No luck
I started writing this whole life story of the women thing in the hope that it would give me material to write my creative pieces from. But so far, all it's caused me to do is dredge up things. It's kinda strange now that I think about it. I don't know if I'd classify myself with the cliche "afraid of commitment" but I'll admit that I'm not big on it at this point in my life. I feel like I would be irresponsible to make commitments without first knowing what I'm looking for and what is out there. I will commit if I ever really do believe I've found someone who can make me happy.
Meanwhile, I keep finding myself questioning and doubting the women I didn't commit to. I question if I did the right things. I doubt my own ability to find someone as good as they were to me. And yet, when I left them, I felt confident that they could not bring me joy in life. Do I now have a different opinion of them? A different definition of joy? Or have I become cynical and given up on joy? Maybe my idea of joy is far-fetched... unlikely... maybe even impossible? Have I realized this and decided to go back and 'take what I can get' Are you reading this?
I'm going out of town this weekend. I'll be seeing Emily. We're going to go out for drinks, assuming she's not still sick (or at least not sick enough to prevent a visit). For once - for the first time since our first kiss - I'm going to go into this with the notion to let the cards fall where they may. I can't let this bother me anymore. And maybe it won't even come up and nothing will be any different on Monday. Or maybe we'll talk and come to a conclusion that we're done with this game. Or maybe something will happen. Either way, this time, I'm going to allow fate to weave it's fucked up little cloth. Whatever direction it goes, I'm not going to make any attempts to take the wheel - or even give directions.
Meanwhile, I keep finding myself questioning and doubting the women I didn't commit to. I question if I did the right things. I doubt my own ability to find someone as good as they were to me. And yet, when I left them, I felt confident that they could not bring me joy in life. Do I now have a different opinion of them? A different definition of joy? Or have I become cynical and given up on joy? Maybe my idea of joy is far-fetched... unlikely... maybe even impossible? Have I realized this and decided to go back and 'take what I can get' Are you reading this?
I'm going out of town this weekend. I'll be seeing Emily. We're going to go out for drinks, assuming she's not still sick (or at least not sick enough to prevent a visit). For once - for the first time since our first kiss - I'm going to go into this with the notion to let the cards fall where they may. I can't let this bother me anymore. And maybe it won't even come up and nothing will be any different on Monday. Or maybe we'll talk and come to a conclusion that we're done with this game. Or maybe something will happen. Either way, this time, I'm going to allow fate to weave it's fucked up little cloth. Whatever direction it goes, I'm not going to make any attempts to take the wheel - or even give directions.