Tag: falling in love

Number 1…part 3

Christanna Rowader1 Comment

 

PATIO TALK

It was warm out, so I’d decided to eat my lunch out on the patio of our workplace. I ate ravenously, barely chewing before swallowing, inhaling more and more until my plate was nearly clean. One would think I had malnutrition. I probably was…being a “starving actor” ‘n all. I ate alone, a warm breeze flushing my cheeks. I enjoyed eating alone. It was peaceful and I didn’t have to talk to anyone. I could focus purely on my food. I could focus and think…

Think…think and thinking and thinking too much…

I wondered about my friend Pablo and why he liked Bobby, or Robert—or whatever—so much. Pablo was my best friend, but I couldn’t understand what he saw in him. Why he thought he was a really nice guy when he was a total ass. I thought about the time I asked Bobby to stay at work for me so I could go home early and he said “no, that he had to get home to his daughter.” Then when he was done with his shift, he ended up hanging out with Pablo at the bar with a couple of drunken girls. I was really mad about that. Angrier than usual. I shouldn’t have been. He wasn’t my husband. But there just HAD to be a reason why he was acting this way. It didn’t make any sense. Because he WAS a really nice guy. He wasn’t a jerk. But his actions just didn’t match up. And Pablo liked him, and so did a lot of people, so why was it I was seeing him as the bad guy? There just had to be a reason why he acted the way he did and it was going to drive me insane until I found out why!

“Hey, whatcha thinkin’?”

Speak of the devil…

“What’s up, Bobby,” I said, snapping into focus, and wiping any residual food-crumbs off the corners of my mouth. He was standing across from me, smiling his usual-annoying smile.

“Oh, I just saw you out here and wanted to say hi, but you looked deep in thought…” he said, smiling.

“Oh yeah, I do that,” I said, wiping my face again with my napkin. I could’ve sworn I felt leftover crumbs on my face still.

“Whatcha eating?” he asked, his fingers laced in front of him as he casually leaned against a chair.

“Um…” I glanced down at my plate…what did I eat? I was so hungry, I didn’t even pay attention. “I dunno, sliders?” I shrugged.

Bobby nodded. “They must’ve been good.”

“Yep.” My eyes flicked from my plate to Bobby and back again. “So, what’s up?”

He shrugged…and smiled again. “Just wanted to say hi.”

“Why don’t you act like a married man?” I blurted, as if the situation couldn’t be anymore uncomfortable for me and my “private” lunch.

He blinked and the smile went slightly crooked, but seemed to still hold on. And then his face relaxed, as if a sense of relief went through him. “Do you really wanna know?” he said.

“Um, yeah. I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t.” Boy, I could such a bitch to him.

Bobby sighed and the smile was gone. Then he went into a story I would never forget. Out of respect for the sake of their own relationship’s privacy, I won’t divulge. But all you need to know is that the man went from beginning to end with a story about what happened between him and his wife. And because I could sense he was telling the truth (lies are easy to spot, trust me), the hate and anger I felt for him melted away. Those feelings were replaced with a sadness and a touch of guilt for hating him so much. I asked him why, if the two of them were so miserable, he or her didn’t ask for a divorce. He told me that he wouldn’t do it because he wanted the best for his daughter, but that the idea of divorce crossed his mind many times. He figured, being an incredibly patient man, he would try to wait it out until his daughter grew to be 18.

After a moment, he said, “Do you think I’m a bad person?” And he was serious, the look in his eyes glossing over.

“No,” I said. “I think you’re human.”

My insides warmed but in a very sad and guilty way. It felt like everything I thought I knew or assumed about Bobby was right and wrong at the same time. Bobby was trapped in a marriage where both people wanted to escape and neither knew how to do it right. From then on, I decided to make him a friend. Not a close friend, but in my circle of people who I knew needed somebody. I called it The Losers Club (because, frankly, I was one of the biggest losers).

“Thank you for telling me,” I said. “If you ever need a friend…” This time I smiled.

A month or so had passed since we had that talk on the patio. We were good friends at work, but nothing more. My sarcasm remained when talking with him, but we were more playful than we had been before.

