I haven’t been writing. Anywhere. About anything.

It’s technically spring break. I took Wednesday off from work. I went to the sanctuary. It was raining so instead of blending anonymously into a crowd of tourists, I rang the bell and asked for someone to tell GM that Jessica said happy birthday.

He looks good. The same. My bobcats have a new enclosure – away from the tour route. They love it, although would not come out for me. They hate water. (Contrary to popular opinion, some cats enjoy a swim or a splash. But not them.)

He mentioned a thing for a person I used to worship. She’d love it if I could make it. What’s my email address? Such bliss to feel accepted. You’d think I was in high school.

He heard from W once. As far as he knows, no second marriage yet. He asked if I was married again or in love, and when I said no he beamed, “Good for you!”

Later I realized I could have been insulted or hurt by that. But I knew what he meant. I hadn’t rushed into another mistake. I hadn’t used another body to shield me from the world. I was on my own.

I had lunch with a friend who was in town for a conference. We lamented we were 30 and had it together except…

“I just don’t think I’m the type of girl guy’s marry.”

“Interesting…” She said it with a clinical, quizzical look.

“I loved someone and compromised myself for that once before. I would love to be married again, but I just don’t know how to be that person and still myself. As myself, guy’s just don’t see someone who needs to be taken care of. I can’t help that. I’d be miserable trying to figure out how to change myself so as to snag someone. So I’ll just be me. And alone.” I shrug. Content with someone who’s known me since 5th grade. She didn’t argue.

He came over around 9pm. Curled up on the chaise lounge, he stroked my back and said, “You look ready to go to sleep. Would you be more comfortable in the bed?”

I sat up and stared into his face. He really meant it. No innuendo. No agenda. Not that he was going to turn anything down, but right then, right that moment, he was simply thinking the girl in front of him was tired and what would feel better for her.

He turned out the lights and curled up next to me.

“You’re nice to sleep with, you know? I don’t mean the sex – although that’s great! I mean just sleeping.”


“You fit.”

I’ve heard that so many times. When am I going to hear that and it will mean more than the fact that I’m short and curvy? When will I fit? Me? All of me?

I’ll take last night until that day comes.

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