![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I should put out a personal ad.
Mar. 30th, 2002 02:50 amGood Husband Wanted.
...The bug is biting me again. I want to settle down.
Every now and then, I feel like getting married. Like finding a man who will take good care of me for the rest of my life. All I'd have to do, in this dream world, is keep house, write, paint, and probably play with computers. Cook.
If Darkside ever decided to marry me, I'd have a husband who could cook.
I long for busy domesticity, for something to do with my life. My mother was one of the last true housewives. She is a biologist by college training; an artist by spirit. She makes lovely pottery. My father is retired, now.
Why do I do this to myself? The loneliness and longing get too much, sometimes. I might like to quit college, or not have to work through college, to be able to be an afternoon student. An evening student, even. To be able to go out and party.
...If I wanted it that much, I'd already have it.
This is the sort of night where, in the past, I might have contemplated killing myself. Never actually done anything of the sort. Always too chicken. Always had things to do before I died. Now I've got responsibilities.
This time it's not a reaction to an intolerably bad situation. It's just what feels like the desire to re-deal my solitaire hand.
80's songs have been streaming through my head all day. Perhaps it's time to get on a computer with a sound card and visit a streaming audio web radio site with 80's songs? "...That's when I fell in love again .... you said we could be friends..."
Never had a hand for solitaire, no. But you were there.
Adam isn't my long term Primary. R* isn't. It's doubtful that Darkside is, though he'll make an excellent longterm best friend, if he doesn't shy away from the idea of keeping close contact with me, no matter where we move, what we do.
There are so many things I can see, could see, tonight. Perhaps there was something in the wine? Ritual wine, blessed wine. Blessed with the full moon, the power of Passover. Outside last night in the rain. Dizzy when I close my eyes. The colours of Bejeweled are especially saturated tonight. I could dip my paintbrush in them and create a whole new universe from just those colours. Don't think the ritual wine, this kind, the blackberry very sweet kind, entirely agrees with my digestive system.
In an ideal world, I'd have a car tonight, and after I took a nap and my blood alcohol level were back to normal, I'd drive to Mesa and show up below Darkside's window. He and I would go driving, then, all around, windows open, radio on. We'd find the station playing those heartbreaking sappy love songs, the kind from the 80's and early 90's, and sing at the top of our lungs along with it. I don't care that he sings off-key. He doesn't much care that i sometimes mangle the words.
...I once told him that I could drive like that with him forever. We didn't know each other very well then, but almost well enough. Perhaps I should have kissed him, that day. Short-circuited all the agony in between. Taken the chance that circumstance dealt me.
It's one of my angst nights, second-guessing myself. Could I have done better? Yes. Should I have done better? Yes. Would I be any happier if I had done better? Gods only know.
Times like that, I could almost hate myself.
Perhaps I'm not over that depression, just yet.
...The bug is biting me again. I want to settle down.
Every now and then, I feel like getting married. Like finding a man who will take good care of me for the rest of my life. All I'd have to do, in this dream world, is keep house, write, paint, and probably play with computers. Cook.
If Darkside ever decided to marry me, I'd have a husband who could cook.
I long for busy domesticity, for something to do with my life. My mother was one of the last true housewives. She is a biologist by college training; an artist by spirit. She makes lovely pottery. My father is retired, now.
Why do I do this to myself? The loneliness and longing get too much, sometimes. I might like to quit college, or not have to work through college, to be able to be an afternoon student. An evening student, even. To be able to go out and party.
...If I wanted it that much, I'd already have it.
This is the sort of night where, in the past, I might have contemplated killing myself. Never actually done anything of the sort. Always too chicken. Always had things to do before I died. Now I've got responsibilities.
This time it's not a reaction to an intolerably bad situation. It's just what feels like the desire to re-deal my solitaire hand.
80's songs have been streaming through my head all day. Perhaps it's time to get on a computer with a sound card and visit a streaming audio web radio site with 80's songs? "...That's when I fell in love again .... you said we could be friends..."
Never had a hand for solitaire, no. But you were there.
Adam isn't my long term Primary. R* isn't. It's doubtful that Darkside is, though he'll make an excellent longterm best friend, if he doesn't shy away from the idea of keeping close contact with me, no matter where we move, what we do.
There are so many things I can see, could see, tonight. Perhaps there was something in the wine? Ritual wine, blessed wine. Blessed with the full moon, the power of Passover. Outside last night in the rain. Dizzy when I close my eyes. The colours of Bejeweled are especially saturated tonight. I could dip my paintbrush in them and create a whole new universe from just those colours. Don't think the ritual wine, this kind, the blackberry very sweet kind, entirely agrees with my digestive system.
In an ideal world, I'd have a car tonight, and after I took a nap and my blood alcohol level were back to normal, I'd drive to Mesa and show up below Darkside's window. He and I would go driving, then, all around, windows open, radio on. We'd find the station playing those heartbreaking sappy love songs, the kind from the 80's and early 90's, and sing at the top of our lungs along with it. I don't care that he sings off-key. He doesn't much care that i sometimes mangle the words.
...I once told him that I could drive like that with him forever. We didn't know each other very well then, but almost well enough. Perhaps I should have kissed him, that day. Short-circuited all the agony in between. Taken the chance that circumstance dealt me.
It's one of my angst nights, second-guessing myself. Could I have done better? Yes. Should I have done better? Yes. Would I be any happier if I had done better? Gods only know.
Times like that, I could almost hate myself.
Perhaps I'm not over that depression, just yet.
