A New Endeavour, A New and Faithful Friend; You Cannot Always Get What You Want; A Valentine; The Conclusion of Secret of My Success

Something new in my interesting life, a different YMCA – the one on the Embarcadero – a fabulous facility, even has a view, which I did not view as yet. I went to the water aerobics class and was the only attendee. It was taught by a wonderful woman, Jean. A very different class than the ones I was experiencing at the Presidio YMCA. Very delightful and I do so love one on one attention. So I have changed my life yet again – never a dull moment. The men at this Y are younger, had a wonderful chat with two of them in the jacuzzi. So my old routine of Tuesday,Thursday and Saturday at the Presidio YMCA is gone – a whole new existence is forming.

There is also my new friend who prefers to be called Annie rather than Replacement Arab, so Annie it is. He is so darling – we text on Instagram and he sends me the greatest emojis and stickers. One sticker was Cinderella dancing with her Prince.
Me: How absolutely darling!! Is that Cinderella and Her Prince?. Is this an omen? I am laughing.
He: I am laughing!

But he was concerned about the funk I was in and said:
Please do your water aerobics tomorrow it will make you feel great.

So this morning I wrote:
Me: I was a good girl. I went to water aerobics. I feel good! Thank you for the encouragement!
He: Good girlie!
Me: Thank you! Do I get a sticker please for being a good girlie.

The wonderful man sent two – one a flashing Good Girl and the other of a woman exercising and then a picture of him with his new sunglasses.

So in an interesting way he has become my 39 year old companion, my friend. We chat constantly through the wonders of Instagram. He is emoting me to death and I do admit to quite loving it. It works, well for me as I have companionship when I write and someone who tells me he loves me We are most happy with one another (at this moment) he has time on his hands and we can converse to our heart’s content and his husband does not mind and is, actually, encouraging.

What was that Rolling Stone song, I will look it up, You Can’t Always Get What You Want. It is so profoundly apt.

I saw her today at the reception
A glass of wine in her hand
I knew she would meet her connection
At her feet was her footloose man
No, you can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
But if you try sometime you find
You get what you need
I saw her today at the reception
A glass of wine in her hand
I knew she was gonna meet her connection
At her feet was her footloose man
You can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
But if you try sometimes, well, you might find
You get what you need
And I went down to the demonstration
To get my fair share of abuse
Singing, “We’re gonna vent our frustration
If we don’t we’re gonna blow a fifty-amp fuse”

Annie, a minute ago, sent me a sticker that said: Be My Valentine
Me: You are the most darling man on earth!! I did not think I was going to get a valentine but now I did and even a day early. I love you!

But now back to the final words of Secret of My Success

Mother had been hospitalized after a ‘faint’ – perhaps a stroke but there were no incapacities relating to the incident. But she ‘decided’ that was going to stop taking care of herself. She was incontenant but out of laziness more than anything. She refused to get out of bed to eat. Therefore she had to be moved away from the independent living home she had lived for years and put in a total care facility. We were powerless to act on her behalf unless she took some initiative. All of the crises with her is always mine to deal with, brothers are useless. So I sat on the bed, looked her in the eye and did the big conversation. “Do you want to die or go on living? If you want to go on living you have got to get out of bed. You have to try.” She said she wanted to live and promised me she would get out of bed and eat her dinner, that very night. I left to do one of the countless chores necessary to move her possessions. I returned to find her – in bed – eating her dinner. I was devastated: “What are you doing? You promised you would get out of bed to eat your dinner?” She said something stupid, non responsibility, taking no responsibly for her actions. I slumped in the chair but took off my shoe and threw it across the room exclaiming: “You always do this to me!” I sobbed uncontrollably and fled the room meeting my older brother in the hallway. “I am done! I cannot do this anymore!” I ran down the hospital corridor.

I saw her once again. I went to say goodbye because I was returning to California. She said: “When are you coming back? “ Not thank you for coming, for moving my possessions into storage and visiting me every day. I looked at her and said one of two things, I cannot remember which at this moment in time. I think I said: “Whatever I do it is never enough for you and you want more.” Or I said: “You always ask too much of me.” I left, never to see her again. She died about three weeks later in a total care facility. I think she essentially starved herself to death. She died alone.

She left a total mess. She left everything to her favourite son not me, not my other brother. My younger brother took it out on me and he and his family shunned me at the funeral that I had planned singlehandedly. I wrote on the plane on the way home to California that I was glad she is dead because when asked if I had a mother, I would have to say yes. “ Now I can say no. It is so good to be able to tell the truth. ‘

But the recent shoe throwing incident has brought something quite horrible to light. My ‘love objects’ – the men in my romantic life are eerily always like my mother. And I keep trying to win their love, like I did with my mother for all of those years. And they, to a man, are like her. They do not have the capacity, for some reason, to love. I try and try and finally realize what is going on. So I have my strengths and I have had my successes but I am deeply and horribly scarred. I have my women friends, my gay friends and close male friends that I have never slept with. But I am unable to form an intimate relationship with a heterosexual man with whom I am sexually involved. I am 73, it is not going to happen. I guess that is life. Something in me keeps saying to the blind and the cold: : See me! Love me! Of course they cannot.

In tomorrow’s blog (I think) there will be an analysis of what is different and what has changed since that day in December 2016 in Dolphin Square in London when I wrote this.

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