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In Recovery(Internet Dating Addict) Posted on Oct 10, 2011 at 09:46 AM
Back on track, all will be well I trust. There will be more time to go out and interact face to face with real and attractive people. That's where/how the great relationships to date have started. Why did I get hooked on emails from strangers? The initial withdrawal is proving challenging. I miss the wee thrill of receiving emails that (a bit like beautifully wrapped gifts) feed my childlike enthusiasm for surprises. Even in the light of so many disappointments, I remained optimistic throughout. I remained confident that the right man for me would find his way through all the beautiful women an this site and recognise an energy that, for him, had the potential to exist with me; a mutual initial attraction, a sense of something very special being possible, a shared vision, similar values, some common interests and a respect for each others differences. In short, I suppose just someone like me who likes me (siscounseller blogged that's what we attract...and it seems about right from personal experience) If he's here, he's just not looking hard enough. That's what I jokingly say to my friends. They know I've search, winked, emailed and even met a few of the guys that caught my eye. I remain convinced that most online daters are lost to the game. I thought it was a starting point, not an end in itself. I'm examining the hope and expectation against the time, energy and enthusiasm wasted on guys who wish to stay in the game, I'm really ready for a proper relationship. That isn't happening here. Life in the real world was always fun. Encounters were interesting. The curious checking out of web site dating drew me in. As I said, I saw it as a starting point. Now I see it as a dead end. What is not real was in danger of becoming a reality. I can see objectively it's a no brainer. My name is Marji and I'm a recovering internet dating addict.
Rich Women Respond Posted on Oct 03, 2011 at 09:40 AM
.....Am certain there are men strong enough in many aspects of their lives not to see money - where the woman has considerably more - as a major part of attraction or as a stumbling block in a potential relationship.... ....however I also believe it can be. I rarely disclose my hard earned success early in a relationship. Why? Men generally wear their success boldly, actually using it to attract women. And do. Why the difference?
First Date a One Week Holiday TRUE Posted on Aug 29, 2011 at 03:11 PM
This is true...never met before...two emails each, phone numbers swopped, three phonecalls and flights this space......
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Online Dating Addiction...Gotta Get Out Of Here? Posted on Aug 22, 2011 at 02:24 PM
If you go from a dating site 'hand in hand into the sunset', is it because you have truely found real love or is it because you have settled for someone rather than going it alone or continuing online? Being online dating suggests the goal is to find a partner. Many state they are ready for a real relationship. Are those who are satisfied by their discovery really in love or simply settling? What was their need/expectation from the outset? Does the internet dating process lower expectations? Is the process itself enough for some people? Are those who remain, night afer night pressing the search button really ever going to find what they are looking for? What value has a connection that denies so many vital senses? What about the elements that grabbed us across crowded rooms? Are we missing the crowded rooms? Are people now resigned to this media for introductions? Who wins in a game played out between those who are open and honest and the players? And if we are still at it years down the line, is encountering strangers at random addictive? How many of us have been in great relationships that simply didn't last? Are those who remain on internet dating sites being unrealistic (or overly optimistic) in expecting to find their ideal match (ie one that is as good or better than the ones that we've had)? Are those who pair off and clear off maybe the ones who are more realistic or less demanding? Or are they just less confident to fly solo? Do those who stay have an addictive streak? Who do you want to meet?
