It’s sorta like if a tree falls in the forest and your name comes thundering out of the ground, shaking the birds and the worms and the little critters in the soil, was it there a minute before? Prob’ly not. When did it get there—when the tree fell or in my case, when she felt a little winsome.
My “can’t really care” is also not the “How many fucks I’m not going to give” meme that makes the social media rounds. I’m not propounding rebellion and recognizing my own voice—though I applaud that step in time. I’m not embracing my bad habits, defiantly poised against corporate motherhood telling us to eat our broccoli and go to the gym.
Suddenly, other parts of me required unfolding and oxygen. I had to explore right here inside, even though visas and maps were tricky to come by. “Magnificent” helped me stretch and circulate blood through numbed extremities and circumvented pathways.
When I long to “run away”, it’s not just fear of that special vulnerability –trying to create art and knowing it just might be shit. No, it’s fear of loneliness, pointlessness, a life unwitnessed and unconnected.
Well that was fun. And now I’ll take some time off from dating sites. There’s more to write about. Just remember–our disappointments are better sooner rather than later. Thanks for checking in. Please read around the site and share.
I rarely hear from a guy who lives within 15 miles of me AND posts a picture AND is less than 35 pounds overweight AND I could even start a cup of coffee with. I know, these items wouldn’t seem to form such an insurmountable hurdle, but they do. And then the messages from these fella’s … well maybe they have a different definition of lovely than I do. These guys give clear signs that they haven’t read any part of my profile. At worst they’re evil scammers. At their most innocuous they’re probably drunk and lonely.
My fun is in highlighting annoying, weird, crazy stuff that really happens. (Actually, I’m more focused on routine misses and reveals.) Since I’m almost at the end of my patience for this week, let me just get this off my chest:
I’m trying to think what is the progression of these questions. Let me take a stab at it: 1) Do you like to be scared by fake strange things happening in familiar places? 2) Do you want to try out possibly strange things happening in unfamiliar places (like reality?) 3) Do you want to throw away everything familiar to encounter real danger in real time without a net, while cramped, stinky and covered in sunscreen.
As a serial online dater I’ve learned to recognize the open-mouthed flakiness, announced kinkiness, ferocity, moodiness, unreliability, poor judgment, narcissism and financial disastrophy of prospective dates as gifts to me. Should I be angered by the man with the fun-loving, gentle profile when he happens to call an hour before our appointed coffee date to [...]
She could close every comment, every argument. Last words were her specialty: last words and stage whispers. She could keep a list a mile long. She could drink scotch and laugh with the men. And with the Bitch, I was funny and glib. With her, I had a context, a ‘tude, a style. With the Bitch boa wrapped around my shoulders, nothing could hurt me. My stride was, sexy, witty, and impermeable.