I think about the oddest things. One of the things that crosses my mind often is touch. Most recently I’ve been wondering why it’s a recurring theme. Why is it so important to me? I finally figured it out.
I don’t have enough.
And I’m not talking about sex. I am talking about the daily stuff; a hug, a kiss on the cheek, a touch on the arm, holding hands. I realized this when I went to get my second shot in my knee this past Tuesday.
My doctor came into the exam room and shook my hand and then put his hand on my knee, the one he was going to inject and asked how it was feeling since the last shot. I was practically giddy. That little thing, that insignificant touch made me realize that it is lacking in my life.
I do get hugs and kisses from my family. But I don’t see them as often as you’d think with us living only 1.5 miles apart. When it’s been a couple of weeks I get big, running in from the other room, throw themselves at me, nephew hugs. When watching movies or TV with them, we all cuddle on the couch.
The times in-between those visits are long dry spells (for lack of a better phrase). I’m not really sure what to do about it that I’m not already doing. I’m see my friends as often as our schedules permit, but really, other than an occasional hug there is no need to touch your friends that much.
Trolling the internet to meet someone for a possible date and eventual relationship has been turning up with nothing but one, ahh, troll. I write to guys who interest me and they never write back. I do get some incredibly handsome men, all from out of state, with the most beautifully written profiles, who, when they contact you, can barely write in English. Those are obviously fake profiles for some sort of scam.
The past couple of days I’ve been thinking about the last two guys who touched me, in a loving and sweet way. First was last summer when I went out with HS guy. He met me at the door with a big kiss, then held me back, looked into my eyes and pulled me close and hugged me. It was sweet, tender, personal. I felt wanted. It was nice. When he dropped me off, he said he’d definitely be seeing me again and then never bothered to call or write. It’s par for the course for me. I don’t know why I expected more. I should know better.
Second, and I had to go back pretty far for this one, was when I was seeing My Mr. Big. When he would stay over, he always fell asleep with his hand on my hip. One night I woke up and he had his face snuggled up into my hair, forehead touching the back of my head. It was sweet. If I was cold, he’d hold me tight. Don’t get me wrong, he didn’t do right by me. But he is a sweet man and the woman he’s with now is very lucky indeed. And you know, he’s back in touch with me, which is why he got the name My Mr. Big.
I know you’re thinking, what about the “fiancé” (aka Commander Klingon)? There was no cuddling, no hand holding, no touching in a caring manner because then that meant something. He went out of his way for anything he did or say to not mean something. We went to a Giant’s game together, and in the crush of people to get into the stadium, I grabbed his hand so we wouldn’t get separated. I felt him stiffen. It lasted for 15 seconds and then he dropped my hand, and as a “joke” tried to hide from me on the other side of the crowd. Yeah – talk about body language. At least in his twisted little way he was more honest than HS guy or My Mr. Big. I’m no longer in touch with him which is a VERY, VERY good thing.
The faucet I got for my birthday still isn’t installed.
I’m not sure what the answer is. I’ve been thinking about going for a massage, but paying someone to touch you because you’re touch deprived, sounds wrong. Like not quite prostitution but close. I don’t know. Maybe I need to stop thinking so much.
Or maybe take more Xanax or something.
*comments have been turned off as there is no need to reply to my sad, depressing rant.