If life is like a roller coaster, then I'm on a 25-story drop heading into a loop-de-loop with a 10-second hang time, upside down, with no safety belt on ... naked. And I am holding on for dear life. Dramatic, I know, but I'm a true Pisces, what else would you expect?
Although I am completely at ease with the fact that most of the time I live in a bubble of idealistic boobery, chock-full of relationship optimism, at this particular point in time, as I've said in the not-so-distant past, I'm just not so sure I buy into all that true love mumbo-jumbo I'm always talking about. And unlike so many times in the past, this down cycle seems to be lingering longer than usual, as tears well up in my eyes at the mere thought of any "man chore" I have to do, like cleaning out the garage or fixing a broken sprinkler head. I can't help but wonder: Have I completely—and for good this time—lost faith in the idealistic boobery I'm so well known for?
This down cycle, as I call it, is as inevitable as the changing of the seasons and can usually be expected to appear at the start of the New Year. Not the traditional New Year's date of January 1, but the New Year according to my "sell-by" date, my "freshness" date, my "best-if-eaten-by" date: February 20, my birth date. And as I accumulate these birthdays, I can't help but feel as though my days are numbered and that I will be yanked off the shelf at any time, only to be replaced by a firmer, more technologically advanced, less neurotic model. And yes, I'm afraid. Afraid that all the hope I've stockpiled in a future that has yet to materialize has been wasted.
Let me state for the record that I am positively sick and tired of listening to all of the singles who say, "I don't care if I find my mate or not, I'm completely content with my life the way it is." Great! Good for you! Good for me! All that means is less competition. I, on the other hand, don't share your "I am woman, hear me roar" philosophy. I have always wanted happily-ever-after and all that entails. I believe that ultimately, we would all like to find someone we mesh with, someone whose crap doesn't get on our nerves too badly—if he or she even exists to begin with, and I'm beginning to believe he doesn't.
Of course I realize that if that's the message I'm sending out, then every available single within a 500-mile radius will pick up on the scent of my desperation and despair and be completely turned off by me. But I can't help it. I've been single for a long time and it was hard enough to find a good man when I didn't have varicose veins and a marsupial pouch. It ain't exactly getting any easier as Father Time marches right across my ... everything.
And it isn't just my outsides that are taking a beating by his ugly-stick, my insides are turning ugly too as cynicism and resentment start to set in. The older I get, the harder it seems to find someone who fits my idea of the person I've been searching in vain for. And believe you me, I've lowered my standards from the completely ridiculous: must look like Brad Pitt with Harrison Ford manliness, the suave demeanor of Pierce Brosnan crossed with the sensitivity of Jude Law and the sense of humor and intelligence of Richard Abowitz.
Now I'd settle for nice teeth, good grammar, gets at least half of my demented jokes and is gainfully employed. I'd also like it if he owned a car, didn't live with his mother and had no priors. But somehow, that puts me in the "unbelievably high standards" department. My coupled friends think I'm nuts to even think of getting involved and warn me that even if I do find some semblance of my Mr. Right, sooner rather than later I'll regret trading in my freedom for a clean garage and sprinklers that sprinkle correctly.
I just don't know what to think anymore. It seems like you're damned if you do and you're damned and alone if you don't. Is there a right choice? Do we even get a choice?
Some folks say that being alone for the right reasons is better than being with someone for the wrong reasons. People who are afraid of being alone would probably disagree.
And then there's me, a Piscean who is given to drama and romance by nature. A woman who wants to share rainy days at a matinee eating popcorn and making out; a woman who wants nothing more than two toothbrushes in the toothbrush holder on her sink, and pictures in frames all over the house that tell the story of us. A woman who dreams of having a warm back to put her cold feet on, causing a yelling match followed by falling asleep angry and wishing she were still on her own, but wakes up to make-up sex, depending on who broke first, and goes off to work floating on a cloud of hope because she's finally found her true love. A woman who suddenly remembers that life is a roller coaster and that 25-story drop is part of the journey that takes your breath away.
I am that woman, the one who sometimes forgets what is important but remembers as soon as she writes it down. And I am the woman who will set her birthday resolution to hold out for the true love she has never stopped looking for ... again ... and again ... and ...
Sonja is a writer who covers the ins and outs of relationships. Or is it the ups and downs?