Emotional Baggage

I recently met someone very open and intense.  He hinted about things in his past that were ugly and dark.  We had only talked 5 times total.  And I wondered, "Why are you telling me this?"  Perhaps I should have been flattered.  That he'd trust me with these intimate details about his life.

But mostly, it made me think about how much I keep to myself.  My emotions don't fit in a dainty little purse, but a sack as big as the one Santa carries over his shoulder.  I probably carry more emotional baggage than the average person.  Not because I've had a traumatic childhood or that hard a life but because I've never gotten good at lightening my load.

I am too much of an introvert.  An internalizer.  Only when asked and even then, I might decline to answer the questioner.  Because I didn't want to burden anyone or let them come too close to me.  For I remember a dinner I had with a boy.  In which he asked about my family.  And I answered honestly.  And he looked surprised and said that I was surprisingly cheerful considering what I'd been through.  I smiled, but I didn't know my history had been so tragic until he had said it.

If We Were Houses

I've been building a place to call home.

For the longest time, I didn't care for my house at all because I was sure he was coming.  So I waited by the window for him, using only about a quarter of the house.  "I know it's not ideal, but once he comes, then I'll put money down and we'll renovate together," I reasoned.  I looked out for him day and night.  Waiting.  Waiting, I thought, quite patiently.  For years.  Until it slowly dawned on me that perhaps there wasn't anyone coming.  That I had to live in this big ol' house.  Alone.

And I cried.  All those years wasted.

Finally, I stopped crying.  I rubbed my eyes and looked around.  Time to get to work.  I took sheets off the furniture and faced what lay underneath.  I found books I had forgotten I had bought.  And clothes that begged to be worn.  Lots of items saved for rainy days that would never come.

Catch 22

I don't understand when guys brag about being awesome at grilling meat.  Meat is the easiest thing to cook.  If you can make vegetables delicious, then you've got my interest.

I remember telling my coworker once that I just wanted a guy who would cut fruit for me.  She laughed and said I was asking for the impossible.  But there were two guys that did.  One just offered.  And one cut me an apple because I asked him to.

I might have dated either of them had they asked.  But they never did.  Maybe because they worked under me.  Finally, I brought up a guy that I had a slight interest in to one of them.  He and his friend said, "Of course you'd only be interested in someone who drove a nice car."  Or "Of course, you'd be attracted to a very tall guy."  "You stupid gremlin," I wanted to say.  If you asked me, I'd say yes too.  You cowardous fool you.

An Ice Cream Analogy

I have a lot of single friends.  It angers me sometimes because I can understand why I'm single.  But my friends?  They are worth their bloody weight in gold.  It's like, "Fellas?  What are you waiting for?  Are you blind?!"

Anyways, when we hang out, as girls do, the conversation inevitably turns to the opposite gender.  And whether we've got any romantic prospects.  Because I don't have much relationship advice to give, I reassure my friends with an ice cream analogy.  It goes a little like this.

You know females who always have a boyfriend or a crowd of boys around them?  They are un-intimidating, smiley vanilla girls.  You pretty much know what you're getting and vanilla mixes well with almost anything.  Chocolate, cookies, birthday cake, apple pie, what-have-you.  Guys can be whatever dessert.  Heck, churro ice cream sandwiches are a thing these days.  The point is that guys can pick a vanilla girl up and basically add her as an accessory.  She won't steal your thunder.  She knows the drill and will probably accommodate whomever she's seeing.