Love

Resonance

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White on white
      A white girl
      In a white room
      Being pushed into a white machine

Kindly pushed I should add
     Paul is my MRI tech
     I hate MRIs
     I get through this MRI by thinking about my man   
     I call him the beautiful man
     He’s gone now. Gone forever.
     His name means too much
           so I can’t say it
     He has simply become 
          The Beautiful Man

Beeps and buzzes bombard me 
      Enter me
White walls entomb me
      It’s hard to believe these machines don’t cause cancer
           Terror comes nearer
      I repeat every beautiful thing he ever told me
      Time with you is a precious gift
            He said
      I remember his kisses
           His eyes shut
      I remember asking him how I did
           After our first kiss
           Magnificent he said
      I remember my read resting awkwardly on his arm
           Our backs on the grass 
                outside Garfield Conservatory
          Leaves against the clouds 
               filling my view above
          His lean face filling my view to the right
      I remember him skating backwards
           Grinning and relaxed
           At the outdoor skating rink
           Me skating towards him
                Chatting about his two boys
                Wearing his extra hat on my head
      What should I call you?
           He asked
           Playfully working to find the best pet name for me
           I never needed a pet name
           I just needed him
           He could have called me catface
                and my heart would have melted
      My beautiful Abigail
           Is the last thing he ever called me
           And the best
           Because he said “my”

Who knew
      Someday he would be gone
      And his memories would rescue me from an MRI machine

   

Date #1 – The Aftermath

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Well there was no date. He canceled. Day of. Incredibly not classy. He’s off the list now. And most sadly this makes for an uninteresting blog post. Perhaps he wasn’t a killer or a bore, but he’s turned my blog post into a snoozer.

Next time, right?

Date #1 – The Prediction

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So I’m going on my first date tonight. Not the first date of my life, just the first one in which I intend to chronicle all adventures. What does this do for me? Provide me immense entertainment (and hopefully you also) and an ultimately false but effective “clinical detachment” as I analyze my experiences in written form. Its so mean of me… but not really. Should one relationship work out, this blog will go suddenly silent. (I’ll be busy.)

So on to the the prediction. He is tall. Good. Good start (although I’ve discovered recently this isn’t necessary). He’s very well educated – Mr. PhD in fact. He’s not particularly well written – not thrilled about that but you never know what combination of factors will ultimately work out for you. He’s older – that could be excellent as it takes men longer to mature. He probably just recently caught up to me. And he didn’t say too much else of interest! As I don’t know the fellow, I’ve notified various girlfriends of time and place of said meeting, in case he turns out to be a serial killer.

Apparently that was just background for the prediction. I predict… it will be nice, a little boring, we won’t really connect that much (I like readers and I don’t think he’s much of a reader), he won’t be that great looking, we’ll enjoy our time together as humans are supposed to do, and then I’ll go home, having to figure out plans for how to nicely get rid of him. Of course, perhaps he’ll be thinking the same! But my past doesn’t suggest that.

So, tonight – the killer or the bore. Wouldn’t it be nice to get something in between? I really don’t even know what that means. How do you be half serial killer?

Actual conclusion to this post: should all dating endeavors fail, there’s always Benedict. Now there’s a reader! I would just skip all this dating nonsense and marry him, but he doesn’t know about me yet. Small snafu in the plans.

Flirt Till You Can’t Move

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That’s my new approach. I had a friend once who decided to go on 50 dates in a year. She did, and currently she’s married with 3 little ones. I don’t know that the two are connected, but her relationship bravada is something I think I’m going to emulate.

Why? I’m old. And bored. I won’t discuss the lonely. That would be too unpleasant to read.

Should there be any noteworthy stories to post, I will post them!

Should Benedict Cumberbatch realize that a fan he’s never met is really his bosom friend and kindred spirit, you’ll hear about it in the news, and this blog shall be discontinued.