Torn

There are two parts of me which are in mortal combat. Only one can survive and I’m not sure which one I want to win.  Both parts have wondrous pros and terrifying cons.  So, I sit back, watching the battle.

The one side says that I do single really well.  The children and I are finally in a really good place as a family and adding another person would just be asking for trouble.  After all – if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right?  I mean, asking for love is only asking for trouble.

First off, who would really want to be with me?  I’m fat, I’m all sorts of messy, and I am very picky.  My children have actually called me a grammar Nazi and I’m completely okay with it.  I’m gassy and have all sorts of physical flaws.  I neither watch TV nor own a video game system.  I don’t know of anyone who eats the same foods my family does.  We won’t even go into what I’m like when I’m writing a book.  If I were to even bother trying to date, what kind of person would want to get involved with something like that?

And then there are the prospects of who I would date.  Did I mention I’m picky?  I mean, who wants to be with someone who offends me by eating or using a dangling participle (Yes, I know II sometimes use them.  I’ve been informed that it just sounds wrong when it’s right, so I put them in when I feel I must).  And then there are the sports fanatics – you know the ones who yell at the TV whenever there’s a game on.  Ugh!  No thank you!  Or the gamers.  They have to beat the next level and that’s all that matters.  Jeez!  If I wanted someone who’s as obsessed as I get during my first draft, I’d look for a writer!  Pass!  Or the immature man.  Or the abuser.  Or the liar.  Or the man who’s emotionally unavailable.  Or any combination of those.

I mean – why in the world would I want to bring any of that into my peaceful home?  We have a good thing going.  It’s working for us.  No, that side of me says that being single is the way to go.  At least until I’ve lost my weight.  Or have my book published.  Or the children are out of the house  Or hell freezes over.

Content with what that side has to say, I take a walk through the park.  The other side pipes in and says I should be out there dating.

To have someone by my side, sharing in my joys and sorrows.  A partner who will be there for me, supporting me when I’m weak and allowing me to give support when I’m feeling strong.  Someone to kiss goodnight and share pancakes with on a lazy Sunday morning.  Someone with whom I can share a special vacation or a mundane Monday afternoon.  Someone who will stir the sauce while I mince the garlic.

As I walk, I see the young couple first.  The electricity which connects them is almost visible.  His hands seem to be drawn to her as if by a magnetic force.  Their kisses make everyone who sees them envious, whether they want to admit it or not.  They play and laugh as if they don’t have a care in the world.  The lovely ring on her finger speaks of love and promises, of a future of fun and family.

Then there is the couple who pushes the stroller and holds the hand of the child with a red balloon.  They’re the ones with the cartoon figures on the back of their van with dad, mom, and a bunch of kids and their pets.  They are struggling through the day-to-day soccer and ballet practices, doctor appointments and homework.  Somehow, through all of it, they manage to find time for each other every evening and on Friday nights.  They support each other through the exhaustion and challenges.  At night, his hand comfortably settles in the small of her back as they dance to the slow song on the radio after the children are in bed.  She laughs softly at something he says and lowers her head onto his shoulder, breathing in the cologne he still wears just for her.

There is the elderly couple who I see walking down the sidewalk, holding hands, secure in the knowledge of each other.  When they sit on the bench, she rests her head against his shoulder, knowing that he loves her for the person she is, wants what’s best for her, and wouldn’t be happy without her head right where it is.  They have shared a lifetime together and are able to look back at it fondly, no regrets.  They are comfortable with each other in a way only people who have reached that magical place can understand.

And I sit here, unwilling to move in either direction.  I guess I’m waiting to find love.  Or for it to find me.  I haven’t set a definite date when I will actively pursue it.  I think I’m leaving it up to my HP.  If I am supposed to find someone, I will when it’s time.

And then there’s the other side that says I’ll never find anyone if I don’t look.

Ugh!

 

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