Online Dating

Profile Name:  AloneAgainNaturally

Age:  Too old to be single.

Body Type:  WAIT?  WHAT?  I have to describe my body type in order to create a profile?

I’m a:      Woman Seeking Man

Seriously?!?  This is how people want to start a relationship in the modern age?  Staring at a screen?  Anyone can type anything on a screen.

I don’t want to fall in love with rehearsed words typed on a screen.  Doesn’t anyone want a human connection anymore?  Doesn’t anyone understand what a human connection is?

Everyone keeps telling me to try online dating.  How is dating online any better than sitting at home alone looking at Facebook, reading WordPress blogs, or editing my photos?  It’s not.  It’s exactly the same. Online dating is exactly the same as sitting at home looking at a computer screen.

Even my pastor told me I needed to try online dating.  I don’t understand why I’m always the only single person at BBQs, pot lucks, and game nights?  I can’t seriously be everybody’s only single friend… so why am I always the only one at social events?  Minus the social dances, that is.  The single people are all 10 years younger than me… or more.

How can it be that nobody meets people in person in this “modern” world?

 

 

Advertisements

Genetic Insanity

It’s a genetic disease.  Invisible.

The story is, “She died.  She died giving birth to her second son.”  But the death certificate says she died in 1949 in the insane asylum.  The story continued, stating Anna was the daughter of the housekeeper.  The housekeeper went crazy and was put into the insane asylum.  He then raised all 3 children as his own.  But the marriage and death certificates tell a completely different story.

I suppose back then, mental illness wasn’t treatable or curable.  It was also a bad mark upon the family.  Children with disabilities were hidden away in asylums.  I suppose it might also have been common to lie and hide away a person with mental illness.

One son died in WWII.  Don’t know what happened to the daughter.  The other son married, had 5 children, and lived a successful life as a carpenter.  Her grandson had schizophrenia.  He was also doomed to a life and death in the mental hospital.  Her granddaughter is a functioning lunatic, covering doors and windows of the house in aluminum foil and conjuring up stories about family members replacing household items with “replicas” to confuse and con her.  I can’t say much about the great-grandchildren, as I don’t really know them.  It appears reasonable to suspect the crazy has been diluted as none of them are in the mental institution.

However, one has definitely realized the mental illness may plague her.  So old, yet never married.  The men must smell the invisible genetic disorder in the pheromones, keeping their distance or running away altogether.  It stands to reason, she is the only failed common denominator among each failed relationship.  She can cook, clean, sew, knit, change her own oil and brakes… all around, would make useful around the house as a wife.  She doesn’t play video games, and misses everything important in the TV episode because she was knitting or sewing.  Maybe none of those matter.  Maybe all of them do.  More likely, she inherited the functioning hypochondriac gene and is using it as she seeks an explanation for her latest failed relationship.

But the revelation of the death certificate was shocking and ultimately enlightening.  It infused an understanding about family members that she never wanted to know or admit.  It also broke her spirit.  Now she knows both sides of her genetic tree passed along insanity genes.  Nobody wants a person who is crazy.

Haunted Memories

“Creepy.” Sister animatedly shakes her shoulders, then rolls it through her body, giving a visible shudder.

“What is?” Mom asks.

“That house,” Bubba points toward a house they were walking by.

“That house with the pretty garden? How are all those colorful flowers creepy?” She glanced out of the corner of her eye. She had already noticed the repaired, refinished screened porch, the rebuilt stairs, and the peferctly kept garden that ran around the house.

“They’re a front,” Sister says matter of factly.

“Everybody says it’s haunted,” Bubba added.

“Who’s everybody and what do they say?” she turned her whole head and looked for just a moment toward the house.

Sister threw her arms in front of her and took a few straight legged steps, “They say the dead wander at night.” She quickly turned, screamed, and grabbed her brother.

Bubba screamed in return. “That’s not fair! Don’t do that!”

Sister laughed, “You’re such an easy target.”

Mom relaxed slightly thinking her daughter was just being a goofball and ruffled her son’s hair. “You are kind an easy target.”

“But seriously, Mom. All the kids talk about it. They don’t hang out with the kids that live there. They all seem to believe something is wrong there.” Sister explained.

“How old aare their kids?”

“Like 5 and 7 maybe.”

