One day someone will come along and either not leave me, or if they do, they will leave me better than they found me.
Today is not that day.
I think I am starting to accept my lot in life, and it’s alright.
A year and a day after Young Un (the first) showed up in my inbox being all adorable and insistent, what should my wandering eyes should appear? Another Young Un. Two point oh my god. That can’t be right.
It’s right. He appears to be carved out of granite, rather stunning.
I have a pillow on my bed, it says “leave room in your heart for the unimaginable”.
Truth be told, the pillow freaks me out. Reminds me of a quote from ‘Salem’s Lot, ‘it became unspeakable’.
Have we met? Nothing is unspeakable.
This is how my brain functions, overlaying wires firing odd synapses.
I am waiting for someone to say ‘are you out of your fucking mind?’
Wait for it.
I rolled into work feeling like 50 shades of shit, wearing 3 shades of grey. Wonder Woman underoos and a tank top covering a rather sporty looking bra. I was not feeling sporty. I have cried enough this week to bring forth gardens in the Sahara and scratch my eyeball, forcing spectacles. That odd phrase was playing in my head, boys don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses, but do women who wear glasses make passes at men? Again, welcome to the cabinet of curiosities that is my inner dialog.
I was shower fresh, including my hair which was using the humidity to become extra-large. A laundry mishap had forced bare legs and Cinderella’s clear plastic stilettos. As a result I felt more exposed than usual.
It was really just one of those days, everything about it was more than usual. The air was carrying that charged feeling, like before a storm. Movements felt like compulsions. Gentle pushes and static charges.
I had a chat with the universe the night before, watching the bats in the pink glow of the sunset, puffs of body temperature breezes tickling my bare skin. I lost 10 weeks last summer to sadness.
I kicked myself in September and during the deep freezes of winter. This is the only life I have, and these times when the air doesn’t hurt my face are precious. I won’t squander it.
I decided this.
Giving up implies force. Giving in is surrender. I gave in. Can’t be helped.
I didn’t tell him about this blog, I didn’t mention moving away. I don’t have another lover to accommodate, I didn’t go through a giant list of rules and disclaimers. He knows how old I am and what I look like naked.
He asked me out and I said yes.
I know this is temporary and it’s wrong to seek anything that feels otherwise.
He is 23.
I have given up ever feeling normal.
I just want to feel wanted.
All I asked was that he be nice to me.
I got this.