confession: i love when men cook for me. i feel guilty when women cook for me.
confession: oysters, a game of pool, a bottle of wine, dancing, sushi, three shots of tequila, skinnydipping–any combination of these activities make an ideal date for me.
confession: for many years, i passed his street every week when i went dancing. each time i drove by, i sent out a verbal “i love you.” he moved halfway across the country last month. when i drive by his old street, knowing he doesn’t live there folds my heart in half. i miss him terribly. too terribly to tell him. i want him to move back. pronto. but i also want him to thrive where he currently resides.
confession: while i typed that last confession, i was biting back tears. my lip is now bleeding, but i didn’t cry.
confession: i’m making new friends. i like these new people entering my life. i like what i’m learning and how i’m changing and when i’m choosing to reveal deeper layers and where i can proceed from here.
confession: he criticizes me. he judges me. he condemns me. days later he calls to thank me for something i taught him, gave him, or shared with him. this pattern is partly crazy-making, partly stinging, and partly growing. he loves and hates me. i’m doing my best to feel indifferently but failing. i feel cautious, insecure, and guarded. i feel scared, stronger, and kinder. i feel small and rebellious and protective.
confession: alcohol impairs my decision-making. (duh.) alcohol also softens the edges of my anxiety. (der.) there are nights i can walk out the front door only if i know i’ll have a drink once i arrive where i’m going. there are nights i stay home to avoid drinking.
confession: more and more, i like who i am becoming. 2013 is the year i fall in love with myself instead of someone else.