movement

Two days after riding Carousel of Progress, and my brother and I having a conversation that nothing really surprises or astonishes our generation, our statements have been proven faulty. The family we came to Disney World with treated our family to nearly front row tickets to LaNouba.

I was left speechless. It was like seeing Avatar in real life. The Beauty. The hauntingness. I never realized the bizarre connection between the darkly morbid and the sensual in my mind. I guess I should have with vampires and such. There were moments of ‘spiritual’ movement during the show and a heightened sexual awareness of myself. Not really a feeling you want with your family and when you don’t have your husband. However. It was rather great. Actually, it was one of the few times something has finished and all I could say was, ‘perfect.’ ‘perfect.’

I think I may have had the beginning of an epiphany during the first listening to my new Miley Cyrus album today on my first trip to the gym. Partly brought on by the music and words, partly brought on by my friends’ situation, partly brought on by being on a vacation where it is constantly thrown in my face how much I want a husband and children.

:

I may want Chad and to spend my life with him. He may very well be the love of my life. However, he doesn’t want to spend his life with me and it is clear I am not the love of his life. While I’m not sure I can, it is time. I need to close the door. Actually close it. Take the memories, wrap them carefully in sacred material, and lovingly put them away—not to be touched, sifted through, pondered over, or gazed at. I can love someone, and after a time, surely they would become the love of my life. The love of my life would want to stay, right? The man I raise children with should be the love of my life, right?

Well, then, on with it.

Easy to say. Well, actually, no it’s not, but it seems like it should be. Hard to do.

I need to do my best to get comfortable and real with whoever it is that I am now and then I need to open myself up to the whoever might be the one who will choose me that I can choose too—not that it’s a guarantee, but it sure ain’t gonna happen if I continue to morn over someone who no longer loves me or wants to share his life with me. Otherwise, I end up old, alone, bitter and longing for someone who doesn’t even remember anything he saw in me to begin with.