When I think of how far I've come from the person I once was it not only amazes me, but at times, I don't recognize myself at all. Yes, it's as if someone else once resided in my shoes. I was a person who lived on the edge, had poor impulse control and didn't know the definition of doing anything the safe or moral way. One might surmise that the fast lane caught up with me and maybe it has...maybe this "slowdown" I feel is in some sense an atonement period or the simple, but harsh realization that much of the time I wasn't a good person. Although in the past I longed for love, I never found it...now...well, let's just say I don't feel equipped for it. The Mr. Wonderful I recently had in my life turned out to be not so wonderful, but I was okay with that. I think I knew going in that it wasn't meant to be, but I have to admit it was nice to have someone show some interest in me even if it didn't last very long. When the moment of truth came, it didn't hurt. It actually felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders and the feathers had been scattered.
After my first legitimate heartbreak, I never seemed to let myself fully
believe in the forever after kind of love. I allowed that experience to
confirm that true love was a figment of the weak-minded
and emotionally feeble. I believed in the here and now type of
relationships. I believed in mind blowing sex with all the wrong people
and yes, I lived dangerously where sex was concerned. I'm often amazed
that never came back to bite me in the ass...or maybe it has because now I'm a
hermit satisfied with life without a significant other. I live life with a huge bag of feathers and no one to tickle!
The other night I tried to compose a list of ex-lovers and I couldn't do
it...too many were faces with no names. What I composed was a disjointed, unpleasing melody...an anthem for the promiscuous. I suppose at the time I knew
their names, but who they were obviously wasn't important enough to
remember. I cringed when I thought about how close I came to trying out
the oldest profession in the world. What stopped me still is a mystery...I
remember the hotel room and the gentlemen with a heavy French accent, but when it came time to get paid
for my services I just couldn't do it. I was hungry and homeless and
living on the streets. I was young...barely 15, but I knew what I was
doing and that it was wrong. I suppose even though I was desperate I still had moral fibers
holding me together. Now, those moral fibers seemed to have choked the life from me and keep Mildred from being an old, worn-out feather in anyone's hat. Now, I am, but a gnarly feather duster to be kept in the hallway closet!