There is nothing like a good dance. Last night I had four great dances.
The scene: A brand new night spot in Buckhead called Havana Club. The premise: Opening weekend, free drinks before 11. Salseros invited by two of the top dance teachers in Atlanta.
The reality: crowded! So, when a dance floor is crowded, it's more important than ever to dance small. And controlled. Some guys may be good dancers, but don't know how to rein it in. But in a crowd like that, you have no choice.
My two favorite dances of the night: Merengue and a salsa with a Puerto Rican dance instructor. He's the dance teacher the teachers learn from. He knew exactly how to dance in the crowd and still express himself -- and he never ran me into anyone else. We had three songs of bliss in the middle of all those sardines.
The other dance? Salsa with my good friend who dances On 2 (basically Mambo). About our third dance, we hit our stride. We danced in a slot right next to tables and other dancers and never hit anything. We had a really good dance connection. We were stopped afterwards to ask if we were teachers. Now that's salsa satisfaction.
Also had a great merengue with a salsero -- he's a merengue expert somehow. It's always fun dancing a goofy merengue after serious salsa. Also had a great salsa with a guy who normally tosses me around a bit much but was able to make smaller movements in this setting, which made for a much better dance. He has great rhythm and moves, and I like dancing with him in general, but this was much better.
It was hot and crowded, but so awesome. Nothing makes a girl happy like wearing a new dress, going to the "it" club, and dancing nonstop. Feet don't fail me now!
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Monday, January 25, 2010
My sweet new obligation
I think I am happy.
It came over me very gradually, starting last Thursday when the big D was final. I think I woke up this morning and really felt it. It was this slow, building understanding, like watching the dawn arrive on tip toes. A voice in my head whispering: I am my own woman. I make my own decisions. No one expects anything of me or is relying on me to do anything. I feel it from my head to my heels. A freedom in my body, my mind, my heart, my soul.
I am free.
I have my friends -- but those obligations are so sweet and voluntary and usually fun. I have my family -- but obligations in my family are so few, so rare, and even then, done out of love. I have my job -- but those obligations are my vocation, my passion.
Other than that, I have only myself. My new, sweet obligation: "To thine own self be true." I don't even have pets or plants to distract me from that mission. I am truly my own woman. Free to do ANYTHING and EVERYTHING I ever desired.
With this freedom came a calm. I found out my ex has a girlfriend of a few months -- 15 years younger than him and in another city. I felt so calm about that, and actually relieved and happy for him (I was definitely not upset which surprised even me). I heard from Schmucky Mojo Married Guy. Fine. I can hear from him. Suit yourself. You're still married so what do I care? I heard from very-shy-and-sweet-but-it's-complicated salsa guy. Awww. Gosh. I heard from now-separated-and-maybe-we'll-get-together-when-he-comes-to-town-or-maybe-we-should-meet-in-Miami guy? That sounds right up my alley. He's taking salsa lessons! Yum. I heard from hot-overseas-and-a-bit-horny-but-can't-wait-to-see-you guy. And he's coming to town soon. Oh yes he is. Can't wait for that. Then young Jewish politico wrote and proposed a meet-up. And why not?
It's all sweet. Cool. Nice. And me? Calm. These are a cornucopia of choices. But I am free to choose all of them or none of them or one of them. I am just drinking from a fountain of freedom. And you know what? So are they. They have no obligations either --I am only obliged to honor what feels good and is fun for me and therefore ensures my partner-in-crime is having fun too.
Now that feels so goooooooooooooooood.
So what do I desire? Hmmmmm..... I'll get back to you on that. But I will say, my freedom to choose means the sky is the limit. Watch out birds, here I come.
It came over me very gradually, starting last Thursday when the big D was final. I think I woke up this morning and really felt it. It was this slow, building understanding, like watching the dawn arrive on tip toes. A voice in my head whispering: I am my own woman. I make my own decisions. No one expects anything of me or is relying on me to do anything. I feel it from my head to my heels. A freedom in my body, my mind, my heart, my soul.
I am free.
I have my friends -- but those obligations are so sweet and voluntary and usually fun. I have my family -- but obligations in my family are so few, so rare, and even then, done out of love. I have my job -- but those obligations are my vocation, my passion.
Other than that, I have only myself. My new, sweet obligation: "To thine own self be true." I don't even have pets or plants to distract me from that mission. I am truly my own woman. Free to do ANYTHING and EVERYTHING I ever desired.