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A Day In The Life of Working On A Dream Posted on Aug 14, 2011 at 07:58 AM
A Day in the Life of Working On A Dream Today started early, 03.00 to be as exact as one can be at 03.00ish. It must have been thereabouts because after tossing and turning (alone unfortunately) in bed for about half an hour, I got up, checked the unearthly hour and made a pot of caffeine free herbal tea. But not before the joy of seeing my new stuffa pellet (stove) reflecting the alarm sensors glow. Maybe the excitement of having not one but two of this months’ challenges achieved was what woke me. Whatever, with hot tea, and a now glowing internally - stuffa pellet fuelled, I curled up on the sofa and decided to treat myself to a sneaky preview of the day emerging via Italian TV. No signal. No surprise. OK the world at large was closed for the night, as the only possible solution I could deal with was to climb onto the roof terrace to see if the man who built the chimney disconnected the TV to plug in his drill. That could wait. The world could wait. Whatever horrors were being played out around the globe could be filed with the two years spent without TV, newspaper or Radio access. But my own doorstep was an altogether different possibility for viewing. That was also denied me. Alarm repair of yesterday obviously was ‘an Italian style 24hr repair’ – that is, daily promises for weeks of an imminent repair “domani’ that when finally done the repaired thing works for 24hrs. Consoled, although it was the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere, there was not a sound. No need to see outside, no need to engage the world at large, stuffa pellet building in enthusiasm, tea piping hot, sofa comfy - what the hell, in a place where days of the week mean nothing, time of day is less than nothing. Time for a movie. I don’t know when I woke. I didn’t care. There had been enough planned awakenings for one month, usually only to greet another broken promise of a 07.30 repair job. When I did get up for the second time that day, I didn’t look to see what time of day it was. I knew all I needed to know - It was definitely coffee time. And I can’t have breakfast coffee without cake, so it was also cake time. Waiting for the gurgling sound of freshly ground coffee brewing, I peeled an orange; picked from the garden the day before. Wandering through the orange scented air, I switched off the perimeter alarms. This is a good move before opening the windows. Failing to remember to do this, I would be sharing the coffee and cake with lecherous, gun-slinging vigilante. Looking out, the sun was up, but my eyes were down scanning the debris of the previous night. Under the window was the guilty party, cowering in full knowledge of my fury. I faced yet another day clearing up the night raid or simply accepting it as part of the view until I couldn’t live with it. Was it my early morning movements in the house that unsettled her to the extent of destruction? I didn’t care. She was for the dog house. The low winter sunlight flooded over the terrace and through the lounge windows highlighting the CD pile. First real decision of the day was what would be my breakfast music? The Felice Brothers blasting through the silence and across the rocks, sand and sea calmed me and accompanied me through my leisurely breakfast hour. Since being in Italy, I have believed it criminal to rush meals. Every flavour anticipated and eaten with the same respect shown while being fully, slowly nurtured, carefully selected and lovingly prepared in the way that fuel for good health deserves. In the day, that started slow and early with no agenda, I reach the dizzy heights my mother spoke of all those years ago. I think her words were something like, “If you don’t do your homework you’ll end up sweeping the streets”. Well clearly skipping homework on a few occasions was enough for her vision to be accurate. Today, 25th Nov 2010, I am sweeping the streets. However I am sweeping with my fabulous sucker n blower, black n decker, orange n black solution to 1000sq m of dog playground. So excited and enthusiastic, now that I’ve started, I’m in the street clearing tree cuttings left by Leonardo weeks prior - another ‘domani’ task. The street is very clean now. And in the spotless, leafless, mudless, sandless, twigless garden I rest, in the sun with the rewards of the place that challenges me. Prosecco chilled and in a fluted glass, local tomatoes in fresh pasta more than sprinkled with freshly grated parmagiano, clementines fresh from the very tidy garden and the tiny remain of amaretto from the previous evening flavouring un caffé Italiano. My view, the sea refecting the sunlight. Sandy’s view, from her chained up corner of the doghouse, is the garden tidier than she’d found last night and much tidier than she left it this morning. That, and my back. And what could she hear? Exaggerated tormenting noises of pleasure, delivered with every mouthful of delicious lunch, emanating from the screaming banshee that greeted her this morning. Daylight hours remaining and a dinner invitation tonight, a shower following putting the tools to bed, followed by a manicure will see me looking light years better than I must have looked earlier. Hot water can work wonders and the contrast is so marked that scrubbed up I think I’m pretty damned gorgeous. It was prior to lunch, in my most disheveled state, that a rare sighting had brought my only human contact today, only contact that is other than the phonecall; Alex from the dog school with instructions on what Sandy could eat and drink prior to her sterilization op tomorrow, if a brief call in Italian counts as human contact. Think I understood it - Niente al boca. Not one but two postal services vans rolled in with the tumbleweed and caught me mid street clean. The woman, who rolled down the window to speak, could not have been in greater contrast to me. Immaculate, groomed, dressed and enquiring about a restaurant. My Italian is poor but my interest in local restaurants considerable, so having directed the first van I returned to work with thoughts of lunch emerging. My appearance must also have been of someone not very intelligent ( may be they knew I had not always completed my homework, or spied trails of blond hair amidst my halo of garden debris) , because van number two slowed to explain they were with van number one. As if I couldn’t have guessed. However, that counted as two visitors which made a very long day also unusual enough to be worthy of note. DISCLAIMER: Unless otherwise credited, all writing posted in this blog is my own, original and copyrighted material. Do not reproduce, copy, save, email, distribute or use my work in any way without my express written consent.