One day, while the two of us worked at our computer stations, he looked at me with a particularly bright smile and said, “I’ve got some interesting news to tell you.”

“Oh yeah? What?” I said, smirking at him with my usual cockiness.

“I’m getting a divorce.”

My jaw dropped…

Number 1…part 2

Christanna Rowader1 Comment

 

THE COLDSHOULDER MOVE

As the months passed, I endured working with Robert, by being a bitch. I can’t explain why he brought this bitchy side out of me, but I wanted to make it clear that absolutely NO sign of attraction would sneak out onto my expression. He would walk pass me at work and say, “Hey, pretty lady.” I would sneer back. Every computer station I worked at, he would be there too, and if he said anything to me, I would ignore him. If he tried to jump into a conversation with me and another coworker, I would cut him off by saying, “Married men aren’t allowed to talk about this. Go away.” His response was always a smile and a little laugh, and he would CONTINUE talking with us anyway!

I hated him.

When we were on separate sides of the room, I would glance over in his direction and watch him work. He always had this intense look in his eyes whenever he worked on the computer and his lips pursed in concentration. He had full lips and long black eyelashes, black curly hair cut short, high cheekbones, skin the color of creamy coffee, and these subtle dimples that creased his cheeks anytime he smiled. I wanted to kiss those dimples.

Boy, I hated him!

One night, a bunch of us from work got together at a bar to celebrate an old manager’s visit home. It was hours upon hours of fun and drinks. LOTS of drinks. I had a total of about six vodka Red Bulls, which landed me in the arms of an innocent coworker. I suppose we made out for a couple of minutes, but I wouldn’t find out until the next morning at work.

“Everyone’s telling me that we made out,” I would say.

His young face would turn bright red. It always turned bright red when I talked to him.

“Is that true?” I would ask.

“Yes,” he would say.

“Oh…well, was it any good?” I would say.

“Yes, it was very sweet, actually,” he would say.

“Oh….well, I’m sorry, I was totally drunk. I didn’t mean to take advantage of you like that,” I would say.

“No, don’t be sorry. It was great,” he would say.

“I’m sorry anyway. It won’t ever happen again,” I would say. And it didn’t.

Back to the party at the bar, my massive drunk buzz was finally wearing off and I had returned to a more suitable buzz. Good timing too, because the next thing I heard was…

“BOBBY!!!”

I turned around and saw Robert walk into the bar, a bright white smile spread across his face as he greeted everyone from work.

As he made his way closer to where I was, I called out, “Well look who’s here!”

He just smiled back and came towards me. But I moved away and took a seat at the bar top, realizing as I was sitting down, my drunkenness was still affecting my thought process so I deemed it wiser to stay away from Robert. Somehow he ended up hovering beside my chair anyway, almost like a protective shroud. The coworker I made out with was close by too. But I distracted myself with my girlfriends, all the while irritated AND smugly pleased that Robert was standing guard.

Soon enough, it was closing time and we were all making our way out of the bar. People were offering me rides home, but I wanted to go to Denny’s to sober up some more. Robert offered to take me and I took it.

As soon as we walked into the old-fashioned diner, my gut twisted in a warning. But I ignored it. We sat down at a table and I ordered coffee and chicken strips. Or rather he ordered them for me, which I thought was quite bizarre. Pssh, I guy ordering FOR me, the nerve… 

It was just the two of us. We talked about musicals, history, my life as an actress, his life as a history major, details I would never remember because my head wouldn’t stop buzzing, and because I was too caught up with the fact that I was sitting alone with him thinking how wonderful it was and that I wanted so badly to reach out and touch his cheek, and that this was how it could be…if…

If what? You’re not married, my head would say. Then, but HE is, my other head would say.

We were leaned in very close at this point. I could feel his warm breath on my mouth, and then, before I knew what was happening…

“Well, are you done? Cause I need to get going,” he said.

I blinked and glanced down at my plate of food. Empty.

“Yeah, I’m done,” I said, and that warm feeling I felt inside my gut turned to an icy, numbing pain.

