Just A Number.

This is the 300th post I've written.

As I was driving home yesterday, I mused to myself about my age. I counted every year in my twenties. Once I hit 30, I didn't care anymore. It's really bizarre when anyone asks me how old I am, because I have to think about it. If I don't, I'll end up just saying "30" and be done with it, but really, I'm a little older than that, not by much. I suppose I could say "somewhere in my 30s", but that sounds kinda dumb. Really, I just don't care how old I am. I feel like I was fucking born Old, but with the sense of imagination of a child, matured by experience and age. I was wise beyond my years, but forced to still listen to my betters. When I was ten, I couldn't wait to be 25, with all its glamor and adultness. I soon learned upon turning 25, that no, it's not cool, people still treat you like shit, especially if you don't look a day over 21 (or 18, with dirty old men whiskey goggles on). But now I feel it. It's not that I automatically get respect, but I still can be a bitch, even more so because I'm older. I didn't care when I was younger about my age, as I was just biding time until adulthood, but that's how my twenties felt. Like I was just biding time. Bored and lonely, fantastically stupid things until I reached the age I wanted to be.

And as I think about it, it was almost six years of my life to ExFiancee. So for me to admit to it, to admit to the whole of everything that happened, that weighed me down, feels good. Oh, we had good times, and we had bad times. I used to think that I wanted that again, but I think it's more that I was totally surprised by it. I never thought that I would contemplate marriage, consider living with a person, day in, day out, share a bed with anyone, lay like a blanket on the man I loved. Before then, it was an impossibility for me, but totally in reach for other people, and I was genuinely happy for other people. A little envious, but still happy. And then I met him, and it challenged that thinking. Maybe, I thought, I was wrong about this love thing, maybe someone can love an independent spirit like me, and not try to stuff my soul in a box.

Yes, I was total fool. I fully admit that. I've spent the last however many years fighting myself on that account, distrusting my instincts, my brain trying to pull me away from what I really want. There was a time period after ExFiancee that I just went out to have fun, no real relationships, and I really, really had fun. I've just recently stopped capitulating to that annoying voice in my head that says that I like flowers and want that boyfriend/girlfriend thing. HA! Sure, and little by little, lose a bit of myself, chipping away at my soul, until I resent the whole of life itself, my inner self screaming and dying inside until I want to jump off of a cliff. YEAH! SIGN ME UP FOR THAT! My younger self knew who I was, and I'd kick the twenties self for EVER going against that. But those influences, dammit, they creep up on you.

And how did I ever loose that "take your judgments and shove them up your ass" attitude? I guess I was just blindsided by that insidious "love" thing. It's not that I don't believe in "love", it's just that I use different words for it. The word "love" has become pretty meaningless, so as to not really mean anything special when it's said. It's really just mutual respect, admiration, and caring. But I guess that's way too fucking wordy for such a deep concept. Attraction? Not love. Good sex? Not love. Not that I'm such an asshole when it's said to me, because I'll say it to family members and they'll say it to me. But I prefer "love" in the sense of "affection" rather than three concepts it represents. It means more to me to hear, "I really respect you a lot" than to hear "I love you". That phrase makes me think of The Great High School Soap Opera instead of anything that has to do with love. Life isn't full of puppies and unicorns and puking rainbows. It's gritty, messy, dirty, and occasionally painful...but it's also real, beautiful, wondrous, and interesting. It's all of that at once.

Love is in the eye of the beholder. Everyone has a different definition. Which does irk me, because I like to write, and I like to use words that convey exactly what I'm thinking. "Love" doesn't mean anything. "I care for you/admire you/respect you" does. And I had to fight with this all those years. There's very few people in the world who think I like do, and I've always known that if I ever wanted to be married/in a relationship with someone where I was happy and my soul didn't die, they would have to think like I do. Otherwise I would have to settle, and I damn near did. I will never get that close to settling ever again, because I don't want to go through that pain and torture again. I've had enough pain and torture in my life, thank you very much, and I'm done. And most guys will pay lip service to the concept, but we as humans are awesome at fooling ourselves; actions speak louder than words in that department.

What does that have to do with 30? No one's going to talk me out of my instincts, and I'm going to make damn sure that I don't talk myself out of them. Not anymore.