Dear Mr. Melissa Blake:
Do I still talk about love quite a bit? You know, like hearts and pink and roses and candles and (romantic!) hot tubs? I only ask becauase apparently back in 2009, I talk about it a lot. A LOT. And honestly? Sometimes I get the feeling people think I think and analyze and obsess about it far too often. My friend Justin recently said I was boy crazy back in high school based on my Freaky (Funny!) Friday. Now, I love this guy dearly and I know he was just joking, but it nonetheless got me think. Ironic, I know – stop rolling your eyes, please, sweatpea.
Obviously, I don’t go around all day, every day telling people, “Hey, I’m thinking about finding love. Right now. Do you think you could be my soulmate?” or “Hello there. I just visited a fortune teller who told me that you and I were going to have 10 children together and live our days on a sprawling farm in romantic bliss forever.” The imagine those quotes conjure in my head involve me hopped up on one too many cans of Coca-Cola and being so dazed I’m unable to operate my wheelchair, end up running over the guy, my only defense in court… “I did it all for love. He just didn’t understand it at the time.”
Anyway, sometimes I feel like people are easy to “pass” me off as just another girl who is a boy-crazed redhead because, well, admittedly, that’s what it looks like from the outside. If I stepped outside my body (a grand feat in itself considering I’m practically 100 percent fused from the top of my head to the tips of my head) and looked at myself, I’d probably think that too. How can you not? I understand that’s the perception.
But, as is always the case with me, perceptions can be most deceiving. I hope when we met, I didn’t scare you…and I pray to GOD that the whole run-you-over-because-I’m-hopped-up-on-caffeine thing doesn’t come to fruition. I’m a calm and nice girl. Really. So why the seemingly outward preoccupation with all things love and romance? I’ve drafted some preliminary theories.
Maybe it’s (GASP) not really about men at all
While my friends were discovering the opposite sex – and themselves – in high school a la Dawson’s Creek, I was discovering what a basilar invagination was (don’t worry — I made it look hot) and beginning to feel at home in every hospital bed I sat my fanny in. So now I feel like I’m finally at a point in my life where I don’t have those medical worries hanging over my head anymore. I can finally use the time to get to know myself a bit better without the use of an MRI scan. It’s quite liberating, to be able to learn about yourself, at your own pace and in your own time. True, I should have been going through this 15 years ago, but it’s happening now. I’m excited about that. Maybe, just maybe, it’s my time to find my own place in the world, and looking for love is just an added perk of the search.
Maybe it’s not so unimaginable that I’d get a little impatient
Wouldn’t you be just the slightest bit impatient if you were in my shoes? Seriously? Someone like me who hasn’t experienced a lot of what the romantic love side of life has to offer shouldn’t feel bad or apologize for her feelings, for even being just a little eager to hurry things along. Not at the sacrifice of herself or settling for the wrong person (because, as you know, I didn’t settle). Heck, all she’s yearning for is the desire to be wanted. Haven’t we all been there? Well, most of us have anyway…
Maybe it’s just because I’m (too?) vocal about it
I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t hold anything back (not that you’ll know anything about what I hold back in that department any time soon…). I suppose that can be good and bad. I’m honest. About what I want. About what I don’t want. About what I have done. And, of course, even more so about what I haven’t done. So maybe it would make people feel better if I just kept my mouth shut – you know, so as not to make them too uncomfortable or anything – but guess what? The more they tell me to be quiet, the more it makes me want to tell my story. Because I think everyone has the right to tell their own story, without fear of scorn or judgment.
Superficial. Petty. Shallow. Call it whatever you want. I’m never not going to be honest with you. I always think about the moment when I meet you (or the many number of suitors before you) and cringe when I think of their expression when I tell them, “So yeah, you’re my first…date, that is.” I’ll try to lighten the mood, but I’m betting it’s going to be pretty awkward. Or maybe they don’t even need to know at all. Maybe, (OK, hopefully), it won’t be one of the conversation points on our first or even second date.
But I’m guessing it will come up eventually. And I’ll handle it just like I handle anything else. With lots of honesty.
What do you think? I’m actually looking forward to extensively discussing these with you someday. Hopefully, though, it won’t be in a hospital with your casted leg set in traction.
Until we meet…
[Photos via Paper Dolls and Knitted Grass]