Old conversations, new conversations, repetitive conversations, girlie conversations….
I came across an article this week on working out and pooping your pants. I tagged Miss T in it. It reminded me of the “I think I sh%t my pants” post. She was excited to learn this writing thing was back under way.
I’m going to do my best in the future to let my funny girl come across here more often. She’s more representative of everyday Kaykay. Writing the poopy pants blog was fun.
I reflect on conversations I had with Miss T. Many conversations… The one that prompted He’s just not… I reflect on that conversation and what we thought may be a man stringing her along, “playing” her for lack of a nicer word. He was distant, inconsistent in his messaging, seemingly unavailable… I think they are now three years into a very real relationship. She did not give up but she did not try to sell herself either. She did persevere and believe. I think this situation is the exception to what is mostly the rule.
Distance, confusion, it’s not you it’s me, you deserve better. Most of the time those mean exactly what they mean. I’m not into you, I care but I don’t care enough to be the more you need. But you fill the silence with something I need – comfort.
We know this truth and yet sometimes depending on where we are in loving ourselves, we try to find the exception to the truth. We bend it, we invent it and we make wishes. We wish that our situation is the exception to the rule like Miss T and Mr. S. After all, we are worth it. He will wake up soon and realize it. He will find the answers and provide clarity. Sometimes we have to define what the truth is because the other person just doesn’t have the strength to do so.
Then there are rides in a pick up truck to work, a coffee and the texts that keep coming. And we bend the truth again because just maybe there’s something more there…I don’t really have anything to lose right now, in entertaining the though that “just maybe”… I’m not saying I’m in love… After four months of being immersed in someone, regardless of how it began, you can’t help but catch feels of some sort…you care. 120 days of someone that’s a lot of days. 1/3 of a year…
“I care immensely” Rum conversations? I don’t know…
I have conversations with myself where I recognize that I don’t even know what I want. I’m not really asking for things to change that significantly. Just tell me it’s more than what it started as and still to be defined. I think about my past and I question myself. Shake my head at my choices for the millionth time. I know for certain that I will not move in with anyone for many years. When I find them and hopefully they’re close by, it’s separate houses. I don’t see a need for any other situation and I will not do that to my children again. Sleepovers will suffice. No reason you can’t just simply take turns hosting family dinners or whatever. It’s workable. Random thoughts as I heal and try to make sure my head is on straight in this love stuff.
I miss kissing and snuggling. Sometimes I hope for the invitation but it doesn’t come. I’m not offended by it, I actually think it is coming from a respectful place. I think I’ve met a good guy for once… It’s hard. I don’t know what to think. I don’t get much help towards clarity. I’m still not sure what I’m going to do about it.
Text conversations roll in from a girlfriend not unlike me, finding her way through this 40 and single thing. She sends me memes and we giggle about the absurdity of it all.
The heart and the cheese grater is one I received. Here are a few more we’ve giggled about:
What can you do? Sometimes you just have to laugh. You just have to at least pretend you’re an edgy, bad ass who gives zero Fs about it all for a moment, even though the truth is you think too much and care too much. The two things that with all the right people in your life, make you one amazing human being.
Last night I had a conversation with a realtor. It’s time to put the dream home on the market. She is no stranger to my situation. She reassured me that she knows how much it sucks. At one point, she raises her hands up like she’s going to shout and silently yells F#ck. I know that’s how you’re feeling but I promise we are going to make this fun and as stress free as possible. Let’s just hope it’s like tearing off a bandaid. One final step out of this awful mess.
Conversations about poetry continue. Twins, you will never be allowed to help one and not the other. So, I write another metaphor poem, this time about laughter.
Laughter is the soul’s medicine.
It is an epipen for sadness.
Providing some instant relief for what has made us sad.
A good laugh cures stress.
Reminding us not to sweat the small things.
Laughter is a cure for boredom.
Once it starts, it is sometimes hard to stop.
Laughter is a medicine that no one would refuse.
There is no prescription required.
Laughs have no cost.
Laughs are a virus.
Contagious beyond belief.
Laugh until you cry.
Laugh without knowing why.
Laugh and your soul will find relief.
Twin 2, reminds me of the limerick I also came up with, she’s choosing to include it in the compilation she’s handing in to be marked.
There once was a girl named Cricket.
She used to pick her nose and flick it.
One day she met Naulty, he told her snot was salty.
Now she picks it and licks it.
What can I say? I’ve passed grade 8. This is all I’ve got late in the evening.
Texts have quieted for the evening, I wonder what fills the silent gaps… I think too much….