“Good morning! It’s time to go to Paris!”
And in that moment I realized my own words.
I had been so busy with these last few weeks of work I really hadn’t considered the reality of going back again. So soon. And that day was today.
I met someone. But like all things, it didn’t last. The vicious cycle of “hating men” or loathing myself seems to never end. I started off this week with my defenses high and disappointment seeping through my skin. I cried myself to sleep that night and felt the anger of rejection propel me the next morning. I kicked myself for letting someone so quickly “in” and chided myself for being so naïve to take people at face value.
Words are so easy. Action is not.
He said he would be there. He didn’t show. He said he would call me. He didn’t. no text back. Madness.
So here is my mourning. So that I may move on, accept it for what it’s not. Enjoy it for what it was.
A reprieve? A mixed tape. An extra skip to my step for a few days. A smile on my pillow as my eyes fell. Someone holding my hand and sharing a laugh. A mirror reflecting heartaches and the understanding of the journey we have both traveled. A man, and not a boy. It was peaceful and drama free. Unplanned and unexpected. I was wrought with terror the last few days as the realization of what it was starting to be. I pushed back. I may have pushed too hard. But my decisions are mine, and his are his. I choose to act the way I do. He chooses the same. And so we are left with the results of our choices. I of course made too many. He, not enough?
Life is funny.
That said, I hate dating.
Texts from Frankie the same week prove that I made the right decision. Not that I ever doubted. I have my moments where I just want to quit and be swooped. Isn’t that what Disney always taught us? Prince on a horse looking for his maiden waiting for him to wisk her away.
Not me, I’m not waiting for anything. I feel I will be a rotting corpse before I see a man on horseback coming to take me home to live happily ever after. Anyway, I’m doing that for myself, thank you very much.
31 is looking fine.
I’ve become a running fiend and get up at 6am to watch the sunrise as I pound the pavement.
My days are filled with meetings, friend dates, emails I can’t keep up with and projects that never end. I feel alive, happy and free. With the exception of overwhelming projects that need wrapped up and moments of rejection and loneliness, I know that these are the days of my life and I relish them.
I am paris bound, then off to the south of france and then to munich and landing in paris again. This is my last time in Europe for the next 6 months and it seems unbearable to think of. On that flip side I have to decide what the trajectory of the next 6 months will be. Will I continue to pursue Paris? Will I “settle” in a home of my own or go for a simplified gypsy quarter. No real decision can be made as f right now. Only time can press these things.
I made plans for a trip to the south west this fall. A roadtrip I’ve been dreaming of for a year. I can almost taste it.
I’m considering housing options. I’m considering car options. I don’t want any of it. I want all of it. Are we ever satiated? Shit.
I want someone to be my anchor. I want to be free as a bird. I crave my independence. I desire to belong to someone. – It makes the day hard to plan.
