumble. The conversations are better, the men are more respectful (and more attractive), and because I have to make the first move, I get to set the pace and topic of the conversation. That’s been nice.

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