High Plains Drifter

Image via Wikipedia

With all my pontificating about love, forgiveness and Henry Rollins (kidding) it dawned on me that the last few dates I’ve been on were radically unlike dates of my youth. I’m a modern gal to a certain extent but for the most part I like a man to be a man so that I can be the girl. No I don’t want to be equal with a man because that just isn’t possible, now is it ? (and I’m not talking about whether I can do the same job as a man, etc.) Generalizing will do us no good because everyone is different, but lately I’ve been acutely aware of a certain kind of role reversal.

I saw a friend last night. She is one of those people who through lengthy and sometimes very silly conversation, revelations are had, and doors unlocked with irony front and center.

We discussed my last few dates with great hilarity because it seems that (in our demented fashion) we figured out that I had been the man.  (I am generalizing 🙂 of course).  But if I do go with massive stereotyping, yes, the men of late have acted more like emotional, kooky, women while I sit there like a dude quietly thinking to myself, “He is really hot looking but what the hell is he going on about?”

The beginning of one date was so hilarious I should never have gotten out of my truck.  I had pulled up to the gents house, he walked out and said I could park in the driveway, I replied that my truck might leak a bit of oil, he paused and said, “Park on the street.”

I then mumbled something rude and a sense of foreboding came over me.

Seriously? His driveway was more important than my comfort? Can you imagine our future? In retrospect it is a very funny story, the beginning of an awkward evening to say the least. On another date with another man I commented that I would enjoy someone reading aloud to me and I’m certain this sent him running for the hills as though I had described how I would remodel his home once I moved in. Give me a break already, I’m not dumb (this is a problem). I’m on to you.

I do realize that at this time of life men and women are the walking wounded. They are zombies in many ways.  This is quite sad and so unnecessary. But once caught in the prison of heartbreak and disappointment, even though the key is in our hot little hands, we cannot escape. Add that these days I am like a funny Clint Eastwood character, newly escaped and armed with confidence…well lets face it, dating isn’t going to go well for me so I hope that at the very least it is entertaining. Being addicted to the drama of negativity means you are living in Ground Hogs Day, it is secure, safe and never-ending; it drives you mad but at least it is a form of attention, eh? You are always the center of something even if it is bad and this feeds your ego (you think). Ultimately, it drains you of life.

NOT the kind of attention I’m looking for.

I think it was Rumi who told the tale of a prisoner seeking escape. The prisoner was given a prayer rug by a friend, but what he really wanted was a key or a file and was annoyed at the gift. In time he began to follow the design of the rug while meditating and found it to be a blueprint for escape.

What does that mean? As far as I can tell it means the answer is always right in front of you, but being intent on avoiding the truth (whatever that is to you) because it is painful, the door will never open.

Maybe I needed to be like a man to see a different perspective. Certainly women go on about how insensitive men are and men go on about how neurotic women are, but again, this is a generalization.

I was the kooky, neurotic woman in my past, over analyzing that which I already (subconsciously) understood: wrong fit. But I did not try to change a man; I changed myself to be accepted…which of course did not work.

I had that prayer rug (this is a metaphor okay?) in front of me. I tossed it in the air and it fell back into my palm a bright, shiny key…

(Advisory: Please remember that this is called a “diary”; I do not stare at my navel all day, this is just introspection).

Advertisements