And I know how to back out of relationships. I know how to make a guy crazy so he leaves me. I know how to run away from a guy when he starts to feel too strongly for me, or starts to see the “real” me. I know how to pick losers that I will eventually get bored with, or flight risks that I know won’t be able to stay around for too very long due to their nature.
What I haven’t known how to do was open up.
I haven’t known how to let someone in to that little part of my heart that has always been guarded. I haven’t known how to tell someone my darkest secrets, and trust that they won’t trounce all over my soul. I’ve made attempts to share my dark secrets and icky skeletons with men I cared about, but it’s never really worked out well for me. Usually I can’t actually say what I want, or they freak out and run away from my too much intensity kind of self.
I’ve heard many times that when you least expect it, and when you aren’t looking for it, love comes along. And yes, I understand that there are no guarantees. There are no sure bets and no fixed outcomes. Love may not come for me in the way that I’m hoping it will. The odds may stack themselves up against me, and I may well end up broken hearted, devastated, empty handed. I may be pushing all my chips in to the table only to find that my pair of two’s isn’t quite enough to win that delicious pot that is worth the risk of it all.
But who can say? Who can say what the future is? How do I know what the path ahead holds for me? I wish only the best for my fellow players in this round; I wish success and happiness for all. I mean no harm to those I bet against, and no disrespect to those I ante up to. I’m not trying to trick those at my table, deceive anyone with my hidden tells, or coerce the outcome I desire by manipulation or seduction. I mean only to throw in my lot with the rest of those at hand, and see how I come up.
Because at this point, what else can I do? To win big, I must risk it all. To find that which I desire, I must sacrifice some of the safety I have. To walk away with the spoils, I must give everything I own. And it’s crazy. It’s insane. It makes no logical sense, and there is no reason I should do it. What I should do is walk it off. Shake it off. Sleep it off. I should pick up my belongings and cash in my chips at the door. I should go saunter up to that cute bartender and see if he doesn’t have something that will cure my ails. Maybe that would be the more logical choice.
But I can’t. Because I’m already in. I’ve already fallen in. I’m ALL in.
No no, this is of the G variety, until I wake up and get scared and start using R rated words.
It’s just that I’ve been hearing noises.
A scratching at the door, fingernails in the walls, scurry here scurry there. I guess we might have winter mice lurking about.
It’s scared the poop out of me, I admit. It’s no fun waking up in the middle of a good dream about KARL URBAN only to find that I’m crazy, because there really isn’t any little creature in my room. And then the idea of mice walking around while I sleep only conjures up images of 70’s horror movies, and then I’m awake all night.
But mice would only explain so much. The scratching, sure.
But what about all the other things?
What about this morning at 3.00 a.m., while I am safely walking the streets of slumberland, only to hear little tiny faeries playing Fairy Yahtzee in my room. I hear that familiar shake, shake, shake of the magical canister full of dice. I suppose it could be that the Faeries are playing Craps, but I think the sound would be different in that case. More swearing. And certainly less rattling.
I wake up in a shock and look frantically around my room, though of course it’s dark and I can’t see a thing. And while I would love to catch the Faeries in the act of a Full House, I’m still a bit afraid. Why are they playing board games in my room? Why now? Why wasn’t I invited?
Now if you are an adult (unlike some of us) you might want to use logic to chase away this Faerie gambling story. You might say, denelle, couldn’t it have been the ice in your huge freezer cup of water that repositioned itself as it settled in, and just SOUNDED like the roll of little dice? To which I would reply: SHUT UP. NO ONE ASKED YOU.
I mean of course, it can always be the practical thing. It could always be freezing rain hitting my window, or the heater blowing a straggling piece of loud and noisy cellophane wrapping across my floor. I suppose it’s more likely than goblins rappelling off my closet door, or house elves coming to clean for me (certainly more likely than that, since I know what the state of my room is). Still, there is the question in my mind…what is REALLY going on at night?
Is the house really settling? The house finally came to the realization – in the middle of the night – that maybe it doesn’t get to be a spa after all. It has to finally accept this sad truth and decides to do this at night? Why? Why not in the middle of the day, when no one is here to witness it sobbing about what it could have been in it’s glory days?
Or is it really the wind crying? Because the wind has it so bad. The adult explanations of the bumps in the night aren’t any more convincing to me than the children versions, which include fun things like the Boogey Man in the Closet, the Thing Under the Bed, Things That Go Bump in the Night, and of course gambling imps.
So whatever, bad weather, nocturnal creatures running around the house, or dice wielding winkies, it all adds up to the same thing;
I’m not getting any sleep. I’m obviously going to have to start drinking again.
1.6.10 4:16 am