Benedict Cumberbatch Is My Soulmate (some fun on this cold Monday)

At least that what’s the quiz on Buzzfeed told me.

I suppose I do see the draw. The slightly arrogant British thing he has going on. And those lips… I’m sure he’s a good kisser. And he makes a tailored suit look like it was made to look. Simply perfect.

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But when it comes to foreign actors, there are two others I much more drawn to, although they are quite different from each other.

The first is somewhat expected. Chris Hemsworth anyone? And not just because he looks like the demigod he plays in the Marvel comics films. But the accent, the eyes, the shoulders. And on top of all that… look how he dotes on his expecting wife. Ladies, just soak in the moment and enjoy.

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What other non-American actor to I find myself conjuring on occasion? Eddie Redmayne. There is something so innocently boyish about him that makes me feel much older than him although we are the same age. That and his wide mouth were what made me sit up and take notice the first time I saw him. But it took more than that to draw me in. It may only be in my imagination, but in photographs and in film, there is a depth behind his eyes that speaks of an old soul. One that has been ’round many times and may (as I often feel mine is beginning to do) finally be remembering what it learned in the previous lives it was graced with. Or I could just be a sucker for freckles.

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See what buzzfeed has to say about your non-American actor type here:

I’m Going to Do Naughty Things

“Go on cat,” I heard Nathan mutter to my black furry familiar who insists on sharing our bed, “I’m going to do naughty things to your mommy. She doesn’t know it yet. But I am. So scamper along.”

The cat scampered. Through the fog of morning sleepiness I felt Nathan’s hand on my shoulder, pulling me toward him. His fingers lightly roamed my already naked body. I rolled to my back, exposed.

My eyes still shut against the morning, I let my other senses take over. My legs fell open like the petals of a mature, drunk rose in full sun. If Nathan wanted to take me while I slept, I wouldn’t stop him.

I was more than willing to let him do his naughty things.

Two Years

And now it has been three years. Yes. I still love him. But I think it’s more as a figment… a bit of ether I can hardly see. Two of the white roses he sent me hang withered and dried in my office. A gorgeous bunch of fresh white roses arrived this morning. No. Not from the Australian. I knew they weren’t from him. But from a friend who sent them to show love and support on this day. I won’t lie. As they were set on my desk I started shaking. The mere memory of him causes me to tremble still.

Creative Noodling

It just hit me. Right this moment, two years ago, the Australian was telling me he loved me. After meeting me only just that morning and spending a magical day together.

“I didn’t know it could be like this,” he said as we lay naked discovering each other’s bodies. “How is it I feel this way? How can I love you after less than a day?”

Yes. I can still play back his words in my head. But I went all day not realizing it was my silent anniversary. The day I will forever remember as the day I fell. The day that I wouldn’t ever undo. The day the I lost my jadedness. The day that led to the shattering of my heart. The day.

I might have missed it if someone hadn’t reminded me that Valentine’s Day was fast approaching. Funny thing is, a reader friend asked me…

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My Silent Anniversary

It’s here again. This is what I wrote about this day two years ago. It’s strange reading it. Realizing that it’s not been three full years since… IT… happened.

Creative Noodling

A year ago today I woke an unbeliever. Sure, I believed in love, but I viewed it as the culmination of a series of choices. It was a systematic thing. A person loved because he or she chose to love and that love was based on similar worldviews, attraction, personality and most importantly commitment. The butterflies always fade so, at the end of the day, there must be more than lust and attraction as the ties that bind together a relationship. I thought anything else was an illusion. I lived in a black and white world. There was committed love and passionate lust. I didn’t allow that there might be something else… an other, a gray area where science and reason ceased to exist.

I scoffed at the romantics, the ones who told tales of love at first sight. The idea of “falling” in love was as foreign to…

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It’s February. Again.

February sneaks up on me, and yet doesn’t. I see February coming. I expect the turmoil that will come now. I brace for it. Plan for it. Hoping to minimize its effect. And then I turn around and I’m in it.

I feel guilty for writing in these few moments I’ve found. There are kind, wonderful, heartfelt comments on my last post that I still haven’t responded to. I think of what I want to say back to y’all when I’m driving, the only part of the day lately when I can be alone with my thoughts. And then, when I can be in front of a computer, the words escape me and work pressure crashes in, blocking all else.

But I’m really feeling February tonight. And I need to write. So I hope you understand.

Many years ago I was married. I’ve never revealed that here. But I was. It ended… in February.

My grandfather, my hero, he died suddenly in a tragic accident… in February.

I met, loved and lost Ian, the reason I began blogging… in February.

I had a long drive home in the dark tonight. And, for reasons I choose not to share here, I cried for most of it.

I’m fine. Just… a jumble of feelings. All these Februaries. They add up.