ON MEN — What Can We Possibly Hope For?

Reflection from February 9th, 2009 @ Age 27

RE:  WRITING MY OWN STORY, WITHOUT THE END IN SIGHT…

Delilah told me the other day at lunch two things that struck me.  First, she told me that her mom still thinks of me often.  Just makes me wonder how many people out there are still thinking of me from time to time.  Delilah’s mom is.  Sebastian is for god’s sake—two and a half years after a wedding where we never met.  Or maybe we did and I just can’t remember.  I can’t even remember taking my bridesmaid’s dress off the evening of the wedding, though I’m pretty sure I went to sleep early and definitely sure I went to bed alone.  Anyways, she also said that she liked my writing — that it was very genuine and that she could feel for me and that she liked the subtle undertone of comedy spurring forth.  Or something to that effect.  It was better said and very flattering though, and it made me think again about my writing.  About whether I have a voice here worth listening to.  I have not yet decided.  Or shall I say, I have decided—I need only now to refine and find my audience.  If only I had the time.  Ohh if I only had the time.  And yet, I have nothing but time if you think about it.  I have no time and I have all the time in the world if you really think about it.  I have no time because I (usually) work full-time and study for the bar exam part-time, and try to work out and fit shower and eating in there and there’re hardly enough hours in the day.  But then add kids to the picture, or acknowledge the lack thereof—and poof!  I have all the time in the world.

Something I thought of today running around after my one-and-a-half-year-old nephew Aiden really made me feel better.  I know I’m getting close to the point where I want to have kids, but I’m really just not there as of yet.  It might not be long, but as I was talking with Aaliyah about childbirth today, and with Kayleigh about the same over the weekend—I realized I am simply 100% not yet ready for childbirth.  It’s funny though, because if I met and fell in love with the man of my dreams, I’m almost certain that my fear of the pain would subside to the thought of making a baby and bringing him/her into this world to love and care for and cherish with all my heart.  And I could write about it too—chronicle my struggles in going off all of my medications to take that chance to make a baby.  It’s absolute perfection.  All I need is my happy end.  I want to be with a man who wants a happy ending for me, and for my story.  I want to be with a man who wants all my dreams to come true—who wants to make that happen.  I just don’t know if such a man exists.  I don’t know his name and I don’t know his phone number, and I certainly for damn sure don’t know where to find him.  Or maybe I already have.  Maybe he’s waiting for me just around the bend.

Thoughts?

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