He drove me back to my car in silence, dropped me off and drove away without waiting for me to get inside my car. I remember it was freezing that night too and I only had on a thin jacket. I don’t know why that’s important, but I remember thinking to myself, as I watched his truck speed off, shivering, what an ass…a married ass.

Later, at work, I would ask him, “Why don’t you act like a married man?” But that’s for another story…

Number 1…part 1

Christanna Rowader2 Comments

 

It’s only been a week into the new year and I’m already running. I ended the old year with a great blog about my newest friends and Number 1 being the closest thing to BEING the one. And now I’m running again. Now I’m panicking. And crying. And being so girlishly possessive it makes me sick. If there’s one thing I hate most, it’s crying…and being sick.

And it occurs to me that I’ve never written a blog about Number 1 and how we became…something—sorry, the term “relationship” just makes me queasy, but that’s what we became.

I was much safer in my little dream world with Luke Skywalker, fighting off bad guys, and making love with the Force. You know you’ve always wanted to!

In the Beginning (one-ish year ago)

So here I was, minding my own business, eating a Turkey Cobb sandwich on my dinner break, when someone decided to interrupt.

“Hey, so I hear you’re an actress,” he says. I look up and see Robert, or Bob, or whatever he went by. He was very tall, had black hair, and amber-colored eyes. Of course I wouldn’t notice his eyes until much later. Needless to say, I was instantly attracted to him. Like BAM-in-your-FACE into him.

He was the new guy. I had already introduced myself to him earlier as I normally do to newbies…

“Hey, who are you?” I said, as he busied himself at the beverage station.

“I’m (Robert or Bob or something),” he said. At the time I couldn’t remember his name exactly. I was too busy trying to look and act cool as my insides were bursting with fiery hormones that wanted to jump all over this poor innocent human male.

“Well, I’m Xanna,” I said. “Welcome to hell.” “Hell” being The Restaurant in this instance. And that was it. I sauntered away as usual, trying to recall his name, but all I could remember was his brilliant smile and surprisingly comforting eyes. Mine, was the only thing that went through my mind. I felt a little smile grow inside of me.

Creepy, isn’t it? When people fall for other people. If you think about it…it really is creepy. But sometimes cute and it just makes you wanna go awwwwwwww……

Anyhow, later that evening, he decided to sit next to me on my dinner break and ask me a whole lot of questions about being an actress, to which I responded with “I’m the starving kind” and surprised me with how much he knew about musicals and such.

I figured he must be gay in some way—which was just my luck because I was always either attracted to gay men or married men—but it turned out he wasn’t and that he was just a history major in college and had an obsession about knowing everything about everything. Don’t ask me why that made me think he wasn’t gay anymore—just did.

And then it happened. Mine flashed through my thoughts again. It had been a while since anyone had sparked that inside of me…come to think of it, never had. And now all I could think of was tall, dark haired man named Robert. Going to work was suddenly fun for the first time. I couldn’t wait to see him.

Sometimes while I worked at one of the computer stations, he would come over and work next to me and ask me more questions. I don’t remember what, but it sounded nice, and all I could think of was mine—mine and yum.

Then one day I invited him out with a group of friends from work. A group of us usual go out to Crown and Anchor, a local English pub, after work and try to forget how awful our jobs are.

“Thanks, but I’ve got my daughter tonight,” he said.

Sting in the chest! (Not a stab, those are much worse). I “inner-winced” and remembered when I dated a guy with a daughter. Yeah, Mr. Georgia. And…it didn’t work out too well. Which was a “heavy” bummer at the time. But hey! Why judge this guy the same way? And the way he said “I’ve got my daughter tonight” made me think, soooooo this guy’s gotta be divorced, right? Who says it that way when they’re married?

“Ah, so you’re married?” I asked, assuming he’d probably say something along the lines of “no, I’m divorced,” or “no, I’m widowed,” or “no, I adopted,” or “no, I had a child out of wedlock and I got to keep her, ha!” which would all be perfect answers to my hopeful little heart…or hormones…or whatever!

