"Lux et veritas."

The person who slept in my bed last night was named Emma. A veritable stranger, she had long since passed out while Lesbian Club members drank beer and played cards till 4 am. Before coming over earlier in the evening, she did a couple of shots for courage and then took a car from South Slope to my place in Lefferts. Her nervousness of not knowing anyone at the party except for me mixed well with the alcohol and soon the decibel of her voice matched the glasses of wine consumed. We encouraged her into bed around 1 am, which seemed easier than getting her into a taxi. Later when everyone was packing to leave and some were opting to crash, Emma seemed drunkenly content with occupying a space in my bed. So being the charitable persona that I am, I crawled into the opposite side, said goodnight to those on the couch and floor, and turned out the lights.

I had met Emma once before at a lesbian bar where she came up to me and knew my name having recognized me from my photo on the Lesbian Club website. She was a long time list member, but had never been to any of the meetings. Being recognized was a strange experience, almost as strange as waking up next to her this morning. She apologized for being so ridiculously drunk and after the people on the couch and floor managed to leave, she stayed behind to have some water and get her bearings.

Funnily enough we talked about crazy lesbians. Since my recent push has been for Single And Sane, I opened up to her about Lawyer Girl, Former Mormon, the red wine incident, and all my past dating travesties. Poor Emma became by confessor and before I knew it I had embarrassingly spent an hour rehashing ALL my relationships. I don't know why I felt compelled to go into lengthy detail, but I did until all the stories seemed to run together, the girlfriends began to sound the same, and Emma had a look in her face that was a mix of fear and bewilderment.

"It's like you OD'd on crazy," she interrupted, "and it's in your head so much that it had to come pouring out."

Realizing that I had spent a good amount of time talking about my dating history, I felt mortified. Maybe I felt that I could open up since we, by way of having shared a bed, we were no longer strangers. And then I realized that in my diatribe on gay insanity I had become one of the crazies.

"You obsess way too much. You're still trying to figure out why Red Wine Girl left the party. It's too negative. You need to let go, man."

Just a little, perhaps. Clearly I must have sounded like crazy dating obsessed woman who Must Be Stopped At Any Cost. I held my head in my hands.

"You know what they say about the harder you look for something the more it is out of reach?"

"Yeah definitely," I said feeling strangely unburdened.

Maybe by confessing everything I can make a real change, I can stop attracting the type of person who thinks it's okay to use a red wine spill as an excuse to flee, and I can be okay with just being single knowing that the less I look for something the more it likely to come to me.

So there you go. Happy Sunday, enjoy the Oscars, and maybe I won't need to join a convent after all. Oh and I lost my glasses on Friday, the very ones that were a replacement for the expensive ones broken last July. It sucks, but then again maybe I can see some things now that I couldn't see with them.