And I want her to be great. I want her to make you happy and to support you and challenge you and all of those things.
But she’s not as great as I am. She’s not as sexy or as adventurous – I can pretty much guarantee those things. She won’t challenge you moment by moment on everything that you do, not the way that I would.
But you can take her home to meet your family. She can make you happy without giving you endless reasons to throw breakable objects around the room.
I’m sure she’s not difficult. I am one-hundred and eighty percent a difficult woman.
I don’t know how to play nice. I never have.
I think too fast to play nice. And I move my bishop across the chessboard before I realize the damage it does to the opposing king.
Someone said to me once that I refused to love him because we had a real chance at happiness and I was afraid to be happy. The truth is I refused to love him because he was a pathological liar but I will say that I wonder if there was some truth to his statement.
If there’s a real chance for me with someone, I run. I always have. I tell every perspective suitor that I would make a bad girlfriend. I sabotage the relationship before it begins with those words.
Sometimes I think that I should slow down and settle down. I’m not tied to anyone anymore, not the way that I’d been for over ten years. I don’t have anyone else to protect now.
Last year, I wrote an entry about how I wanted to be with someone completely against my type. And then I met him. It was like I crafted a spell and there he was but the chance of it happening in reality was so slight that I let my brain do a little dance that in an alternate universe geography wouldn’t be such a big deal.
That’s the only way I can fall for someone, I think. If the chance of it blossoming is so rare, so slight that it would require great leaps of faith that neither of us are likely to ever make.
If you asked me to leap right now, I would, but then I immediately see disaster seven moves ahead and I’d run, not to protect me, but to protect you from all of my dark moves and complications.
So I hope she’s perfect and wonderful. And we’ll stay dancing the dance of friends who waltz on what-if.