Saturday Night. 8:45 PM. I’m sitting on my balcony, alone, with nothing but a six pack of Red Stripe to keep me company. It’s finally not raining and I’m thankful I can see the sky and feel a completely unseasonal cool breeze. I’m positive there are things I could be doing and friends I could be hanging out with, but somewhere in the chaos of New York it feels nice to be alone and not speak with anything but my fingertips.
I don’t regret much, but I do regret my mouth and my heart and the world of hurt they’ve both brought raining down upon me in the past month. If I could un-love him I would. If I could find a way to be happy just being his friend I would, too. It was a long hard fall, learning I’d once again misread the signs and given my full self to someone who neither wanted nor deserved it. So I’ll open up to you, Cyberspace, and apologize to the Universe for the tangled mess I’ve become. I have completely unraveled.
One year ago and a few days ago, Lori was here. (Lori is now pregnant and in Georgia – two things I both love for her and hate for me.) One year ago, I made the promise I make every year – that this was finally going to be my year and I’d finally conquer this whole love thing. One year ago, I honestly believed that by the time I reached the point I’m at right now, I would no longer be alone. Lori rolled her eyes and reminded me that I say that every year.
Birthdays stop being fun when you start to approach your scary age. 27 is my scary age. It now looms a short 5 days away, and Unraveled Alison must now step up to the plate and admit she is not where she wants to or thought she’d be. In all fairness, I am at least things I never thought I’d be and I won’t apologize for or doubt my successes, wherever they may lie.
When 27 arrives, I will make no promises. I will tell no one that this will finally be my year. I won’t open up my heart or gently place it on my sleeve for the universe to locate its partner. I am not going to let myself believe that I am actually any different than any of the other lost souls out there, hoping to figure it all out before it’s too late. My time will come when God is good and ready to give it to me, and no wishes placed on burning candles will ever change that.
This year I’ll only swear on the things I can deliver. I’ll be a better boss, a better daughter, a better neighbor, a better roommate, a better friend, and a better Alison. I won’t be selfish, but I will be self-aware. I’ll make the time anyone spends in my presence as pleasant, good-natured, and fun as possible. I may have done nothing wrong, but I sure don’t feel like I’ve done much right, either.
27 may be my scary year, but the world isn’t going to stop turning because I’m uncomfortable. And that’s all I have to say about that.
2 comments:
27 was hard for me too, way harder than that dreaded 30. I can't explain it other than that is when you hit late 20's and somewhere in my head, late 20's was when you were supposed to have it all together. I didn't and it made me feel like I was a loser of some sorts. But now, I'm 32 and I still don't have all my shit together, but I'm happy and love where my life is. Tell 27 hello for me, that life is good, and that you're gonna kick that sorry little number's ass! ;o) ~ annie
sometimes you picture me, i'm walking too far ahead
you're calling to me, i can't hear what you said
you say, go slow
i fall behind
the second hand unwinds
if you're lost you can look
and you will find me
time after time
if you fall, i will catch you
i'll be waiting
time after time
if you're lost you can look
and you will find me
time after time
if you fall, i will catch you
I WILL BE WAITING
time after time.
i love you. and you'll be wonderfully fabulous...like you always are. and if in one of those moments, you aren't and you fall...i will be here to catch you, promise. time after time.
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