The Dance Floor

Some days I wake up and I swear I just want to go live on that island that Wonder Woman is from. The one with no men.

It’s not an I Hate Men Day. In fact far from it. Plus I never hate men. It’s more along the lines that the dance exhausts me.

That’s what being single feels like to me. Being at some marathon dance. Sometimes you are shaking it like there is no tomorrow. You’ve got your groove on, and the music is hitting the sweet spot, and the partner you have just feels it. The moves are so synchronized, you’d swear that you and he practiced this alone for weeks. You’re laughing and life is good. Once in a while it’s clumsy and awkward or worse yet the two of you aren’t even on the same planet hearing the same tune. Limbs are flailing and not in a good way. On those rare lucky days, its soft and sweet and slow; it’s a warm syrupy kind of feeling. Lastly are the times when the exhaustion hits and you are barely standing, moving in such a plodding way, it’s scarcely even a dance. You realize you’ve been dancing alone for a while, and you don’t even care.

I feel sort of like I am at that last part.

The Complicated One had really knocked me off my rhythm, and getting my flow back together has been awkward. The moves that before felt fluid and right, now feel jerky and wrong. I am a little spastic. I very much feel emotionally startled, like a bird just flew at my head unexpectedly. I keep flinching to the imagined sound of flapping wings. I know I just need to rest a moment to get my footing. Close my eyes and feel the music.

I don’t trust myself. I don’t trust my judgment. I don’t trust my game. I’m insecure without being … insecure.

The Young One sort of fucked up about a week ago. You’d think with being in a non-committed, very casual relationship with really only one rule, it would be pretty hard to mess things up. To forget the one rule. But he did. A part of me wanted to walk. Another part of me asked myself if I really cared that much. Was I mad, or was I supposed to be mad? It was the latter, so when we talked I casually brought it up. He apologized and that was that.

It did make me realize that one little OOMPH of a blow-up could send this thing bouncing down the road like a tumbleweed, never to be seen again. Like if it really did piss me off, I would have to decide to either hold the anger in check to keep things together, or let ‘er blow and suffer the fallout. By fallout I mean end things.

I think in some ways The Young One is very much my invisible safety net. I can date others without getting overly involved. Involvement requires heavy thought at this point, and who wants heavy thought at the beginning stages of a relationship? So I let them know; There is sort of someone, and we do have an agreement. Hence the invisible fence, safety net, whatever you want to call it. It keeps thing at a distance.

It’s all a mind trick I have to play with myself. Maybe I am using this as a diversion until the right one comes along. It sort of feels that way. I care about The Young One, but I know it will never be anything more than it is now. I’m good with that. But for now, it keeps me propped up, and on the slippery dance floor. I can dance with the best of them, but when I am tired, or unsure, I can pull out the dance card and show them it’s full, and that I’m sorry, and under different circumstances, maybe …..

Then I can go back and dance whatever tune is running thru my head.

dance floor


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