Twinkie, Twinkie, Little Star

I've read the books. I'm watched the TV shows. I've processed the rare documentary. And yet, I can still say without question that I'm NOT one of those people who claim that love has no boundaries and that being poly is “natural.” For me, poly is about as natural as the existence of a Twinkie. (And if we're debating shelf-life here, I'd say the Twinkie wins by a long shot.)

Living out of a suitcase isn't natural. Remembering who you're fighting with during an argument isn't natural. Booking a vacation for 3 people isn't natural. Planning out each week and weekend so that everybody gets a piece isn't natural. And cock-hopping, fun as it may be, isn't really natural either.

My therapist told me once that I have probably the worst combination of personality traits for this type of life. I'm neurotic, insecure, codependent, suspicious, easily overwhelmed and have more abandonment issues than a red-headed adopted kid. If you wiki “Inappropriate for Poly”, you'll probably find my picture, street address, list of local haunts and favorite color for the sole purpose of avoiding me. I'm bad at managing stress, I cry easily and inexplicably, I feel left out of events that I've been invited to and choose not to attend. So, what the fuck am I doing here? That's a really good question.

I like the idea of poly. And I am unfailingly practical. As much as the 5- year-old princess inside of me wants to subscribe to the idea of “The One”, my 30-something-year-old self knows pragmatically that this isn't real life. And the people who think it is end up on Dr. Phil or Swift Justice with Nancy Grace. “He told me I was his everything. So of course I did bookkeeping for his meth lab and co-signed on a car loan. We were going to be together for-ev-er!”

The problem is that my practicality and abandonment issues regularly duke it out in the somewhat neutral space between my head and my heart. (My clavicle is starting to get irritated but is so far being patient.) It often resembles a Mexican stand-off until one of them gets annoyed and goes for a beer run.

I wish reconciling these things weren't such a struggle. It really throws a wrench into my containered-organized-labeled life. I'd love to send them each to their corners to “think about what they've done” but we're well past that. So, for now, I do my best to keep everything afloat, somewhat organized, marginally contained and make sure there are plenty of drop cloths.