3..... 2..... 1.

The older I get, the more obsessed I become with finding some magic formula to make a man love me. Last year I read Why Men Love Bitches, Why Men Marry Bitches, Flirtexting, Make Every Man Want You, and How to be Wanted. I read countless articles about the clothes men like, how much makeup men like, the sexual positions men like, the kinds of things you should and shouldn't talk about, if you should wear your hair up or down, if you should or should not wear nail polish, and if you should call him or wait for him to call you. Then today I had my first therapy appointment for that thing that happened in my past which I cannot talk about. After the therapist heard the half hour version of my dysfunctional past, she said she would help me learn how to get my needs met in relationships. My tough and flippant facade was torn right down as I said between tears, "I can have needs?"

There are, of course, some needs that I've known I can have for some time, including the need to be emotionally and physically attracted to my partner. Unfortunately Captain SmartyPants was great on paper and great on the phone, but the spark was just not there in person. He texted after the date saying how much fun he had, and I texted back to be polite and because I want to give it one more shot before throwing in the towel. But as it's been four days now with no further contact, maybe he has realized that there is just nothing there. D, on the other hand, seems to have moved from "are we friends or something more" to "something more." I regret that I cannot tell you the details of this particular date due to us having mutual friends and my unexpected desire to maintain his privacy, but I will say that it was the best date I've had in a long time, and perhaps the most traditional date ever. The sparks were there, serious conversation was there, joking around was there, and mutual respect was definitely there.

I've been hooked on this season of The Bachelor, and just like with the self-help books I study and analyze who gets roses and who doesn't. On the surface it seems like the most unemotional yet emotionally available girls win the guy's heart. In romantic comedies it's the girl who runs away from love as it chases her down the street. But in real life, it's probably more akin to the episode of How I Met Your Mother where Lily falls apart at the sight of Marshall with another woman -- where she's not only emotionally available, but downright emotional. Sure, the episode may just be placating us girls who fear our wants and needs will drive men away, but as I sat on the proverbial (and actual) couch today, I was prodded to see emotions as healthy and normal. Now, this doesn't mean freaking out like I often do in an episode of PMDD, but it means recognizing that it's okay -- and even better -- to just be myself. Maybe it's the Not Feeling Worthy of Love that keeps me from getting it, not unworthiness itself.

And in fact, myself is just what I presented to D on our hang out / date / whatever it was. Sure, there was some strategy to winning D's affections. I spent time on my wardrobe, hair and accessories. But other than that I was just me. No game play, no falsity, and no thinking about what I should and should not say. I slipped by essentially apologizing for something after our date that didn't need an apology -- which is a defense mechanism I definitely need to work on. But as I wait expectantly for our next encounter, my therapist's words calm my over-analytical brain: You are worthy of love, just the way you are. No apologies, no exceptions.

Here is a link to a great article on the subject of needs:

Are You Too Needy? (Hint: The answer is not what you'd think!)

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(Oh, and the third guy I mentioned in my previous post? He got the boot after asking me if my "hanging out with a friend" on Friday night was actually a hot date. Well, it ended up being just that, but after only two emails and one text it definitely wasn't an appropriate question, and was, instead, a definite red flag. Maybe there are rules after all.)

They always come in threes

Things are going well with Captain SmartyPants, as a friend of mine approvingly calls him. Email led to a phone conversation which led to a date request which has led to texting until the date arrives. Captain SmartyPants is, from what I can tell, one of the best guys I have met in awhile. He's extremely smart, extremely cute, and extremely respectful and caring. A very hard combination to come by. I breathe a sigh of relief and my lips curl up in a perpetual smile when I think of him, especially after 2011's initial letdown with the dental student with a tooth fetish who wouldn't meet me until I sent him pictures of the inside of my mouth (I didn't), the Latin Lover who wanted to chat via webcam to compliment me on parts of my body and who said he wanted to sleep with me (not a way to get me to like you), the dreadlocked landlord who called me a prude for not being comfortable with his texts about my kissable lips, and the guy on IM who didn't tell me he is in the country for two weeks and MARRIED until half an hour into the conversation.

While I have strong feelings for Captain SmartyPants, I'm following the dating rules by not putting all my eggs in one basket, especially before meeting the basket in person. Therefore I spend tomorrow with "is he a friend or something more D", and I'm corresponding with someone else who contacted me on Match who I haven't thought of an appropriate nickname for yet.

The only problem with dating three men at once is that while it goes along with 21st century conventions, it goes against my sick body's need for long periods of doing nothing and seeing no one. And if I push myself too hard, my body will crash and all three prospects will come crashing down as well. Right now I could really use those relaxation techniques that my counselor wants to show me, and I could really use not having had three doctors' appointments and one therapist appointment in the past week. Tomorrow will mark my 5th day in a row in Seattle, an hour away from where I live, and while I am excited about marching with D in protest of police brutality, I'm hoping my legs will keep up with my desires. He, caring guy that he is, hopes the same.