With this freedom came a calm. I found out my ex has a girlfriend of a few months -- 15 years younger than him and in another city. I felt so calm about that, and actually relieved and happy for him (I was definitely not upset which surprised even me). I heard from Schmucky Mojo Married Guy. Fine. I can hear from him. Suit yourself. You're still married so what do I care? I heard from very-shy-and-sweet-but-it's-complicated salsa guy. Awww. Gosh. I heard from now-separated-and-maybe-we'll-get-together-when-he-comes-to-town-or-maybe-we-should-meet-in-Miami guy? That sounds right up my alley. He's taking salsa lessons! Yum. I heard from hot-overseas-and-a-bit-horny-but-can't-wait-to-see-you guy. And he's coming to town soon. Oh yes he is. Can't wait for that. Then young Jewish politico wrote and proposed a meet-up. And why not?
It's all sweet. Cool. Nice. And me? Calm. These are a cornucopia of choices. But I am free to choose all of them or none of them or one of them. I am just drinking from a fountain of freedom. And you know what? So are they. They have no obligations either --I am only obliged to honor what feels good and is fun for me and therefore ensures my partner-in-crime is having fun too.
Now that feels so goooooooooooooooood.
So what do I desire? Hmmmmm..... I'll get back to you on that. But I will say, my freedom to choose means the sky is the limit. Watch out birds, here I come.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
My last ex-husband post?
So, the divorce was final last week. The night before, my ex came over to my place. We had beer and snacks, and talked for about two hours. We had one of those, "So what did we learn?" talks. What did we learn from 10 years of marriage? About each other? About ourselves? Relationships? Happiness? Unhappiness?
This is what I would definitely call a "closure talk." We each discussed things we did wrong, could have done better, did right. What we miss about each other. What we don't. Why it didn't work out. How sad it is that we are split up. The thing that struck me the most was how much he had to say to me. He was overflowing with things to talk about, from his family and job to current events. It was like he had saved up these things since the last time we talked. When I asked him what he missed most about me, he said it was our conversation. That was quite obvious by the end of the night.
But in two hours, I was tired, we were talked out. When we said goodbye, we hugged and we both cried. But it wasn't a longing, or feeling that we would try to reconcile. It was just a goodbye. A final goodbye to our marriage.
Now, a few days later, I feel the finality. I am not linked to him anymore. We don't have keys to each other's places. His house -- what had been "our house" -- is no longer mine. I have no claim to it, to him. I will shed his last name. Most tangible traces of the last 10 years, erased.
I talked to a buddy of mine who is also separating from his wife after 10 years. They have two little kids. He said it feels like he's Rip Van Winkle -- waking up after a long sleep, and now he's back where he left off when he was 27.
In a way, I agree, But the truth is, I am a better person for having known my husband and been married to him. He changed me, mostly for the better. I hope maybe I changed him for the better. I feel like I know what I did poorly and can improve on for next time. I hope he learned something too.
So, I decided I won't look at it like a lost decade. Instead, I get to find and be myself again. I don't have to censor my gregariousness, control my passion for salsa or not see my friends that he didn't like. I had married an introvert -- I have decided to only date extroverts, and so far, that's been a lot more fun for me. Sometimes, I see through these extroverts, however, why my husband would get annoyed at me. But it's nice not to be relied on to be the life of the party all by myself. And I am stronger now than ever before. A lot of things that used to bother me seem so insignificant now. If I have my health, my home, my job and my friends, all is right with the world. Some good sex now and then helps too.
So goodbye to my ex. Hello to the next. Keep calm, carry on. And all that jazz.
This is what I would definitely call a "closure talk." We each discussed things we did wrong, could have done better, did right. What we miss about each other. What we don't. Why it didn't work out. How sad it is that we are split up. The thing that struck me the most was how much he had to say to me. He was overflowing with things to talk about, from his family and job to current events. It was like he had saved up these things since the last time we talked. When I asked him what he missed most about me, he said it was our conversation. That was quite obvious by the end of the night.
But in two hours, I was tired, we were talked out. When we said goodbye, we hugged and we both cried. But it wasn't a longing, or feeling that we would try to reconcile. It was just a goodbye. A final goodbye to our marriage.
Now, a few days later, I feel the finality. I am not linked to him anymore. We don't have keys to each other's places. His house -- what had been "our house" -- is no longer mine. I have no claim to it, to him. I will shed his last name. Most tangible traces of the last 10 years, erased.
