So, although I still cling to you, to the idea of you, with longing for the good old days, with affection and sentimentality, I know that our time together is finite and there is no good reason to continue.

But I don’t want to leave you hanging, cut off from a source of love, with no where to turn. So I’ll let you in on a little secret:

I’m cooking up something new for you, dear reader. Now, I don’t know if you’ll like it, or want it or read it but …

It’s coming. Soon.

And when it’s ready, I’ll let you know.

Promise.

Truth is, I’m not sure that this relationship is working anymore. For real. I haven’t said anything about my doubts because, well frankly, how do you say something like that? Especially to someone who asks nothing much from you except to show up, someone who doesn’t criticize, someone who accepts you just as you are? Anyways, breaking up has never been my forte. I have, rather, a long history of holding onto problematic relationships.

But, well, it’s been at the back of my mind now for some months and I suppose I may finally be ready to come out and clear the air. I’m not feeling this anymore. “This” which officially started 2 years and 3 months ago on March 25, 2009. When, out of necessity, I began to pour my heart out onto this Inter-page. During those two years, I told you so many of my secrets. I gave you detailed accounts of some of my most intense heartbreaks and profound life lessons. I revealed just how absolutely emotionally messy and complex, and hopelessly naive and romantic I can be.

Mostly I wrote about the past and I healed myself from it. Time and time again I was astounded by how absolutely cathartic it was to write to you about some extremely personal experience that left me hurting. Like talking to a good psychoogist, spilling my guts out here emptied me of past pain.

So I’ve moved on. I’m not living in the past anymore, nor in some kind of fantasy world which compensated for a lack of real experience in the now. The writing/healing did the trick. I’ve been able to start having real-time relationships again. In fact, I’m currently entertaining two.

But I don’t feel the same compulsion to write about them (sorry!). They are real, they are current, they involve real people, not ghosts from the past nor figments of my over-active imagination. So writing about them would take on a different function than this blog has mostly served. And I’ve been confronted by the limits of my personal exhibitionism. I’ve found that I’d rather live my stories than tell them.

Leave that telling for later.

But it feel so good, dear reader, you know? Just writing to you now and I am lulled back into that sweet feeling of confidance, where I bared my insides to you and you silently, gratefully ate it up.

See, now I’m doubting. Now I’m remembering the good times. Now I’m asking myself, do I really want to end what has been a very satisfying – albeit rather one-sided — relationship?

Ok, to be fair, you haven’t always been silent. Sometimes you wrote to me. Sometimes you responded to my posts. Sometimes I got a message from you thanking me for giving of myself and it really made my day. Somtimes you wrote to me in just as heartfelt a fashion. One time, you even started writing yourself, telling me all your deepest darkest secrets. That led to a long and heart-warming correspondence that ended rather badly, when I tried to take it into the real-life dimension.

So there is the “I’m experiencing real things I don’t want to write about here” reason. And then, there is the “what was the point of this again?” reason. What I mean is, now that I no longer have past pain to heal, I am struggling to find a reason to write this.

True, I don,t always write about past, painful, relational experiences. I alternate between that and pretty mundane stuff. But the past-painful-relational stuff was my bread and butter. And … now that it’s no longer useful I am more and more confronted by how aimless and unfocused this blog is.

In the w-w-w of the myriad of blogs out there, with their sharp focuses, target audiences and more purposeful writing, I feel lost, lame, almost ashamed.

I am feeling a need to define myself differently, I suppose. To write with more clarity of purpose. To perhaps, also, find a new reason to write and a new form.

So this is goodbye.

I think.

Why their required courses are so lame.

Why the public transportation system in Laval is so incredibly inconvenient, complicated and expensive.

Why rainy days always make me want to sleep or cry or both.

Why some people can’t handle the direct, undisguised truth.

Why I choose to stay uncommitted to most jobs.

Why no one can concentrate anymore.

What makes people interested in a larger world than themselves.

Why I have gone down this road.

Why love is so sexy.

Why chocolate is so necessary.

Why I procrastinate about getting to the most important.

Why I haven’t yet made it around the world.

I am back in the swing of regular life, the daily grind, the quotidien, but I am back with new perspective. Funny how stopping for ten days changes everything. You just can’t start up the motors the same way again. You can try but, the momentum is gone and this makes you pause to question the action, to question its purpose, to question its relevance as an act.

Hmmm, why was I doing this again?

Yes, I am officially operating in slown down mode and it is good. I had to write a report about my professional activities these past months and as I went through my agenda to take note of activities, meetings, accomplishments to summarize I was struck by the incredible amount of work I had managed to complete in a short space of time. I was actually astounded.

The new, recently relaxed person that I am asked herself, how did you DO that?

I don’t know. I just really don’t know.

Woke up from a deep, deep sleep to sounds of family life: a baby boy crying softly, breakfast being prepared, hushed voices in the other rooms. I emerged from my cocoon to get a glass of water in the kitchen and then proceeded to get down to the business of carrying out my newest resolution: to do a minimum of ten minutes of my Ministry of Sound “Urban Work Out” video as soon as I am physically able. The fact that I am willing to engage in this incredibly goofy and ridiculous act, right in front of my nephew and sister-in-law, wearing nothing but my nightie, some socks and sneakers, underwear and an essential bra, is a testament to my new found dedication to bringing more regular aerobic exercise into my life.

Yes I felt much like a clown, mimicking the gorgeous music video dancer and her groupies engage in various supposedly “hip-hop”-ish kind of moves, involving jumping, criss-crossing legs, bending knees, waving arms, gyrating my hips and ass, while my sister-in-law sat looking politely disinterested and my nephew gazed upon me with bemusement. But damn it, I did it, I got through the ten minute warm-up and I felt proud. It’s essential that I do this everyday if I’m ever going to progress to the next section of the work-out and if I ever want to firm up the old tush and belly.

I have a great bod. But with a little effort and perseverance, it could be greater. Like professional music video dancer greater.

Anyways, my brother had perfect timing this morning and handed me a cup of expresso coffee, the minute I finished my work-out. Then I had the pleasure of feeding little Arthur some of my cereal. He really gets into eating. Every mouthful is anticipated with a wide open mouth and an “Aaaaaaahhhhh…”

My brother and I spent the day driving to the little village of St Dizier where his choir – which specializes in gospel music and spirituals — had a concert at four in the afternoon. He had asked me, in advance, if I’d be into going and I said sure. Why not? A ride into the countryside of France, good music and three uninterrupted hours of his company. How could I say no? Of my two brothers, let me tell you, he is the one I’d rather be stuck in a car with. (Sorry, Fred, you know exactly what I’m talking about – remember that little trip to Quebec City when we almost killed each other?! Gotcha.)

It was another gorgeous day. The sun was shining, the temperature hot, and wanting to avoid the expensive tolls on the freeways, we took the smaller country roads and saw plenty of beautiful scenery: farmland, lakes, rolling hills, the occasional chateau tower. We stopped in a nearby town for a badly needed second coffee (car rides make me sleep like a baby) and then a lunch of sandwiches and fruit in the town square. We made it to his rehearsal just in time and then I had a few hours “to kill” until concert time.

I wandered down the village streets and stumbled upon a kind of festival happening in a big green park: Tables with people selling their crafts and artisanal goods, a future outdoor concert setting up. Most important though: Green, green, greenery and sun, sun, sunshine. I wandered around a bit, checking out the goods and finally settled on a joke gift for loverboy back home (an extremely aged second hand tome of “Vie sexuelle des animaux et des plantes”) and then found a shady, quiet spot out of harm’s way, where I lay on the grass and tried to read my magazines for a while. After a few pages about Sarkozy’s problematic presidency, I realized I was not in the mood, and simply lay there and enjoyed my first day of vacay doing absolutely nothing. I listened to the birds chirping in various pitches, to the murmur of French people discussing their handiwork, I smelt the trees and blossoms surrounding me, I enjoyed the warmth of the sun on my skin. It had been a grey, cold and damp week back in Montreal before I left for this trip, so nothing but a good dose of sun on my face and I am in heaven on earth.

A highlight of this episode. At some point, I sat up and stretched only to witness an old man taking a pee in the bush right in front of me, in plain view. His wife was standing beside her so I commented to her that this was funny, how men always seem so indifferent — or oblivious — to someone witnessing their urination. She chuckled, slightly embarrassingly — and chastised the culprit when he turned around and buckled up his pants. He grumbled something that expressed indifference and they were on their merry way….

The outdoor concert was starting up and it sounded awful – some French lady singer singing so loud into her microphone it distorted to terible music appropriating generic Middle Eastern beats, so I quickly got up, found my way out of the park and walked to a nearby cafe, where I enjoyed yet another expresso coffee, the sunshine, and a book I’ve been working on: Cousine K, by the Algerian writer Yasmina Khadra. It is the story of a young man who seems, very sadly to be ignored, unloved, almost hated by his mother. Exquisitely written though, with the kind of French language I feel I can never aspire to. There are words I will need to go back to and look up in the dictionary.

Finally it was time for the concert. I purchased my ticked and program and found a spot on the balcony. Hot up here but with a good view and more conducive to enjoying the old theatre’s architecture. I sat down next to a friendly older woman and her husband, from the town, who confessed to me that they don’t miss an opportunity to hear gospel music. It is a funny thing, all these old French white folks who dig the gospel and spirituals so much. But here I was, surrounded by them, and listening to them sing these African-American songs, with their French accents. The concert was actually very beautiful and inspiring with two different choirs performing and occasionally coming together. The choir director is an American woman, with impeccable French, who seems to really know how to get the best out of her singers. Despite the heat of the building, we were all moved to clap and snap our fingers and occasionally join in.

After the concert, some food and champagne was served. I was happy to eventually manage to unlock myself from one of the stall’s in the lady’s bathroom, where I spent a good few panicked moments, rattling the doorknob, trying unsuccessfully to unbolt the deadbolt, every which way, feeling increasingly trapped and desperately texting my brother to get help.

Typical of me. I eventually figured it out.

People swarmed around the food table like rabid dogs. I have never seen such seemingly bourgeois “polite-seemng” people acting so pushy and impatient for food and drink. You really had to fight for your right to a piece of cake or olive tapenade toast. And the outcry at the fact that there were not enough glasses to go around! I found it cramped and stressful and spent most of my time, away from the madness and out on the much cooler balcony.

Finally, the three-hour ride home with bro, singing at the top of our lungs to the CDs we’d brought along: mostly eighties pop favourites and motown classics. We stopped at a lake called Lac du Der, where I didn’t hesitate to strip down to my undies and plunge in. The water was perfect! Something you must know about me: I can never pass up an opportunity to get wet and refreshed in a body of water. Couldn’t convince my brother to do the same, though. Then walking back to the car, he realized he’d had his bathing suit in there all along! Bummer. I know not everyone is as willing to embarass themselves in public wearing noting but their unmatched undies as I am. But hey! There was barely anyone on the beach anyways and … it felt damn good.

Some more singing alternating with dozing off in the car and finally, we approached the bright lights and vibrant buzz of Paris. And we’re home again. And I’ve got seven more days of good holiday times to go…

Lovely, lovely first day. First, I saw my brother again, his smiling face greeting me at the airport. It’s been about 2 years so it’s sweet to see him and reconnect with his ironic humour and gentleness. Then, I was awoken from my first nap by a smiling little boy. My nephew, Arthur! This is our first live meeting after a year of conversations via webcam. He is a year and a half. I hadn’t managed – due to scheduling and budget constraints — to meet him earlier in his young life but I’m glad to meet him now when he can actually interact with and recognize me. He is incredibly cute and smiley and has an infectious, wicked laugh. He is already a charmer and a fun guy, full of jokes and energy. My sister-in-law and her sweet, thoughtfulness made me a bed in their tiny apartment living room and served me a delicious lunch as we reconnected. Good to see the fam again.

This is the last time I will visit them in their apartment in the 20e arrondissement. They’ve just bought a house and will soon be moving to a village, about a half-an-hour’s train ride away from the big city. This is what a lot of people do once they start making babies. Suddenly, tranquility and a backyard take precedence over proximity to urban delights. My brother will finally be able to fulfill his lifelong dream of constantly feeding family and friends a variety of barbecued food. I brought him a big book of over 200 recipes of said specialty and a collection of spices. He is excited.

I am thrilled to be here. It is always heart-opening to visit this city. Impregnated as it is with centuries of history, old world charm, grandiose architecture and an incredible diversity of people, it feels so alive. It is also the city my mother and her family spent many years living in, after leaving Tunisia after its independence from the French. So when I come, somehow, it feels a little like home too, albeit a home I never truly inhabited. Yet, somehow, the familiarity and feeling of belonging is there.

When I come, I always ask myself, why is it that I have never lived here for more than a month at a time? But visiting, and being hosted and fed by family is a very different thing than living and making a living in this hyper-expensive, polluted, fast-paced and stressful city. I have to remind myself that the daily grind here would get me down, despite the glamour.

We spent a quiet day, going to the park with Arthur, where he could blissfully crawl around and we could sit in the grass, relax and people watch, while occasionally bringing back to the safe confines of the lawn and pulling random objects from his hands before he popped them in his mouth. Then drinks on a cafe terrace, some food shopping and home for a second nap followed by supper on the balcony. The view of the light blue sky and cream coloured buildings blended together into a kind of seascape of light.

After dinner walk with my bro, to wander the neighbourhood. African ladies in festive garb, coming home from a wedding. One woman’s dress caught the night lights and reflected them back like disco or christmas lights. Sparkly, shimmery beauty. We stopped in front a a newish jazz bar my brother had been meaning to check out and the owner beckoned us inside. There was this jazz quintet playing: Pianist, double bass, trumpet, sax and drums. A really tight ensemble playing free and soulful jazz. All five of them, handsome young French men and their musical instruments. Wow. What a delight to accidentally stumble upon. We ordered drinks and sat back and enjoyed the music and the eye candy and I forgot all about my jet lag for a while. When it was over, I thanked them for making my first night in town so memorable and then, we went home for that badly needed sleep.

Truth be told, I could have hung out a lot longer, inspired as I was by the music and the company but I could tell my bro was spent. I may still be wide awake, but it’s the energy of the city — and my confused body time clock — that is keeping me going. I’m sure to crash any minute now.

How blessed I am to have had such a beautiful day, the first of a badly needed escape and vacay.

Couple days ago I considered closing Kunzlecakes down for good. Telling the world: This experiment is done.

Let’s see now. I’ve spent over a year or two (who remembers?) pouring intimate, private details of my life onto these virtual pages, only to come to a point where I wonder if I still need your type of readership and my type of writership to continue work my personalship shit out.

Maybe I’m thinking this way because I’m finally experiencing something real again — some form (as of yet undetermined, undefined) of true intimacy, love and eroticism — as opposed to reflecting on past business, missed opportunities, regrets and mistakes. Maybe it’s because there is finally another really real, live human being involved in the present moment and situation in question, besides me.

So now, all of a sudden, telling you all about it seems rather trite. Shallow, superficial, almost thoughtless. I mean, you wouldn’t do it, would you? Spill all your beans onto a public website for anyone who pleases to read, dissect, judge at their leisure and pleasure?

So why do you expect me to do it? No. Sorry, wrong question. Why should I do it, continue to do it? You never asked me or expected me to. I started this all of my own free will and volition. Nobody ever asked me to put my personal life down on a page, although it is all the rage to do so these days. I asked me. I asked me and I responded in kind, because there was a need, an urgency, a real requirement in my life, to listen to myself and take the time to work it out. And the invisible audience — that’s YOU! — was an essential part of that necessity.

Now I’ve got something new to work out, but …

Maybe this time it’s really private. Maybe it feels meaningful, albeit problematic and …I don’t know if I need, if I want to share this. I’m afraid I might cheapen an already tawdry-sounding situation.

I’ve been wondering if I’d be being respectful, to him, and to myself, by telling y’all all the tawdry details….

Guess I gotta sit on this one for a while.

Sorry.

oh oops, no, they don’t have sex anymore.
and so it’s open.
is that why it’s open?

is open relationship a way to say: well, we’re together but not in a way that’s closed to not being together, or being together with other people. but basically, we’ll be in some kind of relationship, at all times, and that relationship will be open.

open to interpretation?

i’ve got questions about this term that people keep flinging around. and a thirst for answers. cause i’ve got a lot of ideas about what that expression means, a lot of prejudices and judgement calls but not a strong identification with what purpose it can serve in our culture today.

except that more and more people are using it.

as a way to embody a fluid, in-between stage of being with someone?
as a way to escape the hypocrisy of (serial) monogamy?
as a way to avoid engaging in an act of commitment to a partnership?
as a way to pretend it’s not really “open” just “over” and you’re afraid to let go and move on?
as a way to have a more exciting sex life?

as a way to fuck shit up?

more on this as the auto ethnographical research pursues its course….

No.

I can’t do it. I can’t dissect him here for your pleasure. I can’t even begin to tell you all the ways in which he is rocking my world right now.

And how much trouble I am in.

Big trouble.

John Lurie said it best: Big, big trouble.

As much as it pains me to say this, you will just have to wait, dear reader.

I need to let it all sink in a little bit. Live the experience out before I can begin to write about it, analyze it, consider its repercussions. It’s too new right now and it’s too hot.

And I’m in so much trouble.

There lies the real question. What am I playing at exactly? Am I serious about this? Finding a good guy to spend time with? Or am I just using this as yet another ethnographic research experiment to write and talk about?

I feel like I should confront this ambivalence in me, in order not to leave some poor dude or two astray.

It’s like I’ve done a 180 degree turnaround. Gone is the fantasy-filled, romantic. In her place is this hard, pragmatic woman who just feels like she’s not getting any younger and has no time to waste on schmucks.

But it feels strange to function like that, so grounded, so pragmatic, practical, common-sensical. Of course I’m still hoping to be swept off my feet a little…

Yet I’ve gone from being swept up to landing hard on my bum one too many times. I’ve got a lot of suspicion now. The healthy kind and the exaggerated kind.

One good thing is that this site is giving me a much needed crash course in the workings of the male mind. All that fantasy I projected onto various unsuspecting members of that species, I see now just how foolish I was. They are really much simpler creatures than the mythical beings I tried to turn them into.

Well thank the big G I finally got that part. Looks like less trouble ahead ….