“Yes I am,” he said.

………………………………………………STAB!!!!!

“Oh,” I smiled…I think… “Well, why would you say it like that? Why would you say, I’ve got my daughter tonight, as if you’re divorced or something.” Then I threw in a little sarcastic laugh like I was being cool or something. “So where’s your wife, then?”

“She’s got class tonight,” he said, still smiling that annoying patient, yet sweet and gentle and so very attractive, but untouchable smile.

“Ah, yes. Ah, well, that makes sense—yes. Well……………maybe next time.” And I turned my focus to the computer…very intently to the computer, all the while feeling my insides—AND hormones—freeze up and go cold. Of course he’s married. Of course…

And that was it.

But it wasn’t…

2013…Let’s see if “third time” really is a charm

Christanna Rowader2 Comments

 

Spit flew from my lips as I gasped for air. It was cold and the wind didn’t help. Other than a small top and thin leggings, the only thing coating me was sweat. I couldn’t breathe except from my mouth, and that, in of itself, was a struggle. I dodged to the left, clumsily landing on the rugged dirt path. Stones and rock tried to trip me, but I couldn’t slow down. I wouldn’t.

My younger brother was just up ahead, just above the steep hill in front of me. They were taking him. And they were going to kill him. The only person around to stop them was me. I heard him scream out my name. I called back with as much strength as I could spare. I came to the bottom of the hill and sprinted up. Digging my shoes into the soft dirt wasn’t enough. They were faster. I saw them drag my baby brother past the horizon and heard the shot. By the time I reached the top of the hill, they were gone and so was my brother. I returned home, defeated.

But tomorrow, they wouldn’t be so lucky.

This is how I motivated myself to run every day. Imagination is a whole-nother world for me. I had never been a runner up until 2012. My friend Pablo said to me one day, after long hours of lazing around, “Let’s go for a run.”

“I don’t run,” I said. “I’m terrible at it and it hurts my knees.” Excuses are always the way to go with Pablo, since he uses them so frequently it’s almost a second language for him.

“Aw come on!” he said.

Before I knew it, we were off, running up and down steep hills around my neighborhood. And that’s all it took. From then on, I started running every day (or night) and usually had an adventurous time with it too, hence my story above.

2012 happened to be quite an eventful year this time around. Just as I’d hoped. My last New Year’s blog was rather depressing, 2011 being rather a drag. I ended up spending New Year’s home alone watching Star Trek and writing my blog. I promised myself that 2012 would be different. That I’d go on more whims, make better friends, and fall in love, and, as per every year, somehow leave my serving job.

Well, folks, I did make all of it happen!

Getting More Agents

At the start of 2012, I added onto my resume another agent, Brady, Brannon, and Rich. They were to be my commercial agent. So instead of being only submitted for theater projects, I was finally able to go out on non-union commercial projects. I got lots of auditions, landed a few callbacks, but no bookings. Better than nothing, I think. It seemed as if my acting life was finally getting interesting. Let me tell you about commercial auditions….EASIEST THINGS EVER! In theater, you have to be prepared on multiple levels—monologues, 16-32 bar cut music, dancing, cold readings—but commercials? Man, it’s like you don’t have to do anything but show up and look the part!

Tipsy Tuesdays!

This year I finally clicked with a group of people I like to call The Rejects. I found myself suddenly with a best friend, Pablo. It seemed after I spent New Year’s eve alone, 2012 decided I wouldn’t spend any more of them like that. So that’s how Tipsy Tuesday was formed. One night, I decided to show up at my work on half-off-wine Tuesday and have a bottle of wine. There I saw Pablo sitting by himself on the other side of the bar. I called him over and we immediately started a long conversation on Metroid and Star Wars. Then others would join in—not the conversation necessarily, but the wine-ing. Katie, Samantha, Stephanie, Justin, and many others would become apart of the tradition known as Tipsy Tuesday. We would start at work, then make our way to Sunset Terrace, a lounge/bar of the neighborhood, and play Shuffle Board, King’s Kup, you name it! It was awesome. And then, one fateful night, I decided to change the name of the game, waste myself on a bottle and a half of wine, plus three whiskey shots, take a dull knife and go at it to my leg again.

