You know, a lot of the time when you do online dating, you really have to pretend to be interested in some of these doofuses. I mean really pretend. Like, “Oh, sure, I think the pretzel business is amazing… how do you get them so twisted and salty?”
Like I give a rip. But it’s conversation. It’s an art form, you know? Give and take.
As I meet and evaluate prospects, it amazes me how damaged we are by one another. I don’t know why. It shouldn’t. We are, by nature, mean as hell. How could we not be damaged? If you truly live in your life, let your skin be vulnerable to the experience, you become damaged.
Lately I’ve had this in ordinate attachment to the lavender comforter in my bedroom. I feel an overwhelming urge to direct my entire life from underneath it, as it is the only safe place in the whole entire world. Naturally, it’s a used comforter – I bought it at the Goodwill after someone else had had their way with it. I could go on and on about the worn softness, the tiny patterns that I trace with my fingertips, the lavender landscape that soothes my anxiety. I am feeling used; damaged, that is. It’s hard getting out of bed some days, but I do it. It’s a universe of comfort, true to its Goodwill mission.
My kid is stealing again, and we are working on that. Jack has disappeared. I started my new job.
Oddly enough, there is a pigeon living in my chimney. Soul sister pigeon. I like the cooing noises she makes. I hope she is comfortable there.
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