Emergence (The Psychological Trauma Has Set In Redux)It’s time.
That seems to be the phrase of the week for me. I have been listening to my inner voice and it has been screaming at me. It’s time already. Go.
I mean, there is nursing a broken heart, which we have all done at one time or another, and then there is engaging in an exhausting marathon of tears and gut wrenching agony, which I have been doing for more than three years.
I wrote once about my amusing experiences with online dating (see above), and I am revisiting that scene, but with an entirely different attitude. I knew all along that my negative experiences were the result of my own closed-mindedness. I was in love with another, so no one was going to be able to come close to my ideal. Well, it is safe to say that I am no longer facing that obstacle; in fact, it will be quite simple for someone, --anyone, to make me happy after what I have endured. I actually think “Hi.” will do it this time around.
Still, I want to revisit that old story about the psychological trauma I experienced and address the issues head on, sort of practice, so that I will be ready. Here goes nothing:
To the shirtless ones. I actually love a bare-chested man, preferably with hair, as I find that extremely erotic, and if you have in impressive torso and want to show it off, I promise not to look away.
To the boat owners. Maybe I will go for a short excursion, even though I am convinced that as soon as we leave the dock I will end up a castaway or worse yet, that they will find my body splashing up against the jetty after the sudden and unpredicted squall knocks the champagne glass out of my hand. So I hope you won’t mind if I show up in a huge life vest and scuba gear, flares, and a personal flotation device, complete with several days worth of food and water, binoculars, sea-sickness medication, sun block, and a spear and net for emergencies. It will be a blast.
Cheers to my captain, my sea dog.
To the motorcycle bad boys. I will ride with you, but there will have to be some rules. You cannot go over 40 mph and I will need a helmet and shoulder and elbow and kneepads. There can be no highways, only winding country roads because I do not want you to be tempted to gun it on the open road. Once again, motion sickness pills and a supply of food and water in case we crash in a deserted area, although if that happens I will undoubtedly be thrown from the bike and end up in a tree somewhere, far from the scene of the crash. You will be delirious with a concussion, if you are still alive, and you will most likely not be able to remember my name, so they will not find my body in the tree until winter. But I promise not to judge you and mock your rebel nature. It will be fun, I’m sure. Thank you in advance for the wind in my hair. I love that.
To the rich guys. I won’t judge you either. So you made millions on Wall Street. While I am a member of the 99% I will let you buy me dinner if that is what you want to do. It is the least I could do I guess, let you spend your cash if it makes you happy to do so. I am sure you worked hard for all you have attained in your life and I respect that. I will try to keep my thoughts to myself and perhaps we can learn from one another, from our different perspectives. You will probably not appreciate me, but I will try not to have any preconceived notions about who you are as a person. We can try, I guess.
To the chatters. I don’t like the chat boxes but I will try not to shut you down in an offensive way. I will try to be polite.
To the foreign dignitaries. I promise not to make fun of your English. In fact, I will find it endearing and I will assist you if I can. It must be hard to live outside your native country and I know a thing or two about loneliness. Maybe we can have a nice time. I am sure we will find a way to laugh. It will be good.
To the guidos. Okay, I can’t do this one. The only thing I can do here is try not draw conclusions ba
To the tattoo guys (and mustaches). Once again, I will have to look beyond appearance to try and understand the thought process. People usually have stories about how and why they got their tattoos and as long as we don’t focus too much on the “how” I should be okay (I am squeamish.)
As for the stache—never experienced that. It could be interesting, I have to say. That too could be quite erotic. I am keeping an open mind, definitely. You’re on.
To the comedians. I will laugh, I promise. I have spent the last three years crying, and if there is someone out there whose goal is to make me chuckle as opposed to what I have been living with, which is someone hell bent on bringing me to my knees in despair—trust me—I will laugh. I will laugh at anything and everything, because life is short and laughing is way better than crying and I have a stupid sense of humor anyway, so it is easy to crack me up. Knock yourself out.
To the abbreviators. If you text-speak me I will put up with it but I’m afraid I will only respond in long hand since that is what I prefer. Also, I have been ignored for a very long time so any kind of communication that you initiate will be appreciated more than you could ever imagine. I’m sure I will think U R Gr8.
I am emerging. I have a good attitude this time around and I am not only not cringing in disgust at the prospect of heading out there, I am getting excited. I have been in pain for a very long time.
So mister, go ahead, make my day. Say “hi” to me.
I think I love you.