I dumped my water out while I was using the restroom at Big’s (Read: Valero). I made eye contact with myself in the mirror. I told myself I was not paranoid. If there ever has been a bigger better to be safe than sorry moment in your life, this is it. This is your chance to live to tell the tale. To be the smart chic in the horror movie who makes it out alive but still somehow unfulfilled. I pour my bottle of water in to the Smart bottle, noting that my hands are steady and I feel completely in control of every circumstance I can be. Splash some water on my face and prepare to face my fate.
It occurs to me that if this were a movie, I could make it as sweet as possible. I’m beginning to wonder if there was a little something in that water because I’m actually fantasizing about it. Well, the lead up to it anyway. I imagine he fulfills my every dark fantasy. By dark I mean the dysfunctional pleasure response created by the thing I was lead to believe was love as a child. The thing I named love as an adolescent. The gateway drug that became an addiction in my teens. The intense emotional experiences I created in my twenties. The dissatisfaction I felt in my early thirties. And whatever this thing I’m doing right now is because they were all THE best thing I ever felt at the time they were happening.
Even the bad parts—you know the ones that even though there aren’t really any bad parts or good parts; there are just parts—you still kinda wonder what that really means? Even though you KNOW that to be true, still you doubt? Yeah. Even those.