I talked to a buddy of mine who is also separating from his wife after 10 years. They have two little kids. He said it feels like he's Rip Van Winkle -- waking up after a long sleep, and now he's back where he left off when he was 27.
In a way, I agree, But the truth is, I am a better person for having known my husband and been married to him. He changed me, mostly for the better. I hope maybe I changed him for the better. I feel like I know what I did poorly and can improve on for next time. I hope he learned something too.
So, I decided I won't look at it like a lost decade. Instead, I get to find and be myself again. I don't have to censor my gregariousness, control my passion for salsa or not see my friends that he didn't like. I had married an introvert -- I have decided to only date extroverts, and so far, that's been a lot more fun for me. Sometimes, I see through these extroverts, however, why my husband would get annoyed at me. But it's nice not to be relied on to be the life of the party all by myself. And I am stronger now than ever before. A lot of things that used to bother me seem so insignificant now. If I have my health, my home, my job and my friends, all is right with the world. Some good sex now and then helps too.
So goodbye to my ex. Hello to the next. Keep calm, carry on. And all that jazz.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Too close for comfort
I went dancing tonight at Opera, a night club in Atlanta.
You know, when you go to a night club, it's not like you're expecting to find "someone." It's kind of a free thing, where you dance, see who comes up, maybe you dance with that person, maybe not...
Well, here's what happened. Guys would come up to me and my friend, stand behind us and rub their already hard cocks into our backs. One guy even grabbed my hand and put it on his penis, which was hard. What, what? Really? He didn't even know my name. Not cool, horny dude. We ended up calling the whole night, "Dick in the back."
Even when we ran interference for each other, there was a lot of insisting from the guys. There was one guy who was like Velcro -- we couldn't shake him.
The guys were RIDICULOUS. A lot of Indian/Pakistani looking fellows (the most bold, by the way). A few gringos. A lot of African-Americans. In my opinion, not a lot of quality in any demographic.
We had fun, until "hand-on-the-cock" guy. My friend said, "I'm here to save you." I said, "Save me!" so we fled to the salsa room, where the guys were less aggressive. Now that's turning logic on its head. Oops. Bad pun. Anyway...
Lesson? Men who go to Opera have never heard of Maria Callas or Luciano Pavarotti.
You know, when you go to a night club, it's not like you're expecting to find "someone." It's kind of a free thing, where you dance, see who comes up, maybe you dance with that person, maybe not...
Well, here's what happened. Guys would come up to me and my friend, stand behind us and rub their already hard cocks into our backs. One guy even grabbed my hand and put it on his penis, which was hard. What, what? Really? He didn't even know my name. Not cool, horny dude. We ended up calling the whole night, "Dick in the back."
Even when we ran interference for each other, there was a lot of insisting from the guys. There was one guy who was like Velcro -- we couldn't shake him.
The guys were RIDICULOUS. A lot of Indian/Pakistani looking fellows (the most bold, by the way). A few gringos. A lot of African-Americans. In my opinion, not a lot of quality in any demographic.
We had fun, until "hand-on-the-cock" guy. My friend said, "I'm here to save you." I said, "Save me!" so we fled to the salsa room, where the guys were less aggressive. Now that's turning logic on its head. Oops. Bad pun. Anyway...
Lesson? Men who go to Opera have never heard of Maria Callas or Luciano Pavarotti.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Final count down
So, my divorce will be final next Thursday. A few select girlz will be on hand for wine and moral support. I have a taxi service on speed dial. My boss is on notice that I might not come into work the next day. Enough said.
But it's not enough said. This is not a celebration. I'd call it a mile marker. Not good, not bad. Just a place you pass through to get to the next place.
How I feel about it? I guess I'd rather not feel about it. If I stop and think and feel and process and grieve. it physically hurts like hell. My heart, silly heart, is broken. If I don't stop, but stay in perpetual motion, then I don't feel anything. I keep my eyes dry. But it's also like some perpetually awake crack addict that needs to sleep but can't.
Instead, I blog. I blog, therefore I am. I blog, therefore I can express exactly what I feel. I loved my husband and wanted to make it work. It didn't work. That failure bites. I am not used to failure. That sounds ice cold bitchy. The truth is, I love that man and didn't want to lose him, and I didn't want what was once "us" to disappear. We had long ceased to be the "us" I idolized, but I still wanted it to work out. For the sake of "us." Because it was "us" God damn it! "We" were special. "We" were irrefutable. "We" were that once-in-a-lifetime love affair. Were we really? I don't know. But I had believed we were for so long, it became hard to not believe it.