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Workingonadream....On Internet Dating...What Next? Posted on Aug 16, 2011 at 01:55 PM
To A Man Called Wells (and all prospective DATES) Well, Well, Well? Well well well What have we here? We communicate now Without any fear. Yet we’ve talked about fears And exposed bits of thought, Seen images, sent them. But what have we got? In Italian your potzi. Am I potty to think Half way round the world We’ve opened a link? In a chain of events I’ve opened my heart. Seems to be working. Suppose it's a start. Enjoying my brown body. In touch with my soul. Does the sum of the parts Make anything whole? In a world of Italians, You've got me thinking, Mentally agile, Enjoying verbal linking. I've seen in pictures A man who appeals. Do we take the next step? See what it reveals? And while it’s a risk, There is reason to see, To discover if poss He’s the right man for me. Yet I wonder if games Played out through the screen Can recapture an energy Of where we’ve both been... ...And would go again If we sensed it was right. Do we say f the caution And jump on a flight? DISCLAIMER: Unless otherwise credited, all writing posted in this blog is my own, original and copyrighted material. Do not reproduce, copy, save, email, distribute or use my work in any way without my express written consent.
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workingonadream - writer,poet,artist searchng for Mr Rightx Posted on Aug 12, 2011 at 11:52 AM
Ski with Care (And Other Lesson’s Learned) Right pubis ramo, it appears it is broken. X-ray confirmed, Austrian Doc has spoken. Sloshing in morphine, inner voice didn’t ask, But hit off the walls of a half empty flask, So what about sex, un modus operandi? Poker leg on crutches couldn’t go bandy, Not now or for six weeks, yet without bandage. ‘Six without sex weeks’, how would I manage? Week one, from a distance, surveying testosterone From erie hotel rooms, balanced with phone. On rare trips to pee, took in the views. Horizontal on mobile, delivered the news. The foxes they chortled, gave permission to gloat. In mischief on balconies, nae knickers fur coat. The challenge a ciggy, brief breath of fresh air, Infrequent, no rare, was as much as did dare. Confined, resigned to rest and pop pills, Reflected on recent encounters with ills; A tendon, attended, recovered in time. Rottweiler attack will lifestyles’ define? No dogs in hotel rooms, s’pose was a bonus, But recovery yet again, a personal onus. News 24 repeated delivery, In hours overheating, its’ words were shivery. Tsunami images emerged by the hour. Hundreds of thousands in school halls did cower. It made the displacement, in 4 star hotel, Luxury exile, against Japanese hell. The Libyan atrocities nudged a Tsunami. A silent witness to a double whammy Switching channels, viewing double hell From a snowy wonderland where all is swell. Jane had excelled, as Jane always does; Insurance managed, mum managed with love, Fruit, nuts, a few ciggies, the kid understands Recovery cocktails. And a mother’s demands- -That her challenges, workload and new love found Need attended. Mum’s fine when she can’t be around. Knowing she’s there when needed, mum ‘n’ pals on the phone, ‘Tis better, by far, than being home alone. The natural painkiller; a vodka at dusk Created an appetite for food of lust. Tempted in gourmet hotel for sure, Eating, seated, what the bum could endure. And sharing her memory of injury the same, Cracked the frown of the Austrian dame Who escorted hop along back to the room, Bringing further courses to consume. Following nine days of fights and forced delay, The insurance, desperate to dump, had its way. Well…….not exactly the way they had planned, ‘Cos true to her magic, in it, Lynn had a hand. Without missing a punch, in kid gloves she hit. Home with support, secured help every bit, For a journey to ‘hotel bed six’ in nine days, And to hospital by ambulance and final night stays. Stretchered through Austria by St Gallen, so gallant. Swiss private services brightened