A nightmare in my pocket …
Well, I did it. The big exchange with DA MAN — and I haven’t handed over keys to a lover in, ummm, 13 years?! It felt good, like I was opening up the gates and sayin: come on in baby (but do not fuckin’ move in — I have not lost my mind.) He’s a ridiculous person — and immediately bought a key ring that regurgitates Sarah Palin’s bloopers — how can I not love this dude?
Love is a different feeling now as a fiercely independent woman in her sixth decade. I am so much more aware — conscious of my ole tricks and patterns. My go-to move: bolting - OR doing everything but putting a gun to a lover's head to make him go away. The last seven months, I've described my (always revolving) love life with, “Well, he’s gorgeous — but not exactly my type.” A GOOD friend stopped me right in the middle of this bolting-in-advance routine with a real kick in the pants question, “How can HE feel emotionally safe when you’re doin’ all this ‘ ‘not your type’ BS?” And I listened. She was right. God damnit, I did want to change my cray cray habits. He was worth it. And I wanted him — his hilarity, his heart, his own set of damn keys. It's never too late to get your groove on, sisters, and never too late to dump shit that doesn't work for you anymore. Even if that means a ridiculous Sarah Palin key chain in your life ....