So, I feel sad and alone. I can say he was my best friend for 10 years. Old reliable, really.
I fill my time now with new friends and experiences. Not better, just different. What do I look for? Well, I'm still on the hunt for Mr. Lusty. Mr. Poet? Clearly too ridiculous to be true. Mr. Traveling Businessman Dude? Not making the cut. Will Mr. Right be out there? Is that what I want? Truly, I wouldn't get involved with me if I were all y'all. A girl needs some time to get her head together. But I'd definitely have fun with me. A girl could use a little fun after a 10-year-unsuccessful slog that became a passion-free zone. So, I would say, still looking for Mr. Lusty.
I guess, I will raise a glass next week with the following toast: Here's to 10 years gone, and to 10 years to come. To best friends, and new experiences, and to the best years of my life that are still ahead of me.
I can toast to that.
Cheers.
Cazadora
But it's not enough said. This is not a celebration. I'd call it a mile marker. Not good, not bad. Just a place you pass through to get to the next place.
How I feel about it? I guess I'd rather not feel about it. If I stop and think and feel and process and grieve. it physically hurts like hell. My heart, silly heart, is broken. If I don't stop, but stay in perpetual motion, then I don't feel anything. I keep my eyes dry. But it's also like some perpetually awake crack addict that needs to sleep but can't.
Instead, I blog. I blog, therefore I am. I blog, therefore I can express exactly what I feel. I loved my husband and wanted to make it work. It didn't work. That failure bites. I am not used to failure. That sounds ice cold bitchy. The truth is, I love that man and didn't want to lose him, and I didn't want what was once "us" to disappear. We had long ceased to be the "us" I idolized, but I still wanted it to work out. For the sake of "us." Because it was "us" God damn it! "We" were special. "We" were irrefutable. "We" were that once-in-a-lifetime love affair. Were we really? I don't know. But I had believed we were for so long, it became hard to not believe it.
So, I feel sad and alone. I can say he was my best friend for 10 years. Old reliable, really.
I fill my time now with new friends and experiences. Not better, just different. What do I look for? Well, I'm still on the hunt for Mr. Lusty. Mr. Poet? Clearly too ridiculous to be true. Mr. Traveling Businessman Dude? Not making the cut. Will Mr. Right be out there? Is that what I want? Truly, I wouldn't get involved with me if I were all y'all. A girl needs some time to get her head together. But I'd definitely have fun with me. A girl could use a little fun after a 10-year-unsuccessful slog that became a passion-free zone. So, I would say, still looking for Mr. Lusty.
I guess, I will raise a glass next week with the following toast: Here's to 10 years gone, and to 10 years to come. To best friends, and new experiences, and to the best years of my life that are still ahead of me.
I can toast to that.
Cheers.
Cazadora
Schmucky Mojo
So, I had a work conference out of town last week. My mojo was on. It was cold back home, but warm in Conference Town. I brought out my high-heeled, Michael Kors gold knot sandals. They are man-killers. I know this.
I didn't expect the Mojo to hit the minute I walked into the room at the first function, which was a casual evening gathering.
Cute guy, London accent, definitely starts hitting on me. The night progresses. We end up being the only ones at the wings place at midnight. He pulls out the, "So, where are you from, are you seeing anyone and how old you?" line. I interpret to mean... he must be interested, right? That's not just making conversation. Those are targeted questions to gauge a gal's availability and compatibility. It turns out I'm five years older than him. He gets over initial shock (I do look and sound much younger), but is undaunted. He persists.
We text that night and all the next day during class. Flirty texts. I have them as proof.
Things progress. By the next night, we are already making plans to ditch the group and do our own thing. We launch out, away from convention hotel. Find Bohemian part of town. Literally stumble upon a poetry reading (I don't make this shit up). We both instantly look at each other and it's a given we are going in. As we do, he signs up to perform (me, swoon!).
