Do you remember your first kiss? I don't mean your first third grade kiss either. I mean the first boyfriend kiss, or girlfriend....whatever. I remember mine. We were sitting on a bench at the mall. I remember how big his tongue felt in my mouth, I remember feeling the butterflies floating all around my body, wondering if I was doing this right....
I was young, and I was in love. My first boyfriend, first kiss, first time.....if you know what I mean.I thought the sun rose and fell with that boy. He was sweet to me. He picked me up from school, we'd hang out on the front porch where Momma could keep an eye on things (well, she tried;). He brought me roses for valentines day, and assured my adolescent, insecure self that I was pretty.
Out of nowhere, he messaged me today. I wasn't even going to blog about this subject today, but the timing of him contacting me couldn't have been more spot on.We caught up. He has a beautiful family and is working, I'm doing well, yes, it's been a long time.We reminisced about our shared past a little....and vowed to stay in touch.
The irony is, I've been trying to deal with the fact that my current boyfriend still stays in contact with his first love. He is going to her wedding in a couple of months even. I know as an intelligent woman that I let my mind go to places that don't even exist. I know I make things up in my own tainted and bruised mind that will never occur. I know that the only thing I DON'T over analyze is how insane I am sometimes.Yet, I do it anyway. It makes me feel insecure to know he just talked to her (he tells me everything, doesn't have a dishonest bone in his body). I feel like he still loves her, even though he says they are only old friends now, nothing more. I feel like she's prettier than me, thinner than me, better educated than I am, and wonder how he could ever love me like he loved her.
Oh, we women. If we aren't comparing ourselves to someone else, we aren't breathing. The truth is, I know he loves me. He shows me everyday. His arms are home to me.I trust him more than I ever would have believed I would be able to trust someone again.His heart is pure gold and his voice is as soothing as warm maple syrup on a winter day. I love him. Truly and completely.
So, if he still talks to pretty-old-friend-who-is-getting-married-that-he-happened-to-once-call-girlfriend.......so what.
We all have pasts. We all have ex's. Most of us have a person from our past that touched our hearts in a way that will be with us as long as we live. The person you're in love with was in love before, with someone else. If they are still friends, let it be. Don't let your own ridiculous internal dialogue cause conflict in your relationship. If you trust and love the person that you are with, do it completely. If you believe they love you, let them.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
An Introduction
It isn't in my nature to be outgoing, the life of the party, or the sexy siren surrounded by hopeful suitors. Being a loner wallflower suits me just fine. I enjoy observing the hustle and bustle of the public around me....absorbing the sounds, sights, and smells of our new earth ( unless I'm on the verge of a panic attack, then, not so much).
Despite the cacophony of thoughts in my mind, getting the words to flow past my teeth and into your ears has always proven difficult for me. When they do, I tend to mumble and let my voice taper off at the last syllable. I hear, "huh?" often.
I enjoy the solitude of my tiny, seventies-style apartment. I can hole up for days without answering the door, the phone, or even peeking through the blinds to see if it's raining or sunny. I'm quite content being my own company - cooking, reading, writing, lounging lazily in the buff, smoking cigarettes in the bathroom beneath the exhaust fan, and watching the clock until it's time to have a glass (or 3) of Wal-mart's finest pinot noir (anytime after noon is good). I regularly check my facebook page to see if he's messaged me yet, google search random queries, and read the dictionary for fun.
This solo time is my fuel.Without it, I don't function well.I feed off of peaceful, quiet, easy existence; when I'm allowed to just be - the me that I can only be when nobody's looking. It is a time of reprieve from the morning ritual of makeup application, a time when no hairspray or bobby pins are needed to contain my bleached blonde 'fro. I dance around in bare feet to the music I love, when no one is there to complain about the volume or ask to play something different.I'm the star of my own show, with an audience of none. Sweet, sweet solitude....how I love thee.
Sometimes, however, you may come across a version of me not apparent in the aforementioned ramblings.This version may be found on an actual stage - belting out a Joan Jett tune, firmly grasping a microphone in one hand and a vodka cranberry in the other. She'll likely be teetering, ever so slightly, atop flaming red stilettos.She oozes confidence like honey - feeling like a supermodel in her chesty, 5' frame. Her enthusiastic appetite for living is contagious and can convince the shiest person in the room to take her hand and hit the dance floor.You may catch a glimpse of her hopping a fence at 2 a.m. to skinny dip at Howard Johnson's. She may insist on traipsing barefoot and inebriated through the woods behind your house to check out an old tree house. She'll flirt with any man, woman, or hermaphrodite who crosses her path, and they'll like it.She has the wanderlust, and may at any moment pack up the necessities in her unreliable sedan, give her furniture away to neighbors, and move to the ocean. You can expect the unexpected with her around.
Am I Bipolar? Maybe, depends on who you ask. Will I take pharmaceuticals to appear more "normal" to you? Never.
I love both of me.
And these are my stories.
Be who you are. Dare to be different.
Peace and love.
Despite the cacophony of thoughts in my mind, getting the words to flow past my teeth and into your ears has always proven difficult for me. When they do, I tend to mumble and let my voice taper off at the last syllable. I hear, "huh?" often.
I enjoy the solitude of my tiny, seventies-style apartment. I can hole up for days without answering the door, the phone, or even peeking through the blinds to see if it's raining or sunny. I'm quite content being my own company - cooking, reading, writing, lounging lazily in the buff, smoking cigarettes in the bathroom beneath the exhaust fan, and watching the clock until it's time to have a glass (or 3) of Wal-mart's finest pinot noir (anytime after noon is good). I regularly check my facebook page to see if he's messaged me yet, google search random queries, and read the dictionary for fun.
This solo time is my fuel.Without it, I don't function well.I feed off of peaceful, quiet, easy existence; when I'm allowed to just be - the me that I can only be when nobody's looking. It is a time of reprieve from the morning ritual of makeup application, a time when no hairspray or bobby pins are needed to contain my bleached blonde 'fro. I dance around in bare feet to the music I love, when no one is there to complain about the volume or ask to play something different.I'm the star of my own show, with an audience of none. Sweet, sweet solitude....how I love thee.
Sometimes, however, you may come across a version of me not apparent in the aforementioned ramblings.This version may be found on an actual stage - belting out a Joan Jett tune, firmly grasping a microphone in one hand and a vodka cranberry in the other. She'll likely be teetering, ever so slightly, atop flaming red stilettos.She oozes confidence like honey - feeling like a supermodel in her chesty, 5' frame. Her enthusiastic appetite for living is contagious and can convince the shiest person in the room to take her hand and hit the dance floor.You may catch a glimpse of her hopping a fence at 2 a.m. to skinny dip at Howard Johnson's. She may insist on traipsing barefoot and inebriated through the woods behind your house to check out an old tree house. She'll flirt with any man, woman, or hermaphrodite who crosses her path, and they'll like it.She has the wanderlust, and may at any moment pack up the necessities in her unreliable sedan, give her furniture away to neighbors, and move to the ocean. You can expect the unexpected with her around.
Am I Bipolar? Maybe, depends on who you ask. Will I take pharmaceuticals to appear more "normal" to you? Never.
I love both of me.
And these are my stories.
Be who you are. Dare to be different.
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