No Sparks, No Fire

Not many creative or emotional thoughts this morning. I am just writing to figure it all out today, or maybe I should just stop trying to figure it all out and go with the absence of feeling. Or better yet, maybe I should tackle the mounds of work in my head, on my desk and waiting in my inbox. Or maybe not.

I went out with friends last night... these are friends I met long ago, friends I met before becoming married, that have stuck with me through the marriage (they are still in shock that the divorce is happening, "we seemed like such a great couple") and now they are sticking with me through the divorce. One is so hell-bent on setting me up with a 25 year old firefighter that I just have to laugh. A firefighter would be nice if I was on fire and a 25 year old would be nice if I was, say, 25! The conversation was light with regard to my stepping out onto the dating scene, and jokes about one night stands, use and abuse were thrown out there for my consideration. I considered it. Nah. Not ready to jump into that pit yet, I'll stick with my fantasies of Owen Wilson and his whispering of sweet nothings in my ear. The loneliness is just temporary, and sacrificing companionship as I heal myself internally is the healthier way. Besides, I have friends with a list of single men ready for me to say the word. (Unfortunately, I was told, many of them are shorter than me so I am required to leave my beautiful heels at home, and to not worry about doing my hair so nicely because many of them may feel inferior as they don their balding heads). Oh dear God, dating is not something I am even close to considering - it causes my stomach to turn a little.

I am going out with a couple friends tonight. We are going to a place where rock music plays on one side, country music on the other. I was told to wear my heels and to get ready for some line dancing, oh, "and it wouldn't hurt if you showed a little cleavage". Cleavage? What is that? Did she mean butt cleavage? Certainly she has seen my chest? I guess I could pull out the duct tape and go at it, yet what is the point?

I actually fear tonight. I fear the thought of being at a place with a crowd full of people (men) who are likely to see the absence of a ring on my left finger as an invitation to assert themselves upon me. I fear running into someone I know, or someone who knows him (intimately or otherwise). I fear having fun and liking it too.

It's going to take me a long time to learn, a long time to love again, a long time to get over the fear of firefighters and assertive men and twenty-five year old men, and divorced men, and single never-been-married men my age, men with children, men with hands and fingers and toes. A long time not to fear this.

For some reason, the duct tape sounds more appealing. Not so much for my chest, but I could use for other things - after all, one can do anything with duct tape. I might cut a thin strip, and wrap it around my left ring finger for the night. Who knows, there might be a nice fire fighter there waiting with medical scissors to cut it off. Ugh.