mercredi, septembre 28, 2011

A grown-up in the 'love game' - I hate it.

He sat across from me in the restaurant as we lingered over tea.
He liked what he saw. He wants to see me again.
I looked just as he'd imagined me.
What did I want? he asked me.
That's the tough part.
I genuinely am not trying to collect male "scalps" for a collection to make myself feel good -- but neither can I imagine a relationship right now.
I'd like to imagine a relationship.
I'd like to stop thinking so much -- it's so paralyzing.
Being a grown-up is no fun.
I'd love to hurl myself into the oblivion of a crush. I'd love a sabbatical on endless analysis, scruples, and trying to do the right thing by everyone.
But the fact is, I'm not constructed for such delights.
A few days ago, I had a lunch date scheduled -- and then the nurse at Mr. C's school called. He'd broken out in hives.
He's still got the hives -- possibly stress related, but possibly not. I still have to find an allergist.
I wouldn't know "Mr. Right" if he walked up the driveway.
"Yes" almost always loses to "maybe" -- another polite evasion for "no."
I am haunted by the sense that I'm trying to adjust my sentimental heart to suit the reality of the men who appear in front of me.
I wish I could love more easily.
Someday perhaps I'll be able to form my lips around "yes" and mean it.
Perhaps there are mysteries yet to be explored, someone to pull me out of my meta-funk, and into the waltz.
Enough with the speculation...there are doctors to call, statistics to study, articles to write, and dreams to defer -again.

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