He's amazing. He steals the show. He performs his own work as well as Jaberwocky (remember that?) He's asked to come back the next night to be the feature poet! We leave poetry reading. We find a really cool bar we'd found out about at a coffee shop. On the way there, we meet up with two young kids (one of whom also happens to work at said coffee shop) and we end up hanging out together all night (and the next three nights, actually). I, of course, instantly Facebook friend and Twitter follow one of them (the young, Hispanic gay guy, love him!). My poetry man asks me to dance to the terrible DJ. It doesn't matter the DJ is terrible, we're having a grand time. Poetry man/London accent seems REALLY into me.
On way home, we are laughing, talking. Stop under a wide, clear sky and half moon for a kiss. He comes to my room. We have a little fun (not too much).
At the end of our fun, he informs me that ... he's married.
RECORD SCREECH!!!
Really? You're married? We've been hanging out for 48 hours and now, after a little foolin' around, you tell me you're married? Why tell me at all at this point, schmuck? Why not just keep the game going? Why, after I completely FELL for you ... why, after you seduced me? Why, after we had a really amazing time together?
I can't answer these questions.
I have only one conclusion: It rhymes with FUCK. He's a SCHMUCK.
So, because I'm older and wiser (insert laugh track here) I know my only remedy is: distraction and diversion.
Divert attention: find new crush. Distract self: throw self into work, Facebook updates, whatever other obsession I can find. I actually need to buy a new car. That'll work.
So see? I found my Mojo, but it attracted a bottom feeder. Gee whiz... Hopefully, coming to Cazadora's blog soon, something uplifting... Stay tuned y'all. Until then, beware the Poets with the sexy British accents.
I didn't expect the Mojo to hit the minute I walked into the room at the first function, which was a casual evening gathering.
Cute guy, London accent, definitely starts hitting on me. The night progresses. We end up being the only ones at the wings place at midnight. He pulls out the, "So, where are you from, are you seeing anyone and how old you?" line. I interpret to mean... he must be interested, right? That's not just making conversation. Those are targeted questions to gauge a gal's availability and compatibility. It turns out I'm five years older than him. He gets over initial shock (I do look and sound much younger), but is undaunted. He persists.
We text that night and all the next day during class. Flirty texts. I have them as proof.
Things progress. By the next night, we are already making plans to ditch the group and do our own thing. We launch out, away from convention hotel. Find Bohemian part of town. Literally stumble upon a poetry reading (I don't make this shit up). We both instantly look at each other and it's a given we are going in. As we do, he signs up to perform (me, swoon!).
He's amazing. He steals the show. He performs his own work as well as Jaberwocky (remember that?) He's asked to come back the next night to be the feature poet! We leave poetry reading. We find a really cool bar we'd found out about at a coffee shop. On the way there, we meet up with two young kids (one of whom also happens to work at said coffee shop) and we end up hanging out together all night (and the next three nights, actually). I, of course, instantly Facebook friend and Twitter follow one of them (the young, Hispanic gay guy, love him!). My poetry man asks me to dance to the terrible DJ. It doesn't matter the DJ is terrible, we're having a grand time. Poetry man/London accent seems REALLY into me.
On way home, we are laughing, talking. Stop under a wide, clear sky and half moon for a kiss. He comes to my room. We have a little fun (not too much).
At the end of our fun, he informs me that ... he's married.
RECORD SCREECH!!!
Really? You're married? We've been hanging out for 48 hours and now, after a little foolin' around, you tell me you're married? Why tell me at all at this point, schmuck? Why not just keep the game going? Why, after I completely FELL for you ... why, after you seduced me? Why, after we had a really amazing time together?
I can't answer these questions.
I have only one conclusion: It rhymes with FUCK. He's a SCHMUCK.
So, because I'm older and wiser (insert laugh track here) I know my only remedy is: distraction and diversion.
Divert attention: find new crush. Distract self: throw self into work, Facebook updates, whatever other obsession I can find. I actually need to buy a new car. That'll work.
So see? I found my Mojo, but it attracted a bottom feeder. Gee whiz... Hopefully, coming to Cazadora's blog soon, something uplifting... Stay tuned y'all. Until then, beware the Poets with the sexy British accents.
Friday, January 1, 2010
New Year's Fake
Ten years ago last night, I spent one of the best nights of my life with the man I would marry. It was the much-lauded and anticipated turning of the millennium. It was the year we moved from 1900s to 2000s, and there were more than a million people watching fireworks and celebrating on the beach where we were that night.
We had made our engagement official on Christmas eve 1999, also the first night I would meet his entire family (about 20 or more people and I barely spoke the language then).
I was surrounded by an ethereal happiness -- no inkling yet of the troublesome decade ahead for me and us.
