blogging is like masturbation

... in so many ways. it is narcissistic, not as good as communication with someone else, and in 19th century sciencespeak it spills the vital essence that should be put into real writing.

and yet, who doesn't masturbate? couples i guess rarely do, but when was i last in a couple? even my last boyfriend didn't want to say that we were in a "relationship." especially not when he dumped me.

another analogy between my blog and masturbation is that they are both private activities. i get to write just like i used to in my diary with only the slightest possibility that anyone will actually read what i write. and yet, that slight possibility that YOU exist is just titillating enough to make it seem worthwhile.

what i was going to talk about was relationship. i just finished updating my profile on gayjews.net. i think (1) that spiritual practice is everything in a relationship for people involved in serious spiritual work and that (2) it's a total turnoff for everyone else.

the thing is, if i want to get laid, i can get laid pretty easily. i don't need a gayjews profile for that, and i don't need a gay jew. so the only reason to have that profile is to put the shingle out for someone who might be 'real.' and that person would have to have a spiritual practice. otherwise, the whole idea - maybe it would work, but it fills me with despair.

in reality, i am pretty sure i'm not going to live my life with someone else. i was just reading someone's profile where he said "my relationships haven't worked out but i know in my heart i will find someone...." funny, i know in my heart that i _won't_ find someone. i know that my heart wants to find someone, and hopes to, but it's just like getting one of my books published -- it just isn't going to happen, and i know it. i will not be famous, i will not be rich, and i will not be in a real, longterm relationship. i have had success in some of what i do- i am not a failure by any means. but publishing a book, at a real press - that is a whole other level. being "real." i am not real. my furniture will never match.

this can either be very depressing or it can be the first step in moving on past dreams that aren't going to happen. i can sit and mope about, oh i wish i was like this friend or that, who has found love and is living with someone or married. or i can just say to myself, look, this is what it's going to be. do you want to be happy with that or miserable with it. it doesn't matter which from the perspective of what's going to happen. only from the perspective of how i feel about it.

admittedly, it's still depressing to contemplate - my whole life alone, no children, etc. and it is also laughably, absurdly stupid for a 32-year-old -- still so young, according to people in their 50s -- to say anything about what their "whole life" will be. fine, fine, fine. i am recording how it feels and seems despite all of that.

i am really ready to leave the city. i think that is where i belong. quiet, home, nature. my new apartment is so unfortunately noisy.