It’s like a glass of water…

A few months ago, immediately after my split with J, I was out with a friend and asked her… “Where does the love go?”.

See, when my marriage ended, it had been over for so long and there was so much trauma at the end: it felt like a relief.  There is some part of me that will always care about my ex husband (we spent almost 13 years together after all) but that care is frozen in a moment in time.  It is tied around our shared experiences.

With J we met.  We fell in love.  We spent just over a year together.  We loved and liked each other a lot.  He was a good friend.  He became the person I wanted to call at the end of the day, the person I wanted to curl up with each night.

It didn’t work out and, sadly, that’s the way these things go.

But where does the love go?  What happens to it?

To me it is like a physical thing, it is something that exists.  So when this ended I couldn’t help but wonder – where the fuck does it go?

My friend had this wise summary:  “It’s like a glass of water with colour added.  It permeates everything.  And then when you love again another colour is added and it changes…”

(Warning – shit’s about to get real)…

“…until, eventually, you are left with a cup of murky brown sludge.”

The first part of this theory was beautiful, the second, not so much.

But I also think her theory is true.

Love doesn’t just go away.  Maybe it freezes in time.  It definitely changes the colour of the water in the glass.  Hopefully the colour becomes beautiful, deeper, more interesting.  Hopefully you can avoid the sludge.

How many loves before you are left with sludge?  One?  Two?  Five?

I have always loved easily.


But as I get older, as I experience more, I wonder how does one risk it again and again?



You Better Thank The Gods…

A good friend of mine went on a date this past weekend.  It was with a promising prospect though she had already identified that this person might be a bit too obsessed with nutrition for her.  (We discussed this possibility over a very grown up dinner of pancakes).  This is a woman who is in extraordinary shape, she really humbles me.  She runs marathons and bikes and swims.  She leaves me in awe.

As they wandered on their date the man began to ask her about her fitness regime, questioning her about supplements, nutrition, eating plan.  He asked if she was happy with her body and she replied, honestly, that she was happy with how strong and capable her body was but that, like anyone else, she had parts of herself that she was less happy with than others.

Her date then leaned over and poked her tummy.

I think that the most amazing part of this story is that this man is still living and in possession of all his important parts.  I think that I would have become violent.  I am in awe of my friend even more now.  She has restraint.  Major league restraint.

My body is voluptuous.  I fluctuate between a size 12 and 14 and I’m 5’5″.  My bra is an E cup.  My hips are big and I have a tummy.  Stretch marks map my thighs.

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This picture came up in my Pinterest the other day.  I hope I do not get in trouble for using it.  It was just too perfect.  Click here.  

And if I get naked with you?  You better thank your lucky stars.  

Last year I bought the first bikini I had owned since I was 18.  It was high waisted and covered the bottom half of my tummy.  But my rolls hang out when I wear it and I really don’t care.

We, none of us, are perfect.  And when we are dating we need to find someone who can look at our particular imperfections and love them.  (Or at least see past them).  Loving someone is about being with them.  Grumpy morning mood, matted morning hair, your inability to make conversation until after the first cup of coffee has sit in.  It’s about smiling at my inability to check the mail more than once a month or the fact that I brush my teeth in the shower.

My body isn’t my favourite part of myself.  I am overweight and I am not strong.  I have issues with pain and chronic illness.  The past few weeks have seen me with several migraines and an inability to sleep due to pain.

But it’s just one part of the whole.  And I try really hard to love it.  And no one else has the right to comment on it.  No one.

So, if I get naked with you?

Get on your knees, thank the Gods, and make it worth my while.

Otherwise?  Stay home.


And never, ever, poke me in the tummy.