This week, while busy, has been a breakthrough week in many ways. I spent another night at the sleep clinic and got fitted for my sleep apnea mask, and my sleep doctor was almost astounded to see how well my levels were with the apparatus. The next day (today) I saw my neurologist who filled out the work incapacity forms for state disability without blinking an eye, and his diagnosis of ataxia, along with the sleep apnea, is the first time he has used that word in front me, having claimed before that I did not have ataxia but somatization.

Sick me took a five hour long nap on the couch today, and I woke up in a panic at one point, dreaming I had received an email from Captain SmartyPants entitled "Regarding sickness and health," that I just knew was a rejection of my medical condition just like K had rejected it and me a year ago. But so far "sleep apnea" has not scared him off, and what he sees instead of a sick person is someone who is studying something fascinating, is a passionate English instructor, and has a "lovely voice." I always knew someone would be able to see the real me under all those medical appointments and slow days (and under my kissable lips and big butt and boobs), and I can't wait to be embraced by Captain SmartyPants' big physicist cape and meet the man behind the magnanimity.

Thinking of dating multiple people or already doing so? Here's a great article to help you along:

Dating Around Online

The science of self-worth

A few days ago I received a wink from someone on my inactive Match.com profile. I saw his picture, read his profile, and signed on for a month in order to write him back. Turns out this man is currently doing his post-doc in biochemistry and biophysics. He mentioned this in an email to me, afraid that it would make me run for the hills. For anyone who knows me, his scientific mind does just the opposite.

This may sound conceited but for the past few months I've felt destined to be with someone incredible. My best gay friend J laughs at me, saying, "Of course whoever you end up with will be incredible, or else you wouldn't be with him." While I understand how silly my statement may sound, to me it's self-affirming to a point that feels unreasonable. After all, I married my first husband with a sense of resignation and the feeling that "This is who God has for me." But on the other hand, feeling like the luckiest bride on the world seems completely within reason for a second, and hopefully final, marriage.

With every man I meet I feel there are two sides to my personhood struggling for dominance and ultimate definition: namely, the sick me and the well me. The sick me is on disability, has anxiety, makes no money, can't drive, and can't lead the life of a normal adult. The sick me also came from a dysfunctional background, had a dad in prison, had an abusive stepfather, went to a college that accepted anyone who met the minimum requirements, got an 880 on her SATs, and is a divorced virgin. The sick me does not feel like a worthy me. The well me, on the other hand, is someone who pulled herself up by her bootstraps, was said by an undergrad professor to be the best English department graduate in the past 10 years, is a published author, is wise beyond her years, thinks Moby Dick is the best novel ever, and has caring qualities that would make any man lucky to have her.

The well me is excited by this potential prospect, and the sick me is nervous, like I have something to hide. On the other hand, I feel confident that if anyone is able to understand the complexity of my personhood it is a biochemist/physicist, and sickness and wellness aside, his and my interests line up more than those of anyone else I've been in contact with in the past year. Also, while I assume he's not a divorced virgin, he is divorced. As my grandma advised me regarding my "hang out session" with D coming up in the next week (see my entry from March 1, 2010 for a refresher) I will go into this possible match-up taking it slow and easy. I beam, however, at the knowledge that he picked me. Maybe my intuition isn't so unreasonable after all.

TV's Toughest Trainer

A few months ago I was watching The Biggest Loser, and someone was able to do something they hadn't done in a long time because of the emotional support of the trainer, Jillian Michaels. I can't remember now who the contestant was or what they did, but right after it happened I paused the TV and stepped on the treadmill. As of a year ago I haven't been able to handle the motion of the conveyor under me, so my treadmill had stood unused, and every day not spent on it felt like a defeat. But on that particular day I stepped on, set it to the very slowest speed, and willed my legs to walk forward and my brain to allow my legs to do so. For the first minute my legs weren't sure, much like a toddler isn't sure of her first steps. My legs were stiff and I became dizzy, but I pressed on. After the first minute my legs suddenly had no problem keeping pace with the conveyor (well, while still on its lowest speed). My brain cleared and suddenly what had been so hard became easy. I stayed on the treadmill for an entire five minutes.

The day after this tremendous victory, my body and brain were so slow that I couldn't stand any noise including my own voice, couldn't follow moving objects on the TV screen, and had to use the walker because it took so much effort to lift my right leg. But because of The Biggest Loser, after my episode cleared the following day, I stepped back on the treadmill and did just one minute instead of five. The day after that I had absolutely no ill effects, and since that time I've been keeping steady at 5-minute increments about two or three times a week.

