Ponies

In the last 5 or so years, I believed I was completely in love, had found The One, at least twice. When I told one of these men about The next One (I think this had been The second One I’d told him about), he expressed surprise. I don’t remember what his words were, but the meaning was that some people only fall in love once in their lifetime and never get over it if they lose that love. How is it that I can fall in love 3 times with 3 different men over the same number of years?

He was right to wonder. I wonder. I’ve been walking around telling everyone I’m damaged. I’m broken. I don’t want to ride that pony any more. Meanwhile my own natural state of being snuck up on me again, and I appear to be beginning another relationship. (As I type this, I wonder if I’m jinxing it by saying anything.)

Earlier in this process, I expressed concern about this guy to my friends. “He does yoga,” I sneered. “He goes to Burning Man.” I don’t know why they didn’t understand why this would be a potential problem. (“You do yoga and go to Burning Man,” they replied looking very confused.) How is it that no one knows what I mean?

Along those lines, I have some dating stories that I’m just dying to tell you, but alas,
1) I would burn in hell if I did, and
2) I’d have to kill you.
I guess those go in the opposite order. But every time I think about this (a lot), I think about it in that order.

So, here I am broken and damaged and yet still completely acting like myself. “Where ever you go, there you are” should be “whatever damaging thing happens to you, there you are,” because here I am looking this pony in the face, and it’s a pretty cute pony. It has blue eyes and floppy hair, and it wears glasses. I like its voice. It clips articles from the New Yorker for me.

I wanted to talk about natural sweetness (in humans, not in cookies), and maybe even about kissing, but I think I’m done for the night.