Last night, as I brought in the new decade with friends at Atlanta's silly Peach Drop, I was a big fake. I faked being happy. I danced a lot. Had some champagne. Fake smiled for everyone.
This morning, I could do nothing but think of my ex-husband back in his home land with the family I grew to love and consider my own. I wondered if he found someone to kiss as the clock struck midnight. Who was he with? I guess I never felt more lonely since we split earlier this year. New Year's Eve had always, always been our special night. We would never ever sit at home but always went to a fun party or exotic place. Probably my favorite new year's eve was the one when we danced for hours at home, just the two of us, before going to meet some friends. I remember feeling really happy that night.
No offense to my girlfriends, but last night wasn't the same. I hate to start 2010 with a bad attitude, but at the same time, I guess my grieving for my marriage isn't over. Maybe it's hardly begun.
Who knows how long grieving takes when you still love a person? I have tried to be careful about not getting involved with anyone since the divorce. Dating, flirting, other stuff? Maybe. Emotional connection? How could I? I don't think it would be fair to someone else. I think I'm still an emotional landmine.
If this morning -- when I faced my real feelings and wiped that fake smile off my face -- is any clue, then perhaps the worst is yet to come.
The truth is, I do have great hopes for myself for the next 10 years. The truth is, I'm normally upbeat, looking for fun. It's not as bad as I am making it sound, probably. But today, as I reflect back, it's hard not to feel a huge loss and void in my life. Like the last 10 years never happened. Like they are wiped clean from life and I'm back in 1999, right before I met him. A neat and tidy package, that decade, completely spent with him, and now vanished into a black hole. Now I'm back where I was before I met him. A trippy "Ground Hog's Day" scenario when that alarm buzzer goes off and you wake up as if the day had never happened. I guess I get a chance at a "do-over" only now I'm 10 years older. Wiser? That's debatable. Changed? That's for sure.
I'm not in the mood to wish anyone a Happy New Year. Isn't that awful? Instead, I wish everyone truth. Maybe I'll put that fake smile away and just be real. Now that would be a good resolution indeed.
We had made our engagement official on Christmas eve 1999, also the first night I would meet his entire family (about 20 or more people and I barely spoke the language then).
I was surrounded by an ethereal happiness -- no inkling yet of the troublesome decade ahead for me and us.
Last night, as I brought in the new decade with friends at Atlanta's silly Peach Drop, I was a big fake. I faked being happy. I danced a lot. Had some champagne. Fake smiled for everyone.
This morning, I could do nothing but think of my ex-husband back in his home land with the family I grew to love and consider my own. I wondered if he found someone to kiss as the clock struck midnight. Who was he with? I guess I never felt more lonely since we split earlier this year. New Year's Eve had always, always been our special night. We would never ever sit at home but always went to a fun party or exotic place. Probably my favorite new year's eve was the one when we danced for hours at home, just the two of us, before going to meet some friends. I remember feeling really happy that night.
No offense to my girlfriends, but last night wasn't the same. I hate to start 2010 with a bad attitude, but at the same time, I guess my grieving for my marriage isn't over. Maybe it's hardly begun.
Who knows how long grieving takes when you still love a person? I have tried to be careful about not getting involved with anyone since the divorce. Dating, flirting, other stuff? Maybe. Emotional connection? How could I? I don't think it would be fair to someone else. I think I'm still an emotional landmine.
If this morning -- when I faced my real feelings and wiped that fake smile off my face -- is any clue, then perhaps the worst is yet to come.
The truth is, I do have great hopes for myself for the next 10 years. The truth is, I'm normally upbeat, looking for fun. It's not as bad as I am making it sound, probably. But today, as I reflect back, it's hard not to feel a huge loss and void in my life. Like the last 10 years never happened. Like they are wiped clean from life and I'm back in 1999, right before I met him. A neat and tidy package, that decade, completely spent with him, and now vanished into a black hole. Now I'm back where I was before I met him. A trippy "Ground Hog's Day" scenario when that alarm buzzer goes off and you wake up as if the day had never happened. I guess I get a chance at a "do-over" only now I'm 10 years older. Wiser? That's debatable. Changed? That's for sure.
I'm not in the mood to wish anyone a Happy New Year. Isn't that awful? Instead, I wish everyone truth. Maybe I'll put that fake smile away and just be real. Now that would be a good resolution indeed.
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