Ooookay, time for some emotional/personal blogging.
There are so many things I want to do that I’m not doing and I don’t know why. I have this bad habit of living aspirationally, always in the future, wasting time in the in-between.
I am in love with someone who lives 800 miles away. I didn’t think I was before I saw him again, but now, I know and I don’t know what to do about it. Do I tell him? There’s no way we could be together. He’s going to graduate school in San Diego. I could pick up, move there, live on a beach. California has elected officials. I could work for them, too. I can do anything I want. It’s like he always knew.
He texted me even when I was distant. He called even when I was hung up on other dudes. He hasn’t changed and I feel like I’ve fallen even more for him, that I care more now, and I hate being the person that cares more.
He’s black. I’m white. I don’t know how much it matters. He goes to an HBCU. I picture him marrying a black woman, having beautiful children with a black woman. I don’t know if I measure up. I sometimes feel like I’m not good enough for him, but he’s the only person I’ve known in a long time that I think is good enough for me, is on my level, who works as hard as I do and dreams as big as I do.
This shit is hard. I need to get out more. I need to get my house in order. I need to make more friends. I hang out with about three people. Other than that, I’m alone. I don’t date and I don’t know why. I’ve got 50 dudes sitting here on my Tinder feed and even when they talk to me first, I don’t respond. I am closed off and afraid of letting somebody in because then I might have to change, adapt, get my fat ass out of bed and start living my life again. Loving someone far away, as real as I feel it is, fixes that dilemma. They are an aspiration. He’s always on my mind, but he’s never in my way.
I have a job that I love, but it has become the new normal. As much as I’d love for my 9-5 to be my life, that’s not what a life is. I can work late. I can work weekends. I can avoid my empty bed, but I still have to lie in it.
I want to travel. I’m going to Chicago in June and Brooklyn in July and again, here I am, living in the future. I want to go to any city he’s in. I’ve got to make it back to Atlanta before he leaves in October because I fell in love with his city, too. I’m married to KC, but I find a mistress every beautiful place I go.
Every day is an exercise. Every day has to involve conscious love. No more lying in my fucking bed watching shows that I’ve seen before. Sometimes I forget that I’m a rockstar. Sometimes I forget that I deserve all good things. No more.