yes. I didn't slip. Or fall on my butt.
but. With the debut of the shoes, there were wounds. I took a neat little chunk out of my left big toenail at the Saturday morning práctica, and spent most of the evening bleeding from the other in the wake of a poorly led run-in with another woman's stiletto. You learn fast, in open toes, to keep your feet on the damn floor.
yes. I saw the G.I.Q.
but. Said 'yes' to one too many bad leaders who kept finding a way (any way) to careen out of the line of dance and steer me straight into the very man I was hoping studiously to avoid. Mortifying.
yes. We danced.
but. Fatigued, tender-hoofed and battle-weary, I was not in top form. Nor was I emotionally neutral. These trials (bad leaders, bleeding feet and collisions with the love interest in the arms of an embarrassing partner) really dampen the mood. And I, in typical fashion, wore that right on my face.
yes. We talked.
but. Given the state of my countenance and my overall wariness, it was hard to channel the sort of coyness necessary to slog through the general mire of the sex situation (as Ms. Parker would have put it).
I was surly and removed and probably spoiling for the other shoe to drop. I made one valiant attempt to lambast myself when I thought I'd lost a twenty somewhere in my bra, but by the end of the night, my deer-in-headlights schoolgirl passive aggression had got the better of me and I could barely look at him. It was ugly awkward.
So, yes, we talked. But we didn't come to much. Things were said. Things remain unsaid. I was sure it was over, then I woke up in New Jersey.
So how was my weekend? How am I today? The correct answer is: I don't know.
For all my navel-gazing, beloved readers, have I even once gotten it right? Perhaps we ought to face the disconcerting truth that, when it comes to matters of the heart, I am lost in the dark.
In my innocence, I commit to the pursuit of truth. Which is to say: I will figure out what I want based on who I am and I will take the steps to acquire it. Maybe that means humiliating myself in the face of lovers and bosses and fairweather friends, but goddamnit, I'm tired of this. If I don't start asking for what I want, I can no longer whine when it doesn't happen.
Right? right.
but. With the debut of the shoes, there were wounds. I took a neat little chunk out of my left big toenail at the Saturday morning práctica, and spent most of the evening bleeding from the other in the wake of a poorly led run-in with another woman's stiletto. You learn fast, in open toes, to keep your feet on the damn floor.
yes. I saw the G.I.Q.
but. Said 'yes' to one too many bad leaders who kept finding a way (any way) to careen out of the line of dance and steer me straight into the very man I was hoping studiously to avoid. Mortifying.
yes. We danced.
but. Fatigued, tender-hoofed and battle-weary, I was not in top form. Nor was I emotionally neutral. These trials (bad leaders, bleeding feet and collisions with the love interest in the arms of an embarrassing partner) really dampen the mood. And I, in typical fashion, wore that right on my face.
yes. We talked.
but. Given the state of my countenance and my overall wariness, it was hard to channel the sort of coyness necessary to slog through the general mire of the sex situation (as Ms. Parker would have put it).
I was surly and removed and probably spoiling for the other shoe to drop. I made one valiant attempt to lambast myself when I thought I'd lost a twenty somewhere in my bra, but by the end of the night, my deer-in-headlights schoolgirl passive aggression had got the better of me and I could barely look at him. It was ugly awkward.
So, yes, we talked. But we didn't come to much. Things were said. Things remain unsaid. I was sure it was over, then I woke up in New Jersey.
So how was my weekend? How am I today? The correct answer is: I don't know.
For all my navel-gazing, beloved readers, have I even once gotten it right? Perhaps we ought to face the disconcerting truth that, when it comes to matters of the heart, I am lost in the dark.
In my innocence, I commit to the pursuit of truth. Which is to say: I will figure out what I want based on who I am and I will take the steps to acquire it. Maybe that means humiliating myself in the face of lovers and bosses and fairweather friends, but goddamnit, I'm tired of this. If I don't start asking for what I want, I can no longer whine when it doesn't happen.
Right? right.
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1 comment:
Oh right indeed. Particularly lyrical too. But I'm not POSITIVE wait you spent the night right??? Lucky. You SHOULD ask. Men need it. I can't ask. I might as well ask Bank of America for 100k no interest loan. Beautiful writing... I really enjoy.
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