Isn’t it ironic how life can be so bittersweet. It must be an addicting formula, because I keep going back for more sweetness, but I seem to ignore the bitter taste it leaves in my mouth when Im done eating. Then the rest of my day is filled with confusion and uncertainty, as I try to figure out why the bite seems to be worse that the bark.
I’ve been a shit before in my life, and especially to the few women who were brave enough to date me, but I took five years off from that scene to really define and figure out what it is that I want in a woman, if that opportunity ever manifested again. Needless to say, I had my doubts.
I didn’t care how tall she was, I didn’t care if she had money or good credit. I didn’t care what color her hair was, and I knew she’d be beautiful regardless, I just wanted someone to accept me for who I am, and love me unconditionally till the day one of us dies.
Morbid, perhaps, but I didn’t think I was even going to kiss another woman let alone fuck one or fall in love and find myself spending nights in a Four Points Sheraton that I would have been able to afford to walk thru let alone spend two nights as a guest.
But these worldly things I mention, they aren’t on my list of wishes or qualities in a soulmate. Sure, I’d love it if she were like me, a blend of blue collar and white trash royalty, who has, style, sex appeal and the occasional run in with the law that amounts to a verbal or written warning, but I never really defined that as a trait I desired.
But when she showed up in all of her Californian suburban glory one night at our local Walmart, not wearing a bra something clicked in me. A few weeks later she bought me an anniversary present. It wasn’t our anniversary at all, in fact we hadn’t even made out yet, but five years from that day I had been arrested in New Jersey, and she celebrated my freedom with two tailor made gifts that I treasure to today.
Now, again, it wasn’t about the item she got me, it wasn’t about the amount of money it costs, it was about how someone cared enough to remind me of how far I have come since that day in April 2018. A day that changed my life forever, and one that I mentioned to her off the cuff, and that might have been a little off putting to her. After all, I’m sure not many girls’ dream guys are forty something year old faded rockstar types, with a 580 credit score, and a felony drug possession on their record, but I guess those things didn’t matter to her because she was able to see me for who I really was.
I’m a good person with a kind heart who gets the occasional footprint on it as it sometimes gets used as a mat for people to wipe their shit. I guess I’m used to it now, most of the shit comes off with a little soap and water anyway, but I’ll never understand how this love can be so precious and fulfilling some times, and still so callous and spiteful at others.
But I don’t think that’s my problem to figure out anyway.
Complaining Is An Art Form 