by definition: serial monogamist

a term used to describe an individual who forms one relationship after another throughout their lifetime.


One take:
Apparently, a serial monogamist will attach to another or step into what they think is a serious situation with a general timeline of duration for the relationship. And because the S.M. is generally incapable of staying committed for a long period time it makes their "commitment" purely superficial. But that is not to say the S.M. does not think it is not a deep and loving situation. In fact, it is quite the opposite. In the beginning, every relationship they enter into is glorious, rich, and extremely fulfilling, but it is quickly burned out by their desire to begin another "glorious, rich, and extremely fulfilling" relationship. The S.M. is never single for very long, but not because they are a hot commodity and are quickly picked up again, but because they furiously seek the "other" until they are not alone again.

A more accurate and non-judging take:
A S.M. is an individual who sleeps with one person at a time in what seems to be "committed" relationship. Committed is in quotations because the definition of the word varies from one person to the next. To some, it can be based on their attraction to an individual, committing to having sex with only that person until another individual comes along who creates a stronger attraction, and to others, it is based on the situation, having sex with only one person in a relationship until the relationship runs its course, all the while ignoring attraction to anyone else.

While looking for a flick to place with this post, I came across the Blog of Funk. I found the date to be quite an interesting coincidence - not saying that it was written in august and we're in the month of august, but the actual date 8-07-06. This would've come in handy to me at that very moment. I found it quite endearing, maybe you will too.

I would think it's safe to assume that a majority of people today are serial monogamists - both definitions of the term. Most of us will throw ourselves into a relationship and be super about it. Then when it's over, sulk like a motherfucker; usually because of guilt of breaking up or because of being left behind. It happens. But, if we're fortunate enough and we contemplate the issues of the situation, after the mourning period ends, and hindsight 20/20 kicks in, we learn valuable lessons from the experiences. And, in the end, that's the only thing that matters, we learn.



Tuesday, February 26, 2008

-i am so fucking predictable-

so, on a lovely "elevated" drive home tonight, i had an epiphany.

while gliding down wilshire

passing the twinkling lights of the buildings on the boulevard

my past flashed before me.

and it was at that moment i realized,

"oh.my.god.

i have a pattern."

in the silence, his heartbeat was music to me

heavy
strong
determined.

only once was i awake after he had fallen
and was given the opportunity to hear
what he was trying to say.

many times we laid together,
my head to his heart
and i could listen to the proclamations.

but those messages were hidden by heavy beats of nervous apprehension and fear.

apprehension of what we both knew was coming

and fear of not having the ability to cross the finish line when the time came.


this summer, everything became new again.

this summer, i fell.

somewhere.


in love?

maybe.

in like?

for sure.

all i know is that nothing is the same.

i am not the same.

like an military man i will learn to go without what i lost during the passion we call war.


i have come full circle in what i've discovered the lesson that was set for me to learn.

1

2

3.

and i'm done.

the delete button doesn't really work

neither does "trashing" things...even if you empty it securely.

today, while i was sorting through all the data those wonderful tech guys could get back to me i found soooo many pictures and word documents i thought i "deleted". though most of the stuff will remain "deleted", meaning i'm not going to transfer it back onto my hard drive, i found a few things that were bittersweet - the following piece belongs in that category.
i've never shown it to anyone, and i guess i'm still not showing it to "anyone", but i think these words should be set free.



2 writers + 2 methods + 1 dream = infinite amount of mistakes made

and as he tried ever so desperately to paint his name on the walls of her heart

he developed a tunnel vision of love.

high off the aerosol fumes misting into the air, he thought, "if only i could do this, then everything will be good"

but he neglected to see - as those who are blind with passion usually do - his name was already etched

the blood dry from the cut of her knife.

she had already buried him deep within her soul

and carried him around in the pockets of her skin.

but never let him in.

full of frustration and resentment he yelled at her, "we were a fucking fairytale"

she saw the disappointment in his eyes and felt the question mark that would always remain between them

until the end of time

or until it no longer hurt - whichever came first

and as she looked at him,

then through him

his body melted into a blur

she whispered the finals words that would ever be lucky enough to float from her mouth into his ears and said,

"we were".


Oh, how serious i was. :)

08-08-08

infinity.

an interesting day.

today's drive home was HORRIBLE! work was good, but coming back was a major bitch. it was hot. there were so many cars. and i was tired. literally fighting to stay awake - head nods and everything. only a few hours of sleep.

anyway, my mail today made me make a face. there was an envelope with my writing on it and my name as both the recipient and sender info.

i opened it, pulled out a piece of paper and the upper right corner read:
Joanna Munoz*
Speech 150
12-12-98

what?!!

then my memory jumped to that class and remembered how the teacher made us write to our "future" selves.

the first thing it says is:
Hey girl! How you been? Tired, I know.

what?!!

and then it went on to other things.

have i always been this tired? i suppose it's a good thing.
i suppose it's better to be tired from running yourself ragged getting shit done than not having anything to do.

ok, this post has no point.
time for a nap before the activities.

leave me alone.
i'm delirious.

a bottle of wine in...

In genesis, romantic desire was not the target at which I was aiming.
Every day movement was the agenda of the day - like a shark continually moving forward, my stride was swift and quick.
Though nowhere near the end of the telling of the tale, my emotional and physical state has overrun my cerebral ideals to demonstrate that, in fact, I too am not immune to the necessity that runs deep in all of us.