It’s Saturday morning, dark and rainy outside. It sort of matches my mood. I’ve done a good job staying busy these last days, but, well. You can only stay busy so long, and then when you rest, all the things you were trying to run away from sort of catch up to you. Tricky little gremlins, emotions. They’re always chasing after you. And they never tire or give up. Nope. They don’t stop until you actually FEEL them. It’s disturbing, actually.
I miss Biff. Deeply. And, yes, I know that ending it with him was the right thing to do. There’s no question there, but it’s still hard. We’d reached that point in dating (at nearly five months together) where we were really comfortable. We knew each other’s likes and dislikes. We could sit together and be quiet. There was passion and there was comfort. And, yes, there were lots of troubling things about the relationship. But now it’s quiet here and a little lonely, and I’ve reached that point where it’s harder to remember the bad and easier to remember the good. Still, I’m staying strong on this.
But that comfort level, and the good things, and how it felt to love and be loved even for only a short time….I want that back. I want it again. But I want it with the right person. Actually, Biff could’ve been the right person, but the timing was all wrong.
This is what gets me. That muther fucker Timing. I swear, I have the worst timing ever. EVER. I can name four wonderful men I’ve met and known in my life and it’s all come down to timing. One was just out of a divorce and not ready. One I wasn’t ready for because I had some serious work to do on myself. One was ready but I met him a little too late. He was already dating someone else. And now, with Biff, well, I’m ready but he needs to do some work of his own.
I think I panicked a little last week. I thought, jesus, I want to be in a relationship. I want love. I want a partner. So I immediately signed up for Match.com. It’s all the same. Same faces, same men emailing me who haven’t read my profile. Then I thought “Honestly, do I want to meet any of these people? Now?”
I went out for drinks with a girlfriend and she gently and lovingly said “Uh, Tanya, I think you’re probably not ready yet.” Pause, pause, pause. And then a little more firmly: “Tanya. You are not ready yet.”
I took down my profile. Expensive lesson, but a lesson well-learned. I’m not ready yet. I can’t imagine what I’d talk about with a man and not think of the heaviness my heart is currently under. How can I even hope or expect to open my heart again right now? I can’t. It’s the muther fucker Timing again. I was ready, I opened my heart to Biff, it failed, and now I’m not ready again.
So. What do I do? I mean, I have a life. I focus on my kids and work. My writing. But I can’t stop myself from wanting love. I don’t want to live alone. Some people are okay with that, fulfilled by that, but I never have been. My life has been a series of heartaches and disappointments. I’m not exaggerating here. And I think at 37 I’ve earned a partner. I’ve done the work.
Still, I’m not ready. So. I work. I’m trying to stay connected to people. I’m getting my hair done. I bought new shoes that make me feel feminine and pretty. (Can shoes do that? Sometimes they can.) I’m re-reading familiar books I love. I’m working on that old beast self-esteem…and like Jack Handey did in those old SNL skits, I’m trying to tell myself that I’m good enough, and pretty enough, and by golly people like me. I’m trying to believe it.
I believe that love will happen again, and the next time, the timing will be good for both of us. I have to believe that. I have to. So, I guess I’ll just get ready. I’ll do my hair, I’ll hang out with girlfriends, I’ll get strong. And maybe today, I’ll cry a little bit.
Cut me some slack. It’s Saturday, it’s rainy, and I’m also trying to give up eating frozen cookie dough for comfort. If that’s not enough to make a grown woman cry, well, I don’t know what is.