vendredi, mars 01, 2013

Not going the distance

I've just written a guy in Texas that I don't think we are close enough to have a relationship.

Actually, to be fair to him, he's moving to the Philadelphia area.


It was supposed to happen in February -- but now, que sera, sera.

I guess.

I sure can see myself as the love of his life.

Or the second love.

I'm contacted often by guys who can't even tell me that they are ever going to be living anywhere near Pittsburgh, let alone the lovely city of Philadelphia.

What is distance between two loving hearts, they ask me.

And before you think that I'm just being scammed, let me reassure you that most of the time, I know the difference between the guy in Nigeria (or, come to think of it, Texas) and the guy with the rose-colored glasses.

I can't date guys in Jersey, let alone D.C. (who knew there were so many single men in Jersey?)

It's incredible (at least to me) how much free time a lot of these men have to fill.

Kids gone, most likely.  A number of them have no children.

Dogs they love, but who can't seem to have an intelligent chat over dinner.

(True confessions -- I do talk to my cat. Most of the time, it's pretty clear that he's saying he either wants MORE dinner, wants MY dinner, or wants me to spray water on him, but that's another story).

Many are on the verge of retirement, which may impel the quest for a companion.

And a lot of them are dyed-in-the-wool romantics.

Distance is nothing between two loving hearts.

I can't argue  with them there.

Distance is nothing when I'm on my way, after a long day at my internship, to pick up the boy at school.

Distance is nothing when I reach out to hug my daughter after a bruising argument.

Distance is nothing when I see the "Wallace Township" sign up by the Creek and know I'm almost home, or drive to meet a friend, or reflect on the love that warmed my childhood years.

But time...time is a lot.  As we get older, we have less to squander.

So I'm really careful about who gets my time, and hope that they are equally choosy.

Not because I'm a snob (perhaps I'm a snob, but it's not about Jersey guys).

It's about time -- precious time.

For work.

For the kids.

For fun, when I can cram in a little.

And, of course, for sanity.

Maybe the fact that I consistently choose sanity over romance says something about me.



Or just tired?

You get to choose.

Meanwhile, I've got a novel, a roaring pellet stove, a couch and some hot chocolate.

See ya soon.

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