First

There comes a time, in a short life

Turn it around, get a rewrite

Call it a dark, night of the soul

Ticking of clocks, gravity’s pull

First you get close, then you get worried

– Cold War Kids

 

It’s Saturday night.

And I have two dates.

One’s rather tall. He has long blonde hair, a cheerful disposition, and dark brown eyes. He’s a good listener. He’s the kind of boy you would imagine to be the quarterback of a winning football team. He is handsome, and sweet, and affectionate.

My other date is the complete opposite. He’s sorta short, dark hair, honey-colored eyes, and loves to hear himself talk. Everything is all about him – where he wants to go and what he wants to do. He is the kind of guy that calls, gives you a time to be ready by, picks you up, takes you to a restaurant, and orders for you. But his assertiveness doesn’t turn you off… you almost find it comforting.

I like them both.

It’s just too bad dogs aren’t allowed in the sushi joint with me.

So, I ate dinner alone. Miso soup and some sort of shrimp roll. Since I was already out, I dropped by WalMart after I finished eating. Now, I’m sitting on our deck, in my night gown, Bioré strip on my nose, drinking a Diet Ginger Ale, and writing. The boys – my dates – are laying on the floor at the sliding glass door waiting for my next move.

I have been in California for a month.

My life is rather boring. I mostly spend my days walking dogs, and napping, and looking for jobs, and eating, and pooling, and watching a lot of TV. I try not to leave the house too much, because every time I do, I come home with a new pair of yoga pants. Or a tank top. Or a pack of pre-mixed cookie dough. I FaceTime with Bubba and Mace at least every other day and talk to Momma in between.

Last week, I went to the movies by myself. I saw Furious 7 (RIP Paul Walker). After the movie, I walked around Target and the mall for a few hours. It was a nice day. Actually, it was a great day. I found a pair of jeans in Express I loved. They were two sizes smaller than what I have been wearing but I decided to try them on anyway. I could barely contain my excitement when… they fit. I jumped up and down in the dressing room. I danced. My cheeks hurt from grinning so big. I asked the sales associate if there were any others left in my new size. I was going to buy them all. Luckily, she said there weren’t any more. Whatevs. I was skinny now and I was sure there would be more shipments of my new skinny pants next week. I grabbed a sandwich on the way home. “Will my new non-existent waist make my boobs look even bigger?” I wondered. I sure hoped so.

A few days later, I mentioned to a couple of people I had treated myself to a movie – alone. “Wow,” someone commented,  “That’s pretty ballsy.”

Humm.

Was it?

That comment stuck with me throughout the evening.

Was I ballsy? I mean, it was just a matinee. And I feel like, in the grand scheme of things, going to a movie alone is kinda low on my “ballsy”-ness scale. But who knows, maybe it is. Maybe to some people, me walking into a theater alone makes me ballsy.

I eat alone too.

Like, at restaurants.

And not at the bar either. I actually sit at a table, by myself, and order food. Sometimes, the waiter will ask, “Just one?” and then I’ll have to say, “Yes, just one.”

I know, weird.

But life’s like that, you know. Sometimes you are “just one.” Sometimes you want to see a movie, or go to the mall, or eat a fucking meal alone. And sometimes, you move thousands of miles away just to be able to do all those things without having to worry with who you might run into.

My life here is so much less complicated.

I rarely wear eyeliner or a bra. I don’t get sick from stress. I read a lot. My headaches are basically a non-issue now. Well, unless I drank too much the night before. I spend most of my time with dogs. And you know what, I actually feel kind of normal again…

There is not this manic presence filling my being anymore. I don’t have a constant need to be occupied, or distracted, or entertained. I am not obligated to plaster a smile on my face – to keep up a certain appearance – and face the world everyday. There is no competition and no censorship here. I don’t have to worry with who is going where when and if I want to avoid the drama. I am not the planner, or organizer, or “Mother Goose” out in California. I am not full of anxiety. My heart is not burdened with depression. And my body is not weary with exhaustion.

I can collect my thoughts here. My head is clear. I am optimistic. I know exactly what I want and what I’m okay without. I take things day-by-day.

And today, I want things to stay just the way they are. Don’t get me wrong, a job would be a welcomed change. But everything else, can stay put for now… especially my relationship status.

Much to my little sister’s disappointment, I enjoy being alone. I don’t mind eating by myself or spending a Saturday night in with the dogs. And contrary to popular belief, I don’t spend my days wallowing in self-pity, and then crying myself to sleep. I can manage without constant companionship. I am comfortable and confident enough with myself to be “just one.”

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Besides, I just spent ten years loosing myself in a relationship with the wrong person. Can’t I just be for a bit? You know, get my shit back together and whatnot. Collect myself. Maybe get my who-ha waxed, for Christ’s sake?

And for the record, it’s not like the boys aren’t tryin’ to come ’round the yard.

I’m just not having it.

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But that’s another blog, for another time…

 

 

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