The Cutting Returns

I hadn’t had a cutting episode since 2009 when I was miserable living in Arizona, finishing up my bachelor’s degree. That episode was the start of Whimming Lessons and this blog, come to think of it.

Anyhow, during another Tipsy Tuesday night, I had removed myself from my friends to cut in solitude. The drunk part was not the reason to it either. Cutting is a very fascinating reaction to depression and buried emotions. Getting drunk was on purpose to see if it would deaden the pain. Cutting is the release of that pain, when the drunk part doesn’t work. It’s an embarrassing habit that I somehow stumbled upon during my “crazy days” in 2009. Now it remains in my memory as a type of “way out.” A stupid “way out,” but one none the less. I spent months afterwards trying to heal up my leg. It took longer this time than before and got infected. But it didn’t stop me again. Number 1 had to clean me up the second time.

Number 1

This year was particularly interesting when concerning men. I had The Bartender, Blue Shirt, Mr. Big, and if there were any others, I hate to say I can’t remember them. Oh yeah! The Old Boss. Now, don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t “getting some” with all these guys. I happen to be old fashioned in the way I handle my dating relations with men. Or more simply put: I don’t enjoy sex unless I FEEL something for that person. So I don’t have sex for the hell of it.

I’m quite sure The Bartender and The Old Boss weren’t too happy with me because of this.

The Old Boss was an older man I had been highly sexually attracted to for years. But I make it a point not to get involved with bosses. That is…until they aren’t my boss anymore. So, on a daring and very nerve-wracking whim, I made out with The Old Boss, narrowly escaping being lured into his bed. By that, I mean, it had been a while for me and, boy, were my hormones flying! But there was something quite disturbing about kissing my old boss. It was as if my brain was still in “employee mode” and all I could think of was “obeying” his orders…while he was kissing me….uck! I decided to get out of there as soon as I could. I call it the Boss Whim. Never need to whim that one again, that’s for sure!

Next was The Bartender from Bogie’s. I was totally into him! But he turned out exactly as everyone else said he would, a completely man whore…aka, “bartender.” Three dates were enough for me.

Then there was The Boy, Blue Shirt and Mr. Big both at the same time. These relationships happened at a strange time in my life. I was at a point where I thought relationships were annoying, troublesome, and a waste of my time. Dating was still fun though. But Blue Shirt reminded of someone I had lost a long time ago, someone I had loved. The Boy was a side of attraction and youth I’d never experienced. And Big was the best friend I thought I’d never have. So I had a very intimate relationship with them, trying to decide for myself if either of them would grow into something deeper.

And then it happened one day in my dressing room, fighting off a bad sinus cold, and getting ready for opening night of 1776. I had received flowers from Mr. Big and his eight year old daughter. There was a little note from her as well. My dressing roommate said to me that my eyes were so bright and my face was glowing. It was then I realized who I wanted. I named him Number 1 shortly after that.

The Starving Actor

Whenever anyone asked me what my profession was this year, I said, “Oh, I’m an actor…the starving kind.” But it really wasn’t all the bad. I had become apart of a sketch comedy group called The Movie Guys which kept me busy every month. Then I started doing little promotional events for Cabrillo Music Theatre, the first theater company I worked for since I moved out to California. During the summer, I ended up playing Marian Paroo in The Music Man and in the fall, Abigail Adams in 1776. That’s two leads in a row! I was beyond thrilled.

New Year’s Eve

As I’m sitting here writing this, my friends are laughing, eating and drinking in the kitchen outside my room. I can’t tell you how different this is. California is now home for me. I’ve never written a blog where my friends were yelling at me to get off the computer because we have to go whimming!!!

“Hey, let’s go, I’m starving,” Pablo just said, bursting into my room.

“I’m almost done,” I say, typing as quickly as I can.

