Disclaimer: I have had a lot of wine. No shame.
Hi, you guys. Nice to see you again.
Things have changed a lot. Remember when i was posting abysmal quotations about leaving the person with whom you are and blah blah blah? Yeah, that's done.
Then I dated someone who seemed really great and is still pretty great, but not for me.
I'm 27. He is a 50-year-old, Harvard-educated (you'd never know--you've let me down, Harvard) lawyer. It was good while it lasted. I, surprisingly, was not the one who left, despite our jokes about me 'leaving for the circus.'
But I'm glad it happened. It happened for familial reasons on his side, which I'm sure can be figured out given his age, but I was told to not wait around.
I downloaded Tinder (ha) and messaged the first person who matched with me. We met the next day in a park in Brunswick (about thirty minutes from me north). We spent three hours talking in the park. He told me about how he'd spent three years in federal prison in between starting and finishing a political science degree at Ithaca. I told him about how I left Smith because of my mental illness.
He left because he had to pick up his just-turned-two daughter. That night, we met halfway and spent another three hours together.
Then I met a guitarist from a local and actually successful band from Portland. He is absolutely adorable and doting and not about dating but totally about it. We went to a show in Boston--me drinking Narragansett, him taking shots of Fireball. True stupid young 20's stylee.
We had lots of fun. I met another musician. I attract musicians.
He was ready to propose to me. While he was attractive to a degree, his personality spoke volumes. That's how I usually go.
But I had been texting the first guy all along. Throughout the other guys, throughout the guys I haven't mentioned. I learned that I suck at dating.
Bruce (hilarious name given the fact that he's half Mexican) asked me if I wanted to come to story time at the library with him and his daughter. I agreed. I sang songs. I threw leaves. I pushed the hair out of her eyes.
On Halloween, I brought her with her Mexican grandmother to the library with a gaggle of other toddlers. I was in charge. I loved it.
I went from trophy girlfriend to shown off stepmom in a matter of months.
I'm not doing CrossFit because I can't afford it and, lo and behold, my shoulder isn't ready for it, but I've reintegrated into doing front and back squats. I'm known at the gym for doing ass to grass. Obviously.
I've gained 20 pounds since March. Bruce says I can afford to gain about 10 more. Fuck American aesthetics when it comes to women's bodies. I'll take my weights and occasional cardio and eating mass quantities and be happy.
I am absolutely in love. Those words were uttered today, though they were apparently held back at the gym yesterday in the interest of not doing it on the stair master (my observation).
I am putting this because I have been so depressed on here for the duration. But here I am, not like that at all. Drunk, but not depressed. If none of this makes sense, I still have no regrets. I just apologize for the typos because we know how much that affects me.
amandla
prguitarman
izzy806
discoholicmusic
baratheonpilled
areudirty
