Beautiful, Smart, Strong & Alone

Never enough. Or am I too much?

Unlucky in love is what I am for sure.

terribleYou’re cool, a good girl. An awesome woman who is smart, funny, caring, nurturing with a good head on your shoulder. Any man would be more than lucky to have you on his arm as his life partner or wife. That man isn’t me though.

The all too familiar ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ send off.

When I find myself in the same situation repeatedly, I am compelled to do some self-assessment which begs me to question…

-What am I doing that lands me here over and over again?
-What is it about me that drives them away or gives them pause?
-Why am I not enough?

Here I am, almost 50…wondering.

Am I unlovable? Oh, I’m fuckable…friendable (is that even a word), one with whom you can have deep meaningful conversations on everything from world politics, religion, to social issues and the latest fads, laugh, joke and be your silly self. But, I cannot have your heart.

All of the aforementioned is what he (each and every “he”) wants in his life partner/wife/mate…sans me.

Oh, but we can still be friends.

Yeah…. NO. I am not into collecting male friends like souvenir magnets to hang on the refrigerator door.

Another thing I know for certain is I am tired. I am sad. I have virtually no hope that things will change. I have nothing left to offer in the area of optimism. It is time to accept the hard truth that I will probably be alone forever. My RSVP will never include a plus one.

Well-meaning loved ones rush to offer words of encouragement and positive antidotes to affirm admonitions of how important they think it is to remain hopeful and steadfast.

Not now. Please…. Not. Now.

Sit with me. Hold my hand. Hug me tightly…quietly.

Love’s Residue

After not seeing or communicating with him for almost three months, I thought when I finally did see him that my heart would stop and my stomach would drop -neither happened when I ran into him in the hallway today.

13100890_10207943549445542_7039338577417378047_nWhat did linger was a nervous energy similar to the caffeine shakes I get after taking a NoDoz. What lingered was this nagging urge to cry. Through stubborn pride and self-respect I willed myself not to shed a tear.

At the very moment we made eye contact, the person I was calling on my phone answered diverting my attention thus leaving the exchange to an acknowledging nod and half smile in response to whatever it was you mumbled. So here we are several hours later and you haven’t reached out to say anything.

As I have reminded myself so often in the past months, if he wants to talk to me, he will reach out. In the meantime, keep moving forward toward the day when I will no longer love him.

A Question of Loyalty…?

Loyalty.

What does that mean to you? To me? How does it manifest itself in your life? In mine?

loyaltyRecently I posted an old picture of some family on Facebook. This picture brought back many warm memories but also some very painful ones. Bitter sweet and conflicted, it invokes emotions that reveal just how complicated and conflicted life can be. That picture’s image is juxtaposed against the actual reality I was experiencing at that time. Pictured are loved ones who have passed to the next realm, a few that are still with us and despite the seemingly boyish grin, a child molester.

When posting the pictured, I tagged several extended family members so they could enjoy their own trips down memory lane. Forgetting that most of those relatives are friends with “He Who Shall Not Be Named” (HWSNBN), I was taken aback and shocked he requested to tag himself in the picture – a request that I have ignored. But this brings me to the question of loyalty.

Many, if not most, family members know what happened because I told them years ago. They are all his FB friends, except for my mother. It bothers me and I wonder is it unreasonable for me to want her to NOT be connected with HWSNBN?

Even though I have forgiven, I have not forgotten nor do I allow him access to my life. Is it asking too much to want all of my immediate family to cut ties with him as well? Does loyalty to me preclude them having any contact with him?

Moody’s Mood

As I sat in the amphitheater listening to Joe Williams’ baritone voice, I longed to talk to my dad. I find myself walking to another section in the amphitheater and sitting on my dad’s lap. Laying my head on his shoulder, I tell him how much I miss him. He responds be telling me how great Joe Williams’ voice is and how I just missed his performance with Joe Sample. The rest of the conversation is a blur but it was more about some great musicians.

This happened last night. It was all a dream. My father’s been deceased 17 years.

I went to bed last night feeling some kind of way about my current life situation and I longed to talk to my dad. It’s been 17 years but I still miss him. The older I get, the more I miss him.

FramptonLiveI could engage my dad in hours-long conversations just about anything but talking about music made the man glow. GLOW! I remember being 9 or 10 years old standing in the driveway of our home to view the lunar eclipse when he opened the trunk of his car to retrieve a pair of binoculars when I saw an album with a white man on the cover. I asked, rather incredulously, why he had that album.  “Baby, that’s Peter Frampton!” He goes on to tell me how awesome the LP was (Framptom Comes Alive). I can’t recall the details of the conversation only how my dad’s face glowed when he talked about it. He was in his sweet spot.

My dad had a vast music collection. An impressive collection of vinyl of which he was very protective and forbade my sister and I from playing without his “assistance”. That assistance was him taking the album from the sleeve and putting it on the turntable himself. He didn’t want his vinyl scratched son!! I did eventually earn his trust and was allowed to use the stereo and handle his collection without his supervision.

Through my dad, I learned to love music, all music, as much as he did although I’ve never amassed a music collection as he did. But I do remember the very first album I purchased though. Al Jarreau’s “Breakin’ Away”. Daddy was so proud that his 13 year old daughter’s first purchase was mister scat himself and not, say, New Edition or Stacey Lattisaw.

As I sit here listening to George Benson and remembering last night’s dream, I’m thinking of my dad. Still missing him but feeling a little closer through the music.

There I go, there I go, there I go, there I go
Pretty baby you are the soul that snaps my control
Such a funny thing but every time I’m near you, I never can behave
You give me a smile and I’m wrapped up in your magic
Music all around me. Crazy music.
Music that keeps calling me so very close to you.

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