“Hey…that guy over there…he’s checking you out…” “Me? How do you know he’s not checking you out?” “Well, he just looks like he’s more your type.” “Uh…okay…why couldn’t he be YOUR type? What is wrong with him that he’s not your type, then, huh?” “Geez…forget it. He wasn’t looking at you. He was probably checking me out.” “Really? Do you think so? Well, is there some reason he wouldn’t have been looking at me? Do you think these are Mom jeans? I look too old, don’t I? Is there toilet paper stuck to my shoe?…”
Why on earth can’t I just be normal? Or, is this what normal is all about? Is neurotic actually normal and everyone just thinks abnormal people are actually neurotic?
I am failing miserably at figuring out how to re-enter the atmosphere of dating. Frankly, it terrifies me. In high school, I had one boyfriend at a time (never “dating” as much as “going together”) and then met my ex-hasbeen at the tender age of 17. I married him at 23 and then, well, the rest is history. After divorce, I spent an entire year alone in my house, just waiting for my children to call saying they wanted to come back home from their Dad’s…and they often did. I dedicated my life to my job (ugh), my children and my pathetic hobby of wallowing in self-pity. This year, although a time of insight into the “supposed to be” of my life, was a pit of hell. It was time to move on.
I then spent two years in an impossible relationship. No big details here but suffice it to say that long distance relationships do not ultimately work when there is no reasonable hope to close the distance. Love does not conquer all. Love is actually depressing when it has no foreseeable future. Meh.
Recently, a friend suggested I meet another friend. Enter the “Facebook Friend Suggestion” and flirty instant messaging. You know, I am much more verbose and witty in typeface than in face to face combat…I mean, conversation. In real life, in emotional situations, I can be rather taciturn. It would appear that the same is true for others sometimes. Actually, no, this guy pulled out all the stops when it came to manners (opening car doors, pulling out chairs), flattery and literary quotes. I was quite stuck between “this cannot be real” and “oh, my goodness…what if this is real?”. Alas, I allowed myself to fall into the slippery slope of the latter belief and then, within three weeks, Romance Man turned into Stalker-Pushy-We-Should-Get-Married guy. No, I’m not kidding…three weeks. Gah!
And so, where does a girl like me find myself now? In the middle of a gargantuan mud puddle of mistrust and disillusionment. Love is not transparent; you cannot tell if it’s real or not, right off. Love is not fair; if you actually find it, it may be impossibly rooted in soil in which you cannot be planted and flourish. Love is not a promise of forever and of rocking in a porch swing with gray hair, holding hands with someone you share grandchildren with. Love is maybe…just not.
And what does a fairy tale believing girl do with all of this information? She puts on her high heels, pins her tiara snugly to her crown of curls, lines & shines her lips then kisses a napkin…and walks right back out into this world looking for the one and only Mr. Right. You see, I refuse to be permanently disenchanted. Someday, my prince will come…goodbye, froggies…
God is in the Outcome 