2012 was awesome! Despite the cutting returning resulting in birth control being denied to me, and Prozac being apart of my life forever, this year was pretty epic. We went skinny-whimming on a private beach! I whimmed with an old boss! We created Tipsy Tuesdays! I got promoted at work. I have the bestest friends I could ever wish for. I got hired at Marmalade resulting in, hopefully, my ultimate exit from The Restaurant. I got to work with renowned director Nick DeGruccio. And I found Number 1, who is more than a friend, more than a boy, and definitely more than a boy-friend.

Okay, they’re bugging me to get off the computer now, so I have to go. I don’t even have any time to proofread or edit this, so it’s kinda wonky, I apologize. I wanted to put pictures even, but it seems I’m out of time.

2012 rocked, but I got a really good feeling three times a charm! So bring it, 2013!!! BRING IT!

Being twenty-six. Going where no twenty-something has gone before.

Christanna Rowader4 Comments

There have been only a few stages of my life where I noticed a massive physical and mental change occur. At thirteen I knew my life from there on out would be hugely different. At eighteen, I knew my childhood had gone and I panicked. I truly felt I wouldn’t survive as an adult. The transition was terrifying.

But I made it to twenty-six. And, again, I sense another major shift in my body and mind. I have confidence now that I can survive the adult world and be happy in it. At twenty-six, working is addicting, even though I am worn out faster. Going out is less appealing as it is to going home and spending time with myself. Of course, this is surely the result of being ridiculously busy.

At twenty-six, all-nighters are no longer easy to do. Coffee no longer keeps me awake, but remains a comfort in the morning.

At twenty-six, I finally obtained a Victoria Secret body, something I had been obsessed with and working on since I was sixteen. And, although my body is stronger than it has ever been, it hurts more. My lower back is now a constant pain and my right knee is weak. Vitamins have become a part of my daily life. And I have high-cholesterol, shocking news that somehow made me feel old. And yet, at twenty-six, I’m still arrogant and carefree.

I’m much more curious and brave at this stage. I want more and more to go where I have never gone before and experience new things. If I can live through it, I want to do it.

Finally I feel a confidence in myself I had never had before. My beliefs and opinions on how to live one’s life is richer and more well-rounded than the days of being naïve and close-minded. I am more fascinated with the way people react and feel, and I’m always searching for newer information. I still feel like I haven’t learned enough.

Emotion is something I have FINALLY been able to make sense of and control. I can rationalize better than I’ve ever had. When I don’t like someone, or they me, I can accept and be okay with it. Because it is impossible to be universally liked. However, treating those you don’t get along with graciously is important.

I have FINALLY learned to be patient, something I’ve been working on ALL my life. That’s an accomplishment I’m really happy about.

I am no longer in need of being needed by a man, as if I thought that gave me some purpose in my life before. It really didn’t.

On the other hand, I have also for the first time, experienced what it was like to be in love, something that had eluded me before. I lost it, but I crave to have it again. Although, strangely, I have no interest in looking for it, I am genuinely excited about finding it. I know now that I have the capability to feel that way, and it is incredible!

At twenty-six, I have come to accept my obsessive compulsive behavior as a unique and intriguing quality, although I may be the only one who feels this way.

And, even though I feel like I am still sixteen years old, in that youthful, playful sort of way, I am now accepted and taken seriously by the adult world. Something that I’ve yearned for most of my life.

Probably one of the most shocking discoveries I had come to realize was that I now want a child. Being someone who never liked or wanted children, I am still puzzled by this sudden change. Maybe by twenty-seven, I’ll go back to normal.

And maybe the reason I’m writing this is to put a mark in time so that when I’m old, I will remember. Hopefully this blog will still exist somewhere in cyberspace by then.

At twenty-six, I still don’t know where I’m going in my life, but instead of being scared by it, I am thrilled. Someone once told me their twenty-sixth year was a good one. I got a feeling, they’re gonna be right.

Thataway

Perfection.

Christanna Rowader3 Comments

I hate relationships. Or rather they hate me because I try so hard to be perfect in them. Because in everything I do, I am a perfectionist. Unfortunately. When I make my first mistake in life, it’s okay. I say to myself, “Well that was interesting. Don’t do that again.”