On this past Monday's episode, Jillian confronted a contestant who acted out of fear in order to keep himself in the game. From what I've seen of the Biggest Loser, hard work is the one sure factor in being able to complete your weight-loss journey. Anyone who participates in calorie-consuming game play most often sabotages himself, doesn't lose weight, and goes home. It can be easy to judge the contestants from the couch, but I can't imagine being there in that moment, fearing that you are going to lose your trainers and have to continue your weight loss journey at home with no professional staff to keep you from caloric temptations. While I don't have a problem with eating too much, I do live in fear and act in a way that ultimately does just damage I was trying to avoid. Jillian, knowing the root of this particular contestant's insecurities, wrapped her tiny frame around this huge man and stated, "Don't create the very outcome you fear."

This message really rings true to me right now because I'm wrestling with some information that I've recently learned about my past. Regardless of whether what has happened in the past is affecting my current health, it has contributed to my tendency to create outcomes I fear. I worry about my money disappearing so I spend it all while I have it, which makes it, of course, disappear. I worry about my cold so I take Sudafed which just makes my cold worse because of the medication's side effects. I worry that men I'm interested in are about to leave, so I try to convince them to stay which of course then makes them leave. This circle of destruction isn't that different from the food addict's who scarfs down a jelly donut because he's down on himself for being fat. (For critics of the show, from what I can tell it has grown from being exploitative in its first seasons to medically sound and emotionally therapeutic in its more recent ones.)

I can't erase what happened in my past, and I can't hop on a treadmill right now and start running, or drive the car down the road, or move my body quickly enough to be able to throw fast punches. But every time I conclude that I can't do something, I need to test and retest that theory to make sure it's true. There is no one to save me from what happened. But I got through it. And I'll get through this as well.

Sleepless in Seattle

In the fourth episode of the first season of How I Met Your Mother, Ted Mosby reviews his past relationships in search of a lost gem. Just like I love this shirt I used to overlook, he says, perhaps I've overlooked the right woman just because she came to me at the wrong time. I won't tell you how that story ends, except to say that no, she was not in fact Ted's lost gem. All the things he didn't like about her came back to the surface, probably even stronger than they had before. She was not a bad girl, just not a girl he wanted to commit to.

That's the way I felt about the Space Needle, and the way the Space Needle felt about me. Our first relationship was great, and we both got what we wanted. I got a paycheck, and they got a dedicated employee. The Space Needle came to me at just the right time -- in between a marriage and my admission to a 4-year university, and when we parted ways it was with both confidence in the future and thankfulness of what we had been able to give each other. One of my close friends came out of that job, as did an architectural reminder of the beginning of my life in that city.

So when I went through my period of remission, the Space Needle is unsurprisingly what came to my mind. Just like Ted's ex-girlfriend, I wanted to rekindle my relationship with it with the expectation that it would give me what it did before. And at first, it did. My supervisor was still there, seven years later (and had been for 34 years), and she welcomed me with open arms. She spoke of coworkers we had both known -- women who had passed through the system on their way to achieving higher education. I'm so proud of my girls, she said, You guys are all so smart.

I was happy to be back until I stepped back into the uniform room. Sure, the job had been great back then, when I was young and getting on my feet. But the smell of the room brought back memories both good and bad, and I felt like I had stepped back in time. Current uniform employees proudly introduced me to our clients -- current Space Needle employees -- and while it felt good to be so appreciated, I couldn't also help but feel a little bit like a failure that I had returned to this entry-level job after seven years of schooling. Not all of it was bad though, and most of it was good. It felt good to get up in the morning, take a shower, and take the bus to work. It felt good to leave work and traipse about the city as a wage earner. It felt good to have a reason for an ipod, a backpack, and a coin purse for bus fare. But unfortunately the Space Needle wanted what I couldn't give it. It wanted double shifts and frequent early mornings, and the ability to walk an hour each way to and from the bus. The double shifts and early mornings weren't part of the job description, and despite my best effort my body shut down and I lost the job. But, just like Ted realized that his ex wasn't right for him the second time around, I realized that the Space Needle was not right for me. I have frequently set my bar too low in the jobs I'll take -- jobs that don't coincide with my education and experience. I looked to the Space Needle at my lowest and most lonely point, but the universe knows there is something better for me out there.

Four days after losing my job at the Needle, which I worked for a total of two days, my sleep study revealed that I do in fact have sleep apnea. I wake myself up 10 times an hour due to shallow breathing, and the test showed that I got 70 minutes of deep sleep in the 8 hours I slept at the center. This knowledge should help me get to where I need to go, which is a) a state of normal functioning with a CPAP machine, or b) a diagnosis enabling me to receive social security if the CPAP machine doesn't help enough. Just how bad my particular case of sleep apnea turns out to be and just how much it is contributing to my symptoms remains to be seen, but I go forward with the hope that I will once again wake up on an early (or late) morning and make the commute to a job in the city that I love. The Space Needle and I may have broken up, but the right working relationship is out there somewhere.