Come Morning, I'll Regret This Post

The hour is late and yet I blog. Perhaps for the simple fact of being awake when most of the world is sleeping and yet not sleeping, and much more likely because every conversation within my head revolves around writing it down.

I finished the first of my two books bought today at B&N. And promptly came downstairs for a drink of water in disguise as chocolate milk, attempting to distract myself from grabbing the second book and making it an up all night, when I am already oh so sleepy.

Which leads me to my present line of thought, as I sit here shivering, not bothering to close the windows.

At the moment, it's my extreme lack of purpose that has me all riled up. Well maybe not actually that. But something close to the line of feeling like a complete and absolute loser for not having much of a life in the white picket sense of the word. Home and family, family and home. Why does it seem that everyone else out there in the real world has a normal life, while I struggle to muddle through it all on my own?

Would you understand when I say that I'm jealous as hell?

Green with every color of envy possible. Because I can't seem to get my hands on what I want. A freakishly normal June Cleaver family life with three kids and a dog, and a lawn to complain about mowing.

And now I have completely lost it.

After all, wasn't it my voice preaching to my younger sister just the other day, that you don't make plans around a man? Wasn't that me sounding so damn sanctimonious? As if I knew what I was talking about ... And I think I might have even thrown the word stupid in there, to make my point. Which makes me the proverbial pot calling the kettle black, as single as I am.

And how sad is it, that the invisible man of my future has already managed to make me dance in circles. And I may be, just for the record, the only person I know of who can actually already be mad at that same invisible/imaginary man for taking so damn long at presenting himself in my life. Forget the Hi Honey, I'm home shit, I'll be keeping it real with And where the HELL have YOU been?

The problem has been isolated however. As my clever, witty friends have told me, the chumps I've dated were doomed to failure. None of them ever living up to the one thing I oh so clearly need in my life. Which is a man who can keep me on my toes, the kind of guy who is smart enough to keep up with my way of thinking, giving inches when I attempt to take yards and stimulating my mind as well as other areas ... And lord I hope my Mother doesn't read this post.

But they're right.

A man without a brain holds little hope of maintaining my interest. Because I need the sort of guy that can spout of lines of verse like lyrics to his favorite songs. And argue with me limitlessly over the theory of everything, right along with what movies to rent on a Saturday night.

The kind of guy who likes raisin bran, but has a soft spot for cocoa puffs. Cries at weddings, and not because his best friend is acquiring a ball and chain. Openly ackowledges that Barbie is extremely overrated, and for all intents and purposes, a fictional plastic doll with impossible measurements. Would like my mother, my father, my horde of step-parents and all my siblings combined, right along with my niece and nephew. And think my daughter is the most adorable child on earth, even when she is displaying her brattier qualities.

But the best part is, he'd like me, love me even. And just for the person I am, without any of the subterfuge or camouflage. Existing in a world where he would understand this insane need of mine to write, write and write some more, with patience and sympathy, but know enough when to come downstairs, shut my computer off, take my hands, and lead me back to bed.