Two Paths to Love. December 29, 2002.

Dear Journal,

Hannah, Seth, + Boo are down from Maine this weekend.  I went to the mall w/ Han + Boo today – didn’t get a whole lot but Han did so that’s good.  Not really too much to write about so, ya…  oh me + mom saw 2 Weeks Notice on thurs.  It had Sandra Bullock + Hugh Grant  in it (OMG HG is sooo sexy!!!)  whew mama!

hehe jeez nothing to talk about, just thinking about Jon, how much I want to see him.  and mike, I really want to hang out w/ him.  Ugh we were gonna rent the Exorcist and watch it together but Mom said no cuz “its not coming in this house!” (the movie, not Mike!) but she’s fine about him coming over.

I really wish I went to the same school as Jon still.  So we could walk to band + orch. together.  Wow I’m a dork.  LOL.  Those were fun times though.  K time for bed I have practice right smack in the middle of the day.  Whoopie!  as grampa would say.

—–

I’m feeling a lot like I did when I was writing this entry today, but if there’s one thing I want to write about it’s this: What the fuck is the right way to go about forming a romantic relationship?  I’ve seen two scenarios in my life and I believe these are the only two that exist between people.  The first is when friends become more than friends.  The second is when people meet and embark on an immediate path to romanticism; romanticism can be used lightly in this sense as it could mean a date, a one-night-stand, or an obvious “I want you, you want me, let’s exchange digits” scenario.  I’ve seen relationships come from both in my life and all around me.  But what.  The fuck.  Is the right way?  Is one a better start than the other?

Personally, I am drawn like a kitten to catnip to guys who come off aggressive and hot right off the bat.  The only problem here is that I fucking love the idea of hooking up with a guy you’ve known a while before things get all steamy sexy.  So here is my hurdle, if you can call it that.  I’ve finally reached a point of no return with a friend I’ve known longer and been closer with than any guy I’ve ever known.  Little Allison would be hearing wedding bells right now.  She’d be uploading photos onto one of those online baby generators and calling all her friends to tell them what great big moment this is in her life.  Somehow though, maybe by the power of this blog, maybe through the years of emotional training I’ve put myself through to not even think about a future with this one, this would-be milestone is a minor inevitable experience.  He’ll be gone in a month, literally, and I won’t deny that helps, which brings me to a further point on the joy of prior experience.

I have had a slew of over-the-top, hopeful as all hell imaginary relationships.  These imaginary relationships have been dubbed so for various reasons, including long distances, non-existence, and the simple fact that there was no fucking way things would end in monogamous bliss.  I’ve been convinced I was in love with a soldier stationed in Fort Bragg who found me on Twitter, hosted an exclusive Skype/phone/letter-writing relationship, and sent me his jump wings and a favorite sweatshirt; I let an LA music agent romance me over empty promises of dinner in Boston, when he would visit 3,000 miles away and ditch his friends just for me; I even fell in love with a boy I met at a Red Sox game as a sophomore in high school, who lived an hour north of my hometown and called me every other night that summer when we couldn’t drive due to lack of licenses.  Oh, wait.  That last one was my first-love high school boyfriend who set the golden standard for how I should be treated.

Dude. You look pathetic.

Either way, we had to fall out of touch for over a year before we were on a steady path to Lovebird Land.  Cumulatively, these past romantic flops have prevented me from having the tiniest thought of professing love to Mr. Not-So-Platonic Friend of Choice.  I am in a place of placidity; the enjoyment I used to feel in getting guys to make outrageous claims or vows of monogamy like I might be their future babymaker, so precious as to be held out for for months if not years over thousands of miles with minimal physical contact, has been replaced by an acceptance that going there can only bring equally crushing heartache.  Just a little over a year after the soldier and seven months past my first stab at a long-distance relationship, can’t even imagine committing to someone I couldn’t see on the reg.  Good fucking thing.  Girl’s got to get out.

So my romantic ideals about love aren’t totally off-base, although I’ve had more rejects than keepers over the years.  I still maintain a lovey, ooey-gooey outlook on love, but adulthood can make you accept alternatives and modify your morals.  Is there potential for this relationship?  Of course.  The thing about twenty-somethings, and frankly any-number-less-than-100-somethings, is we don’t have a clue what life is all about.  We can follow religions and mantras and personally pieced-together beliefs, but the great fact of life is no matter how much we prove, we can never truly know.  We are beings with biological urges and sensical constraints; sometimes these work together, and sometimes they don’t.  That is as much as I can gather.  Having said that, the state of my future in relationships, a career, and every other bit of life I’ll be soaking up may be guided by my actions but, for now, will be completely, 100% unknown to and unpredicted by yours truly.  I have already christened my twenty-third year The Year of Not Giving a Fuck.  I’m bartending, I’m writing, I’m going to the gym, I’m still going to smoke until I start having anxiety attacks over throat cancer, I’m forgiving people who have done me wrong and I’m patching up the holes I’ve made over the past few years.  I’m just. Going. To live.  To do.  To let go of my worries.

I have a feeling being at peace is exactly what the doctor would order.

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