I Regret You and Your Mama Too!

I regret “spooning,” I regret his over-excitedness about daily regurgitating tasks, I regret the handholding—the squeezing, I regret all the big dreams about French doors and ponytails. I regret going along with it all by thinking I’d grow into it.

I’m 28 years old and I’ve never been in love. I’ve only been in regret.

I can explain. You meet someone and you fall impeccably, dancing around lampposts “in love” with them, their smell, the habits they have that you initially think are cute. Wait for it…

You meet their Mom and you’re sold. She’s nice, which is the best word to use about any man’s mother you just met. You meet his kid(s). I once fell in regret with a man who had two little girls. Prettiest peaches ever. No, I mean impossibly, selflessly, itching under my skin to be around him and his kids. It wasn’t as hard as some claim to get children to “like” you, but again, this was only one experience, and only my experience. I was pushing the four year old on the swing and the seven year old was coloring with me at the park in no time. Cake. The issue is, the moments you remember most—like a movie, those moments that incessantly replay, aren’t the moments of fancy dinners or dotes, but are the moments you had to catch your breath with overwhelm, the moments you’ve said to yourself “I want this.”

Thing is, when you fall, you fall hard for their families too. I recently watched “How to Lose Your Lover” on Netflix. A funny chic fling movie about a writer convinced he’s over LA life, so he does everything he can to rid himself of excess LA baggage, including women. He goes off about pissing everyone in his corner off. He shoves his love interest into uncomfortable positions such as meeting her parents and his friends on the first and second dates. An interesting concept indeed. I think this way now. I’ve realized that so many people wait the three months, six months or years before they meet the friends and family of their significant others only to find it plops. People don’t realize that when you date a person (for the most part) you date their loud ass mom, their overprotective dad, their sneaky sister, their ignorant ass friends, and their horribly annoying children.

If you think you can handle it, you should know sooner rather than later about the people you might love regret.

Case in point: when you love, you love the bad about a person sometimes even more than the good. This wanes and regrets once it’s over, often while it still is. Gretchen Rubin says in “The Happiness project” a book I’m currently reading “I knew that my combativeness and pedantry in this conversation came not from petty irritation but from a desire to protect myself against false hopes.” I completely agree with her. False hopes.

I regret not learning how to “fight right,” as in, pick my battles. I regret not loving myself enough to love anyone else. I regret having to admit that I went crazy before I got this half-right. Only half. I regret the growing up process and all the short sticks I give and get. I regret the shit out of not getting to know a person enough not to regret the whole damn thing.

I’ve never been in love, only regret. Funny what you regret is what could be what you’ve loved the most. Funny what you regret is what you’ve learned the most from.

My writerlyish wayward

There’s so much on my plate I’m overstuffed. I want to eat it all. Have everything. Right now. I suppose what happens eventually is burnout—lack of focus, so I guess I’m there. Never once in my life have I ever felt this *deflated* I need something to look forward to, get excited about, something that changes my life entirely. So what did I do? Signed up for a timeshare. Hawaii. Don’t laugh.

Today, I tried McDonalds’ new Frozen Strawberry Lemonade. A tad on the tart side, but if you like lemonheads… I’m in the house, three electric fans on moi} loft-like bay windows wide> some whip cream and strawberries~~ and if the rest of my critical paper ideas don’t come out I will enlist a glass of wine on my team to assist. How ya like them apples? Err, grapes?

Speaking to my dad the other day warranted a bit of thought: I am 2.5 degrees into my career: 4 years of marketing, 2 yr. psychology school drop-out to accept my writerlyish dreams, 3 years of sales, 5 year executive assistant/coordinator, 1.5 yr. fashion writer/stylist , and 10 year creative writing blogger, and now what? I ask him. His answer something along the lines of this quote:

Men for the sake of getting a living forget to live.”  ~Margaret Fuller

And there she has it.

I continue reading memoir. Guess what else I’m going to do?                     Nothing.

Picture from The Book of Origami by Isaac Salazar
%d bloggers like this: