It's time for another haircut

I went out for drinks with C tonight. Afterwards he was flipping through my recent Vanity Fair and started firing off questions from the Proust questionnaire at the back.

I was stumped at the question "What are your favourite qualities in a man?". I had to take a pass and answer some other questions with: "after having an orgasm, drinking a glass of wine, listening to music and reading a good book"; and "depressed"; and "open-mindedness"; and "ego".

It bothered me that I didn't know what my favourite qualities in a man are. And I guess it bothered me because the things I wish that men exhibited are things that they display rather infrequently: sensitivity and understanding.

And yet, when I think about those times when men in my life have exhibited those traits I have been so surprised or thankful or upset or pleased. My father crying when talking about his mother after she died. Reading the ode to my father that my brother wrote that he placed on the fridge up at Lasqueti. Michael's continued acceptance of me after any number of spectacular mental misfires. Big D using the "L" word (and I don't mean "lesbian"). Skyhammer having a heart to heart over coffee with me when I was unemployed and depressed and aimless. Newlywed Guy tearing up on a random street corner downtown when talking about his mother passing away.

I typically go to my mother or my girlfriends when I feel the need for sensitivity and understanding: it is they who dispense it best. It's in our nature. Women are emotional and talkative and empathetic. It is not a sign of weakness for us. Often (more often than is probably considered healthy), I do and say nothing, or perhaps I blog about what ever issue is currently at hand in abstract terms.

And to continue in the vein of the abstract and to not quantify or make clear in any way anything of which I have been blogging about up until now I will say this: that perhaps I am grateful that men are a little closeted and somewhat reserved and possibly withdrawn, because when they do express their sensitive side, and when they do say "I understand" it is immensely more meaningful and comforting to me.

Also. I realize this blog is absolutely nonsensical and that I need to start excercising again because I really haven't since Thursday and clearly I am going insane, and if I don't start pounding the pavement toute suite I'm going to turn into a weeping, angst ridden fourteen year old girl.

Good thing I dropped $190 on some sweet New Balances today.

And that, my friends, is how you skirt depression and get right back to the nitty gritty of running.