mercredi, juillet 10, 2013

Doctor, doctor...,.

I'm working on my social life.

But I'm working (or not working) on caring less about a potential love life.

Sunday was a challenging day.  A guy I was going to see on Monday decided to return to the city where he's a consultant before we could actually meet (why we were going to meet in the first place is a long story, involving shared intellectual interests, similar sense of humor and something I can only term "energy.")

I had spent the past few weeks brooding over the volatility of the male gender.

Isn't that a lovely Victorian term? Yes, I knot it is commonly used to describe what female chickens do, but be a little romantic, puhleese.

So I brooded.  I shook my head at ever opportunity (I know, I coulda gotten a bad headache). I even wept a few times.

If I didn't like eating so much, I might have taken to my couch and called for the smelling salts.  I must go out and buy some, but then I'd have to find a housemaid to go with.

The point is, I was way too captivated by this whole mating dance gavotte. I had bought the fantasy that having  a guy around, or at least thinking I wanted a guy around, would solve the rest of  my desires for deeper friendship, meaningful work, helping others, showing up for life in the spirit, or setting a higher bar when it comes to the writer's life.

Even if you aren't trolling for a cute smile and witty banter (maybe you have those living at home rent free), I bet you know what I mean.

Lose that ten pounds, and you'll be a different woman.

Get that raise, and the other guys will invite you fishing more often.

Get into that school and your dad won't keep criticizing you.

Have another baby, and you'll be able to compete for mom of the year with the other preschool parents.

Sunday night I realized that a hot date (while it would be lovely) wouldn't make me whole. I can't control meeting a nice guy crazy enough (or liberated enough) to take me on. But I can do some work on other arenas of my life.

And ya know what?

My pal messaged me today. He's coming back to town soon (I honestly didn't expect to hear from him again).  He wants to see me when he's here.

I think we'll have a good time. And if he cancels again, no skin off my back.

I haven't written him off by any means. In fact, a few hours with a smart, cute cosmopolitan guy may be just what the doctor ordered.

But I think I need a strong prescription -- made of a few items in my own cupboard, and perhaps a couple from yours.

That's the best part of friendship -- being here for one another, helping each other figure out, together, what really matters  And not giving a hoot when a hoot is not what is called for.

Owl right with you?

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