On being "liberated"

Last weekend, I was at a wine bar with S2, Dr. M and Dr. R when I made some comment about "being single." Like a Greek chorus, my friends corrected my terminology: "Liberated," they said.

Tonight in my Treatment Planning class, I told the Pink Punker I had moved into my own place over the weekend. Her eyes glinted, and she started swiping at my shoulders and head, as if brushing off something. "Hey! You're free!" she said. Then, she added rather sweetly, "You decided to get out, and you did. You're *strong.* That is so awesome."

These responses struck me two ways: First, I never considered myself enslaved or anything other than a free woman; and, second, given that all of these women are in relationships or are pursuing them (and rather assertively in Dr. R's case), I find it curious they use language that's so anti-relationship. (I'll only give the slightest nod to the fact that all of them are studying counseling and two of them are planning to be marriage and family therapists.)

So what's that all about? Is there a perception that my relationship with XGF was like a concentration camp? (Because even if it lacked passion and the dearth of authentic communication was a little maddening, it was hardly wretched. Just not what I wanted, not good for me and not something that could be cured.) Or is there just an idea that all relationships are a trap of sorts wherein you necessarily give up significant parts of your precious self for whatever it is that you believe the relationship has to offer?

Maybe their responses reflect a combination of these two possibilities. I have no clue.

Last night at a networking dinner, I talked to a classmate who will be giving a presentation this weekend on what makes for a healthy and happy romantic relationship. She requested I don't spill the beans on her findings, but I'll sum up what I took from my conversation with her this way: First, to thine ownself be true; and only after you mastered that can you give your partner what he or she needs. Fair enough. Then said classmate asked, "So, are you currently in a relationship?"

Well, no, said I. I was until this last weekend, but it's over now. Or rather, it's changed. There's still a relationship -- just not this kind. So I think it will be a while before I put your lecture to any good use.

Tonight, the Pink Punker cautioned me, "Hey now, I don't want to see that, like next month, you're alll hooking up with someone who is just going to be hanging on you, saying she's in love with you. Because there are women out there who will do that just for your loft!"

It made me laugh, but I thought: There is no chance in hell.

Whether you want to call me single or liberated, I expect I'll be this way for a while. Dr. M has suggested, several times, that I place a gong over my bed to whack ceremoniously every time I get laid, but that would make for a pretty quiet gong. And, as The Asian noted, it's not the safest thing to have hanging over my head in the event of an earthquake....

But whatever. The point is I have no intention of launching myself into another relationship anytime soon. (I know, I *know!* There's no reason I need a relationship to be ringing a gong. Maybe I'll give the one-night stand another try. It's just that with lesbians, they are often hard to get rid of afterwards. As The Asian said, "If I were playing a cruel joke on you, I'd show up on the *first date* with the U-Haul, just to see if you had a sense of humor." Yikes!)

I've got to adjust to living alone again. I haven't lived alone since July 1998. Before that, I shacked up only once for a year or so and otherwise flew solo, so I'm not disturbed by the experience. I just need to get back into the groove, and I think things will be fine after that. This includes learning to cook for myself again and getting used to having no humans in my home in the evenings.

That said, I can already identify several benefits to living alone, especially absent the woman-woman relationship:
-- No one else is using my deoderant (which I always thought a little disgusting to share)
-- No one else is using my razor, so it is not clogged with the remnants left by someone who never understood the part where you rinse out the blade when you're done (another disgusting thing)
-- No one is using the tampons and not telling me there are none left
-- I only do *my* laundry (and S2 alone knows the full scope of that improvement)
-- No one else is wearing my shoes
-- No one is reading my journals or e-mail, which may have been occurring in those final few weeks of relationship breakdown
-- I have a queen-sized bed all to myself, which is a glorious, glorious thing in many respects
-- If an alarm clock goes off in the morning, it's been set to wake up *me* instead of someone else who's already left the house without turning off the alarm
-- I share my avocadoes with no one unless I have company
-- Every dirty dish is my responsibility, and there's no question about that. (Did I mention I have a dishwasher now? This was always a point of contention between me and XGF because a dishwasher was really my only requirement in buying a house, but I caved on that point because XGF wanted to buy that little house of ours so badly and swore we'd get one installed "later." But we never did.)
-- I bought a whole dungeness crab today, ate half of it, and came home from school to find that, lo and behold, the other half is still in the refrigerator and it's mine -- ALL MINE!
-- I can watch whatever I want on TV and do so with impunity
-- I can rent whatever DVD I want and not have to answer for it when it sucks ass
-- I get to live my life completely on my own schedule, don't have to call when I'm late and no longer will be shamed into hurrying through my morning routine, especially with regards to applying lotion
-- A bottle of wine lasts a lot longer
-- There are fewer knicknacks in my space
-- I no longer need to consult anyone when it comes to decorating

And, now this would be one of the most exciting things to me: I no longer have the god-awful, can't-tell-you-how-much-I-fucking-*hated*-it chore of maintaining the yard. This is a point where, when you use the word "liberated," I will salute all of you. Free at last, free at last! I cannot begin to describe just how fucking awful it is to garden in this weed-infested land. All I ever wanted were the fresh-cut flowers, but I could not stand the chores required to get them. So this morning, while my laundry was cycling through it's new coin-op existence, I walked across the street to a little flower boutique and got myself a little vase and had it filled with irises and orchids and carried it back up here and put it on the table. And that is all I needed to do. That and pay $19, which included the $6 vase. It is a price I will gladly pay -- and man, let me tell you about the deals on fresh-cut flowers you can get at the farmer's markets around here -- for the joy of never having to mow the lawn or pull another fucking weed.

Liberated, indeed.