BILLET-DOUX

I'm getting ready to take an evening stroll in the park. I love the park.

I wish there was someone sweet and clever to accompany me.

Instead, I am alone on a Saturday night. Which is okay, I suppose, but maybe not when it happens so often. I could turn into Syd Barrett (Who is this Man?).

This afternoon, I took a long nap after work. Later, I woke up cold from a sad and lonely dream. I laid in bed, afterwards, and thought about the future, and everything I'd like to do before it's too late.

(Aside: Did you know that Richland College offers one of the best events planning and coordinating schools in the country? Nearly everyone who has come out of it has landed a tasty job.)

I laid there and thought about how much I have inured myself to being alone. I have come to accept it. And I realized that even all my blog entries (unless I'm researching rock stars or hobbits or something) are about me and me alone, and never about a gritty, pretty female who shares this space with me.

Either because she doesn't exist....

... or, if she does, we haven't discovered each other yet. Or, if we have, we haven't competely realized it. Or admitted it.

It's not Magic (or is it?). She could be anyone. She could be you, dear reader. (Unless you have a penis. Sorry.)

I enjoy seeing things, like at Jordan and Amanda's place, where they have their walking staffs standing side-by-side in a little basket. His and hers. So adorable. I want somebody's witch get-up to share hanger space with my Gilderoy gear in the costume closet. (And, yes, I have one of those!)

As I curled up in bed today, I tried to imagine, like a dreamy schoolboy, what life would bring with various eligible women. I know each of them well and, in each, I detect the glimmer of possiblity. None of them are married or Hollywood movie stars or lesbians (or under 18) or otherwise unattainable. And, however likely or unlikely my chances with each of them (or them with me), I decided not to defenestrate* any of them just yet. Or to single one out for an exclusive campaign of love (or courting, in a quainter vernacular). Nor do I want to put any extra added pressure on myself (or anyone else) or panic about not being in a relationship at the age of forty. Nor do I want to jump into anything just to satisfy some societal norm or to appease my ancestors with hosts of cherubs. Although, even that is still a possibility to be considered. Absolutely. But on my own terms (and hers - whoever she may be), and nobody else's

It's just that I don't want to have a massive regret, as I get older, of never having found love. Or even of having been a dad.

I'd make a great dad. With me as a father, the kid, be it boy or girl (I'd actually luv a house full of women), would be assured of something priceless: a sense of wonder.

And they would inherit a dashing smile. Worthy of Witch Weekly.

And so, I have decided that the best way for me to proceed is to have FUN! And not to think so much. And not to worry.

The real worries begin, as some of my dearest friends can attest, when you start having kids.

* Earthlink's Word of the Day