A Time...

So on an average Tuesday, I get blindsided.

Old boy comes into the bar.

Now, I want to say something here:
I'm not one to kiss and tell...at least, to those whom i've thought were my friends. There are some people that I've befriended that haven't always been such a wise choice. One has been okay about not sharing information, others have not been. Granted, The Artist would know who he is, The Writer would know who he is, and there are a few others who would know who they are. And since my blogging world, thus far, is limited to my friends, there is some information that I share with them, especially when it comes to things said and motives. And I have to tell them, after all, because --oddly enough-- I'm the one not knowledgable in such things. Which is a topsy turvy world for me...I give them advice, and then share something drastic with them. I know just enough....

And old boy walked into the bar. I like him, he's a good sort. He's said things that have made my heart melt but I'm so spy-like that I choose not to show it. And I may tell current boy, but that one seems to need a kick in the ass for things.

Which brings me to the Fiancee. I don't want to go back out with him, ever. But at the same time, I wish I could have the communication we'd had. There were good things about him...to quote The Artist, "You're really crazy for dumping him...". There are people out there who are totally surprised that I even listed to their advice and took it to heart.

Maybe I am Crazy Girl. Maybe I do want my Nathaniel/Wicked. Maybe I do want the male equivalent of me, no matter how absurd the idea is. Truth is, I don't think I'll find it. Truth is, I don't want to believe that there's a man out there who knows exactly who I am and is willing to call me on it, who loves me for the foibles and follies as much as the brain, the dark knight in gossemer armor who has fought bravely for the Devil himself. Everything points to the knight in shining armor, the noble King and not Satan. But why me? I can change personalites with the tide...Why me?

I guess the whole thing boils down to a "myth" that my mother told me..."Men will fall all over you when you're older." I was twelve. How was I supposed to know that would translate to twenty-six?

Wicked, where are you?