Ho-Hum

Cigarettes don't taste good anymore.  Did they ever?  I've been a smoker my entire adult life.  I always joke that the Marlboro Man is my longest relationship to date. That's actually not funny at all. I think the truth is that smoking reminds me of my mother.  The smell of smoke and a perfume called Tamango brings to mind an image of my mother sitting in front of her vanity and wearing dressed in a lace full slip. She is putting on her make-up, Christian Dior in those days.  The slip was probably Dior too.

My mother was beautiful when she was young.  Very Blanche DuBois. Now that I think about it, I am now older than she was then. I was eight or so, she must have been 33.  The dressing table memory is not a good one. When she put on make up, it meant I was sitting next to her and begging her not to leave. Then she would disappeared to her sister's house for the rest of the day. This  happened almost every day. I still wonder now if she hated being a mother. These days, it is the highlight of her life. But at 33, I don't know what she was thinking.

Isn't it odd to think of a smell you cannot recreate and then see a visual image? Scent has no image but I've managed to attach a person to that memory.  That doesn't make much sense, does it?

Last night, I accidentally "shared" this site from my personal email account.  I don't think anyone's read this  but still I worry. I told a friend about the accidental sharing today and she wanted to know if she could read this blog.  I felt bad saying no.  No as in never.  And I told A last night in a panicked phone call.  I worry about him reading this too.  I've said some mean things about him.  But when I think about it, I don't think I've said anything here that I haven't said to him.

That doesn't make it better though, does it?

I am not so sad today.  I cleaned my apartment. I hardly thought of AL at all. When I did, it was not with such regret.

This has turned out to be another pointless entry.

Maybe not dating is going to turn me into a prolific diarist.  That is how it was the last time I retreated from men.  The thing is, life is much less interesting without men.  You don't even have to sleep with them, just their presence changes the hum in the air.

Not reading much now.  Makes me wonder how I manage to wile away my evenings. I haven't had much activity this week save for the dinner out on Monday.  Tomorrow I'm going to some strange place in Queens with two girlfriends. I'm not sure what I was thinking when I agreed to go.  I'll probably have fun but the way I see it now, it would be better for me to stay home and listen to my neighbor's music. On Friday, I'm having dinner out again.

It's getting colder out and this is helping my mood somehow.