Aren't sure that you can stick to an exercise program?
Just get up from the table and go outside for a walk.
Eventually, those walks add up.
Worried that you are a procrastinator who can't stick to a schedule? Sit down, my dear, and start working on that project.
Or stand up and find the hammer.
Sick of dealing with men or women who are not the stuff of what good dreams are made of?
Walk on by, babe.
This past week, something in me has changed.
Rhetoric is becoming reality.
I enjoy male attention -- but I've decided that I can have that attention without taking it too seriously.
In other words, without expectations. Without getting my hopes up.
I'm just going to take it for what it is -- the marshmallow in the fluffernutter sandwich.
Sweet -- and eminently forgettable (except when I'm writing about it!).
Unbeknownst to me, my unconscious has been working overtime to come to grips with a few friendships that went south this past year.
I grieved a lot. I don't want to deny it. It's really tough for me to give up on the hope that eventually relationships will be healed.
In cases where I suspect that I've done something wrong, it's actually simpler.
An apology may suffice. Or it may not. But at least, it's worth the effort. I am prone to accept the blame, sometimes too much of the bitter brew.
It gets more complex in cases where the other person is the chief actor, and I have to admit that perhaps she or he wasn't the person I thought they were.
In those cases, distance can start to feel like a relief -- the end of a season of self-delusion.
I'm relieved. After all, if the "other guy" has no regrets, and has gotten on with his or her life, why should I agonize alone? Life isn't a romantic novel.
Her loss.
His loss.
Get off the couch.
Buy those nails.
Shoot, balance your checkbook!
Sometimes the best way forward is to square your shoulders, put on those sneaks, and move on.
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