let's do the math

It’s really hard for me to have any kind of hope anymore and that makes me sadder than the absence of that person I hope for in the first place.

I saw this post from 8 years ago. You know how Facebook does that. I quoted a line from Garden State, still one of my all-time favorite movies. I said, “You gotta hear this one song, it’ll change your life I promise you.” The song I was referring to was, “Hold Onto hope” by Amy Stroup. She has one of the most beautiful voices on the planet. These are the lyrics she sings over and over in the song: “Hold onto hope love I’ve searched high and low for you, for you. Each day gets closer so hold on stronger to me and you. Someday soon I’ll find you. Someday soon I’ll know you.” There was a time, and more recently than 8 years ago, where I could still do this. I could still hold on hope. But I can’t anymore and like I said, losing hope is the worst thing you could possibly lose. I wish I could have hope. But the fact is, I’ve tried to hold on to hope for 11 years and that’s just since my last relationship, I had to hold on for many years before that as well. Let’s just say since when I was 18, about the time I really wanted that first relationship. I’m 36, so do the math, that’s nearly 20 years. That’s a crazy amount of time to hold on to hope. Maybe I should look at the shortest number: 5. well 5 and a half if we’re being technical. That’s how long since I realized that I had been looking the wrong direction. That’s how long since I realized who I truly was. Who I’ve been my whole life but never knew. I’m into girls. Women. You get what I mean. So should I do the math and pretend I’m really 23? That’s 5 years from 18. So in lesbian years I’m like 23. And 23 year olds aren’t necessarily married off yet. Well most of my straight friends were by that age, but that’s neither here nor there. I can try to make myself feel better in saying it’s only been 5 years (that I’ve been looking in the right direction) but it doesn’t really make me feel that great because if we do the math again- if we get to my lesbian 36, I’ll be 49. And I don’t want to be 49 and finally find love. That’s too late. Maybe it worked for Ellen Degeneres. She was 50 when she married Portia, but let’s face it, I’m no Ellen. I guess it doesn’t matter in length of years you’re with someone, but in quality time spent. Man, if I had a girlfriend right now, we’d cram so much into our shortened years together. I have a long list of things I want to do with her and places I want to go. Pretty much everywhere I’ve already been. I want to do all those things again, but this time with the love of my life. I hated that I had to do it all alone. I didn’t want to. I wanted to GO to all those places and I’m glad I did, but they would’ve been a thousand times better if I had her to share those experiences with. Particularly the hotel beds.

But back to the hope thing. I mean, fuck. How can I be expected to have hope after all these years of waiting and trying and putting myself out there and putting my energy out there and believing that it will happen and going places and doing things with intentions of being open to anyone out there? Taking any connection and running with it, testing the waters, seeing if there’s anything really there with that person. I’ve done that. I have. A lot. I’m not saying I won’t ever again, but I can tell you the number has gone way down, like to single digits. I’m also at a loss and out of ideas too. I don’t know why this is so hard for me. I don’t know why it seems so easy for everyone else and I don’t mean maintaining a relationship, of course that is hard for everyone. But the meeting. The clicking, the dates to get to the point of relationship- that’s impossible for me. At least that’s what it seems. I literally don’t know what else to do, that’s why I do nothing. That’s why I don’t try anymore. That’s why I write stories of a reincarnated ghost lady coming down from heaven, gliding over the water at my lake to me, to be my soulmate. That’s why I write stories of being with characters from TV shows because they are all that I have in my life. Or even taking it another step further and writing stories of being with the actual actress herself. I do that to make up for the fact that as a human being supposedly being capable of connection-I suck at it. It’s like I’m not even human. I’m an alien. And I don’t understand the rules. At least that’s what people make me feel like. I do wish that friends would set me up with someone, but that’s never happened. Maybe they don’t know any lesbians but me or maybe they don’t think I’m capable either.

This wind out on this hill overlooking the lake is strong. So strong it feels like it takes my breath from me at times. It’s sucking the life out of me, like people do. My day job is 100% giving, compromising. And that’s fine. I get paid to do it. I couldn’t do that for free, at least not 40 hours a week. 90% of my job is compromising for others, rearranging and making it work for them. But that’s how it goes and I love what I do. So when I get home the only thing that fills me up and gives me what I need, is my cat sleeping on my lap and my shows. Seeing these characters that I either wish I could have what they have, or be them, or be loved by them, or in some cases they just make me feel better that I’m NOT them because the lives that they are portraying are 100 times worse than the one I live. THAT'S how I vicariously live.

Well, I’ve been pelted by leaves and acorns from the tree above me and I think the wind’s taking all it can out of me now. Gotta go back inside. Be with my people…and by people I mean my cat Mollie and my actresses. Let's leave the math lessons to the math teachers.