But when I make the SAME mistake again, not good. Then it’s like I’m slapping myself sideways, exclaiming, “What the hell is wrong with you?! Didn’t you get it the first time???”

I treat my relationships the same way. My first boyfriend was a series of trials and tribulations, a rollercoaster ride lasting two years, so that when it finally failed, I could look back on it knowing what NOT to do next time. My “learning experience,” I like to call it.

After my first relationship, I had become hardened. I told myself I wouldn’t fall in love until it was smart and safe. And as time went by, it seemed as though I didn’t even know what being in love really was or what it felt like. My feelings had dissolved somehow. It was as if I couldn’t connect to anything. And I didn’t have a care in the world. Icy, I would say.

Then I met the Terminator. He was a wonderful person, kind and caring, always thinking of others before himself. He treated me with respect and gentleness. And when I told him that I couldn’t feel anything, he said, “It’s okay,” and held me tightly. Months went by with me analyzing my every move, thought, and feeling as I became closer with the Terminator. I am a firm believer in following my gut, but only after thoroughly thinking through every possible outcome my gut-reaction could create. At some point I realized I really cared about the Terminator and told him I loved him. But it wasn’t being “in love.” I still felt disconnected to that feeling and even admitted that I didn’t think I’d EVER know how to feel that way. Needless to say, our relationship ended quietly and calmly.

Unaffected by the failure of my second relationship, I moved on feeling strong and confident that I was making all the right decisions, that the end of the Terminator and I was the right move. I didn’t make any of the same mistakes that I had with my first boyfriend. It was a good sign. I liked feeling impervious to the sorrows everyone else was dealing with. Feeling nothing actually made me feel happy.

And then I met Mr. Georgia. This older man knew how to have a good time. Unbelievably open with his thoughts and ways he felt about me, answering every complicated question I threw at him, and being romantic in ways I never imagined, needless to say, I got swept off my feet. Literally, if you count the jet plane ride. There was also, deep inside my gut, a twisting sensation I had never felt before. It happened every time I knew I was going to see Mr. Georgia. It made me bouncy and nervous, and I couldn’t get a hold of myself. It was ridiculous. So I analyzed it for months, trying to understand why I felt so strangely. I had a bad feeling. I had a feeling I was falling in love.

This was not a good sign. Because I knew that if I was starting to feel this way, my perfectly constructed wall was crumbling. I kept my mouth shut for the most part, afraid of scaring off Mr. Georgia. It would peek out a few times whenever I said, “I love your hair” or “I love the crease on your cheek” or “I love…THAT…about you,” when I really wanted to shout out, “I love YOU, just you, dammit!!!”Marianne and Willoughby

After thinking about it for a while, imagining all the different outcomes if I told him how I felt, I had decided I had nothing to lose. If I told him, two things would happen: he would feel the same way, OR, he wouldn’t. Either way, I would have my answer. So I did it. I told him and he responded nicely. But he didn’t return the feeling. Although he said some very confusing things. “It was everyday implied but never declared,” Marianne Dashwood said in Sense and Sensibility when Elinor asked if Willoughby ever told Marianne he loved her.

Well, this was my problem. I thought it was safe and I was pretty confident in the way I felt, so I went ahead and let my wall fall. And Mr. Georgia did not feel the same way. That’s the problem with falling in love. You gotta be ready for a broken heart.Willoughby

I thought I did everything right, analyzed my every move, my every thought and feeling, and I still ended up alone. So my perfectionism cannot be perfected…because I can’t seem to control my feelings and I certainly can’t control someone else’s feelings. My friend Marilyn said she was happy I finally let my guard down and allowed myself to fall in love. “It’s a good thing,” she said, “Please don’t let this bring your wall back up.”

It doesn’t feel good though. But so is life. And I’m back to building my wall. It’s amazing how fast it goes up. I guess that’s a good thing. Means I’ve perfected something in my life.

Except that being a perfection is my FIRST mistake. So there’s the rub.