I met a guy. It happened quickly and was a short burst of intense fire. It threatened to send me up in a fireball. And, for one brief moment it seemed like all the things I wanted might come together in one person.
I laughed and smiled all day long. I remembered things he said and the feelings it brought to the surface. He was funny and wildly off the wall. Bright, well-read, sharp and somehow able to see me. The real me. Absolutely wonderful. Sweet and considerate, saying things that made me feel sexy and alive in a energetic, connected sort of way. Almost too good to be true.
It’s funny how the mind sometimes believes what it wants to believe, sees what it wants to see and hears only those things it wants to hear. He is a fascinating man. So why are there tears streaming down my face? Because I got caught up in the possibility, the dream, the whirlwind and the flames… without, just for a few minutes, stopping to be realistic. I cry for the fantasy, the realization of dream vs. reality and all the other stuff. We had decided that the phrase, ‘all the other stuff’ would be an apt phrase to use when trying to answer a question or finish a thought too big to be contained with mere words. You would just pause and then say ‘you know… and all the other stuff’. And, it would be sufficient for the 2 of us to know and understand.
It’s only been a few days. Hours of phone calls and emails and a date that lasted a whole work day. But, the cold hard reality of today. Monday. I can’t do this-the words I used with him. Thankfully he cut me off and insisted on hearing no reasons. I have a whole shitload of reasons. Distance, schedules, unconstrained, almost uncontrolled impulses and fantastical thinking, possible illnesses. One could gamble on living in the moment-enjoying what presents itself in the very moment. Or one can take a wee step back and think about 1 year or 10 years down the road and pause.
I already have one person with certifiable neurological issues, in a nursing home, depending on me. I can’t have another. I can’t handle a possible neurological condition, treated but undiagnosed. I can’t handle a man who, 6 days in, says he loves me. I don’t want to be the one who has to keep things organized, hold down the fort, make the schedules and keep a free spirit, a person with no filter or internal controls, in check.
Finding the right blend of vanilla and chocolate to suit the palate isn’t all that simple. It just isn’t. Being the tough one, taking the right road, saying “No” is hard. I feel like the bitch. I feel empty. And, I feel relieved. And, I feel all alone.
Yes, I was making good choices and looking out for my well-being. Healthy, intentional, me-centered. I did the right thing-so why doesn’t it feel better?
Don’t tell me I did the right thing, or how I’ll feel better later. No platitudes. I’ll be better by the time you’ve read this-though maybe a tad hungover. My suit of armor will be polished and shined. I will have the mask back on and life will continue as always. I know what I ought and should do and where I got caught up. I am looking out for my own interests and doing a pretty damn good job. My intuition works… in balance with practicality.
But, for just a few days, life got a little brighter and shinier.