Saturday, January 10, 2015

Not at the top of my 11-letter game

I'm using the light box and taking Vitamin D, but not operating nearly at my best. Proof of that is that I just typed "I'm using Vitamin D and taking the light box." True, I have TV blaring in the background, but my brain is stilted. I don't feel suicidal, I don't hate myself or feel guilty. But I can't deny that I've got some seasonal affective disorder affecting my concentration and processing.

This feels very apparent at work. Increasingly I feel like I don't know what I'm doing and I've bitten off more than I can chew. I've felt this at other jobs, of course, but at this job it's especially pointed because people keep coming to me for answers I don't have.

My supervisor, the program director, has been working at several other tasks and programs around the agency. She's not always in. When she isn't, people come to me for direction. I just got there.

Maybe it's acceptable that I don't know agency policy and procedures. I asked for a manual but never got it. But I'm starting to feel like I don't know anything about clinical work or social services. When faced with a situation or crisis, I either freeze or fumble.

Yesterday my supervisor announced that she's been promoted. She will be overseeing our clinic and several others at the agency. It's wonderful for her but totally sucks for me. She was a big part of the reason I took this job, and now she's leaving.

Touchingly, several of my co-workers begged me to apply for the program director position. "You have the credentials!" they said. "I know you can do it!"

I have 11 letters after my name. But most of the time I feel like I don't know anything.
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"

Saturday, January 03, 2015

Unexpectedly good New Year's

So my plans with the millennial fell through. Not a surprise. They're pretty flaky. Just in time, I was invited to another party -- in Teaneck, NJ. With people my age and older. (Some younger.)

Fortunately, I got a ride there and back fairly easily. But I wasn't thrilled. I hate going to parties by myself, even if I know I'll have friends there. Nevertheless, this party was unexpectedly good. By which I mean that I received a flattering amount of male attention -- although at one point my anger got the best of me.

I've reached a point where I can recognize that my reaction to a situation is completely wrong and irrational. But somehow that doesn't yet prevent me from carrying it out. Here's an example: I started talking to a non-repulsive guy who seemed to be in my age range; call him Doc Maroc, since he's Moroccan. A friend of mine, Delila, came up and started talking too, and Doc Maroc focused more on her than on me. I felt edged out of the conversation, got mad and walked away.

That would have been fine, except that later I went back up to Delila and hissed, "Worst wing-woman ever." Which isn't even true; earlier in the evening she diplomatically found out the age of another guy I was interested in (too young). But I was angry that Delila distracted Doc Maroc from me.

It's not even that Delila  was interested in him. She wasn't. But I got mad, walked off, and then basically attacked her. Looking back, I can't believe I did something that petty and stupid, although readers of this blog probably think that petty stupidity is Ayelet's hallmark. I apologized later, but I know she was taken aback. I hadn't seen her in years, I was thrilled to hang out with her -- why did I ruin it?

So even though I'm mindful of my mistakes, I'm not arresting them. It's even stupider than stupid because later I talked to Doc Maroc and he friended me on Facebook. And said he'd take me to a museum. Of course, he hasn't contacted me since New Year's Eve to make any actual plans. I guess if I don't hear from him in about another week or so, I'll unfriend him.

I met another guy I'm somewhat hung up on. Not just because he's really cute and has an amazing body. He said something incredibly hot to me, and now I can't stop thinking about him. I shall call him Shikker, because when he and I spoke, he was beyond wasted.

I first met Shikker early-ish in the evening. Before I yelled at Delila, who is quite a party girl, she and I were standing and talking with Shikker and a few others. Delila likes to joke that if she gets drunk enough, her clothes will come off. "His too!" she squealed, pointing at Shikker. Now that was something to look forward to. He is medium height, with dark hair and dark blue eyes. Burly, solid, well-defined musculature.

I didn't think Shikker noticed me; honestly, I considered him out of my league. That's why I flirted with Doc Maroc. But later in the evening, Delila and I and a few others were relaxing on the couch, and Shikker wandered over. He was wavering a bit. Plastered. I myself was good and tipsy.

"So are you going to take off your shirt like Delila said you would?" I asked. She and I began giggling. He looked amused, then began to unbutton the plaid button-down shirt he wore loose over his jeans, not tucked in. Underneath was a thermal Yankees shirt. Delila and I shrieked and tittered. He moved his hands over his shirt front vaguely, like he was having trouble working the buttons.

"May I help you with that?" I asked. He smiled vaguely, didn't say yes, but didn't say no, so I stood up and began fumbling with his buttons. He wasn't the only one too drunk to work them easily. But I managed to close them. Then I began stroking his chest and arm.

"Wow, so strong," I said. "Do you work out?"

He regarded me. "Well, sort of," he said. "I practice wing chun kung fu."

HAWT.

We sat down. I think it was at his suggestion. I kept stroking his chest and arms. And face. And ears. He reached around behind me and groped my ass. Maintaining the intense eye contact.

I can't recount our conversation word for word, but it seemed passionate and potent. He told me I was very pretty. I told him his skin was soft. When I think back on it, all I remember is a pleasurable sense of excitement and flirtation. I wasn't thinking about who he is or who I am, what I want from him or any other guy. It was just fun and intoxicating in the moment.

Then he said the most thrilling thing:

"I'm very drunk," he said, "and I want you. I want to take you into another room and do things to you that no man has ever done before."

Every fiber in me sang. Although I can't imagine what exactly that would be, it was exhilarating to hear. Even more stirring was what he said next. Again, I can't remember the exact words, but I believe the upshot was that he didn't want to take advantage of me, so he was just going to take my phone number and then go to the bathroom, because he had to pee "like a racehorse. I heard someone say that in a movie once."

"I've heard the expression," I said as he handed me his phone. I entered my number and hit send. But his phone died before I could save the number with my name as a contact. So I texted him a very flattering selfie I took that evening before the party, after I'd gotten ready.

I've since learned that he's 34, flakey,and divorced with six children, courtesy of my friend Faigie. So he's not a likely candidate for anything but a quickie or brief liaison. But I can't forget what he said to me and how intently he said it. gazing deep into my eyes.

Of course, he could have been beergoggling, and he might not think I'm at all attractive when he's sober. So I'm trying to put him out of my mind.

I posted about this situation in one of my Facebook Jewish singles groups, and ended up attracting the interest of another man.

Went to a fun New Year's party. Two guys took my number, but neither has called. Hate waiting...

He commented: They sure have their eyes closed because they must not know what they're missing out on

He's a Syrian Jewish clothing retailer; call him Secondhand Mose. He's also much younger than I am -- 35, nine years -- but says it doesn't bother him. He seems very nice, and not at all sexy.

But he doesn't mind about my age; he's divorced with a child, and not necessarily interested in having more; and he seems to be a very kind and non-judgmental person. We're haivng coffee tomorrow, and I guess I'll see if I can develop some interest in him.
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"