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Lowered Expectations

The full moon, tides, whatever have me feeling a certain kind of way. I settle in on the couch and catch up on my shows, watching Scandal, the Good Wife, Suits, Justified, 2 Broke Girls, Mystery Diners, and the Goldbergs, intermittently crying. I am painfully aware that instead of living my life to the fullest, I have my adventures and live vicariously through my television, a sad imitation of life.
I like some friends’ posts on facebook, and friend request a few people. I play Candy Crush and Triviador. I watch some youtube videos of French bulldog and Boston terrier puppies. I make an attempt to finish reading MaddAddam, but my mind is racing, cycling, restlessly pessimistic.
I go back to facebook. I see that Mike J, who I briefly loved/thought I loved when I was very young, is in a relationship. I see that Don (who I had a crush on for years when I lived in Pensacola, that he never knew about, and actually never really met me) is in a relationship. I realize that there are probably a dozen or so good quality men that I am friends with on facebook, who I would love to explore a relationship with. There are honestly probably 50 or more distinguished gentleman out in the world that I have squandered my chances with, either by sleeping with them once or just not being mature or patient enough or too ADD to give love time to bloom? (bloom sounds corny, but yeah bloom).
I have a profile on a few of the dating websites, but have never had any luck there. A few different Saturday nights I have had a few drinks and walked to Georgie’s in search of Mr. Right…who definitely wasn’t there. Twice I have braved the bridge and gone hunting in Ybor (dangerous as I need some alcohol in me to be comfortable in a club) driving back at 4 a.m., unsuccessful, frustrated, and certain to get a DUI if pulled over.
I have the capacity to love and I am so so tired of being lonely. I am ready for my Knight in Shining Armor, please. I want to love again, to find my special someone, but it’s getting late, and the lights are starting to dim on my dreams.

Squeak is in dreamland, yelping and twitching. Careful not to wake the snoring 30-pound bulldog on my stomach, I scoot down the couch to her, rubbing her belly and calming her down. I whisper to her that everything will be okay, that we’re safe, that we’ll be fine…though I am no longer sure that is true.

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