by talent! Was a day so exciting, real people to talk to. Prattling horizontally, with nothing to walk to. By knights, in armour of blue and red, Tucked in, and carried, soft stretcher bed. Through mountains that sparkled, Spring sunlight on snow, Excitement built at being on the go. Through Austrian Alps, to Konstanz, time three, To fly home to Scotland, and those waiting to see A spirit not dented like the pelvis in pain. From Jane to Keith -wow- same day once again. And to mum and dad to assure all’s okay. And those who speak English will make an x-ray. But, before landing in Ed, an air-ambulance flight, And an hour on the tarmac brought further delight In the shape of un caffe, Italiano, sweet, strong And a melee of charm, wit and a song. No matter what pain, no room for a frown, As sun glinted on jets taking off, touching down. And finally there, from Dorset, the three; Pilot, co-pilot and nurse ‘just for me’. Swiss chocolate gifted, paramedic photo clicked, Befriended on face book, his apple phone flicked. Short hobble, wee wobble, soft landing assured, Boarded the jet Lynn had procured. Nurse’s stuff done, ready to fly. A glimpse of a sad face saying, ‘Goodbye’. Michaela was kindness wrapped up in a smile; Through flight, transfer, handover. And while Professionally just ‘nother break home in style, Genuinely warm going an extra mile. Was then mum’s emotion spilled over in tears; Relief, reassurance woven with fears. And Helen’s embrace, as warm as her smile, Uplifted Keith, who she’d brought for a while. What must Keith think? Mum’s done it again, Been in the wars, she should stick to her pen, Settle, act her age and write, And cease to cause her children fright. But hugged acceptance filled with love, Masks silent prayers, to whoever’s above, That everything will be okay, And mum will fight another day. But who can sense her thoughts lying deep That trouble in darkness too dark to sleep, In nights too painful to sleep, alone, The sleeping voices not on the phone. In light of day, there’s dad and mum, Really glad the patient’s come To be cared for, pampered, fed food of love. In cotton wool to watch the dove Chaffinches, red squirrel, and all at play, While safe on sofa made to stay. Chats with Helen, wise and true, Once more helped me make it through. In moments left here home alone, Mischief plays. They don’t condone. Nosebag of vino, pate, cheeses A hobble from sofa to find what pleases. Painful stagger, into mum’s shoes. A garden moment, challenged to choose. But they hurry back to protect from the fun. Silently smiling at the moments won. But they know best. They really do. From self sufficiency they shoo; To position of patient, patiently resting From instinctive challenges still too testing. Two weeks later soapsuds oozing, Tempted by a little boozing, Own space, and close friends’ frequent calling – - Escorted, tested for fear of falling. Passed the test; loo stairs to master. Insistent, reassured of no disaster. A door connected to analogue phone. Deep breath, freedom, home alone. Inner voices still resound…. and ask, But sloshing now in a half full flask, Not is it possible? But when? First sign s’pose….having found a pen. Bold, mischievous plans at seed, While physio’s guidance still to heed. But hey a window on the world found. In mental agility, thoughts abound. And messages fly through cyberspace, While immobility sets the pace. Communicating in real time, Planning encounters for when all’s fine. Is progress moving from mail to text? And, injury dictating the pace to sex? And is, stepping back, a forward move? And, space, pace, time a chance to prove And reflect, and enable one to see Once again just what might be The next relationship, adventure, flight, Next gauntlet grabbed with all my might? That’s it folks! lol mx March 2011......Now recovered lol. DISCLAIMER: Unless otherwise credited, all writing posted in this blog is my own, original and copyrighted material. Do not reproduce, copy, save, email, distribute or use my work in any way without my express written consent.
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workingonadream...'Hmmm' (his text) and my response lol Posted on Aug 18, 2011 at 05:02 AM
Hmmm? Having met my match, Heart moved, meet me. Having met my man, Having made my move, Holding many marvelous memories, Heart melted, my mistake. Have men mixed motives? He meanders, meddles, misses. Honesty means much more. Has my message missed? Hanging me midst meanings. How’s my meaning misunderstood? Had meant mend misunderstanding. How many mixed messages, Hours meant missing minutes? How much messages mean? Have many (messages) meaning? Hate male manipulative moves. Here’s my mature move - Having mojito moment mister. Having mischief making mind. Here’s my message mix - His message means mmmm? Heartfelf, minus more meaning. He may miss me? Hurt marji, my mistake? Hurting more, missing marji? Hurt messes men’s minds. His mind mitigates meaning. Hunting male message meanings, Has my mind madeup. Hark – marji mis-matched. Have moved me mate. Haven’t met my match. Here’s my modusoperandi mix - Horse mounted making moves. Harley mounted making moves. Hearts magically move mountains. He must move mountains, Hold my moments magically. Hesitant moves miss moments. Has my morale meaning? Here’s my morale mix - Hope means more moves. Have more mojitos marji. Hold marvelous mono moments. Have magical mister moments. Hmmm … means? Marji’s Man Holds me more meaningfully, Holds magically my magic, Heart, mind, morale, mischief. Hugs, marji mx, me. DISCLAIMER: Unless otherwise credited, all writing posted in this blog is my own, original and copyrighted material. Do not reproduce, copy, save, email, distribute or use my work in any way without my express written consent.
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To My Children - Explaining Failed Relationships Posted on Aug 20, 2011 at 02:36 PM
To My Children I don’t know what to tell you, What you’ll think, or say, or feel. How it will affect you, You’re so young, it’s hard, it’s real. Because of how you see it, It may be that I’ve failed. It’s happened once again, you see, I’ve climbed the mast and sailed. I could have moved off sooner, Or at a faster pace. So much to consider It was never a race. But too much time reflecting On the good times in the past, While things today are different, And the future’s where it’s at. The time comes to be honest, To see, and really know That even what was perfect Can have nowhere left to go. DISCLAIMER: Unless otherwise credited, all writing posted in this blog is my own, original and copyrighted material. Do not reproduce, copy, save, email, distribute or use my work in any way without my express written consent.
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Evil Persistent Text Messages-Poetic Justice Posted on Aug 20, 2011 at 02:53 PM
To Denny Into my life you brought colour Denny. The shame, it’s lasting memory is blue. In surroundings of sea and sky Denny You added creative temperament another hue. The darkest azzuro moments were cold comfort Denny. The strongest images hang upon my wall. The paler shades midst music still resound Denny. What’s hidden in your words prevents a call. So stay amidst your trauma once again Denny, While I will search for paler shades of blue. You held me for a moment, it is true Denny, But belonging here will not be trapped by you. It’s not a lonely place for me Denny, Even in the silence here alone. Connection with good people make it home Denny While you seek solace through your text by phone. So keep your thoughts and words from me Denny. I’m not for being absorbed by darker hue. Solvent won’t dissolve the truth Denny. Balanced late revival won’t dilute the darker you. DISCLAIMER: Unless otherwise credited, all writing posted in this blog is my own, original and copyrighted material. Do not reproduce, copy, save, email, distribute or use my work in any way without my express written consent.
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