“Well kids your age wouldn’t hang out with them anyway so how do they know?”

“You know kids talk. Anyways, last night they told stories.”

“Every neighborhood has a haunted house story. What’s it here?”

“Well the first person who lived there went crazy I guess. Her husband died and a few months later they put her in an insane asylum.”

“Hardly a ghosy story.”

“Yeah, hardly,” Bubba agreed.

“The next husband killed himself. The one after that killed his wife and kids. The next family left after 6 months. When they tried to sell it, they found a dead homeless man in the loft. Then the next family got robbed twice. The second time someone was shot and killed. Then the police shot off the leg of the next owner whole he was standing right here in the driveway.”

Her breath caught in her throat. The temperature felt like it rose 10 degrees. Her stomach knotted. She knew she had to ground herself and display a cheerful, easy-going attitude for the kids. “Wow. That is quite the list of problems. I’m sure some are exaggerated and others are made up.”

“It’s not. It’s in the news. We can look up all the stories at the library. Can we go find out what really happened?”

Her words were caught in her throat. She didn’t know what to say.

“Axel said you were there. You can tell us the stories,” Bubba stated.

Her feet turned to lead. She stopped walking. Her head spun. She couldn’t think of words or actions. She replayed that night over and over in her head.

“Mom!” Sister was calling her. “Mom! Are you okay?”

She slowly made her way from her deep memories toward her daughter’s voice. She shook her head. “Heat. I think I’m too hot. We need to go back to the house.”

“Mom, can you walk?”

“What? Yes. I’m fine. Just a bit over-heated. Let’s head back.”

She realized for the first time that someday she would have to tell her daughter about the time she watched her friend get shot in that driveway, just down the street from her mother’s house. Today would not be that day. She didn’t think she could stomach it.

Jealous

When it was over, I scanned the room, subconsciously looking for her. At first obstructed by the man she was talking a little too close with – dark, buzzed haircut about 5 or 6 inches above her head – but then they shifted, her radient smile and lighter skin shining from around his darker complexion. She was laughing then swiped her hair behind her shoulders. A brief image of a future happy couple clouded my own enthusiasm. I recognized the unfamiliar feeling of jealousy as I made my way toward them. With a plastered smile, I inserted myself into her conversation and introduced myself. I swept her away from him and into the crowd with the words, “Would you like to dance?” I had worried tonight would be awkward, seeing as I told her I didn’t love her and don’t want to be with her, but it seems I am the only one at risk for awkwardness. She fits perfectly and naturally into my arms as we form a partnered dance connection. I pulled her closer, catching her lavender rose scent. I instantly knew it wasn’t fair for her to be out with me, but letting her go isn’t an option; both because I can’t live a life without her and because she made me promise I’d never abandon our friendship.

Cme Home… Please.

I’m writing here to control the need. I think about you all the time. I’d text or call, but I’m sure you don’t want to hear from me. Don’t think you would do or say anything to make me feel better. Just realized the most recent failure of my heart. Pretty sure I was falling for a guy who was using me as practice. You never lied to me. You always told me you’d never choose me. Broke my heart, but at least you told me you would. This other guy was the first time I felt anything for any guy other than you. But he shattered that inkling before it managed to grow. I hesitate for a moment, thinking I’d rather not get too attached and then go through the loss. But I’d never give up what I had with you. I don’t regret it. I only regret we’re not together now. But you told me on our first date, you’d never choose me. Yet I chose to fall in love with you anyways. Now I’m broken. I’m missing a you-shaped piece of my heart and no one else fits.

Books

I had decided I would attempt to read 52 books this year – one per week. Well, I’m at 14. I just finished an AMAZING book that I want encourage others to read, which made me realize I never put anything up about my other favorite. Out of 14 books this year, I have absolutely loved 2, which interestingly enough, is about 14%. I was also born on the 14th of a month. A pattern? If you’re looking for one, then yes. The problem is, when I read an amazing book, I struggle with finding another. After the first, I started 4 or 5 books and quit then after 5 or less chapters because they don’t hold up. But this isn’t supposed to be about my reading habits. I’m supposed to tell you what to read.

All the Ugly and Wonderful Things is about a girl whose mom is a germiphobe drug addict and whose dad runs the meth lab. But the theme isn’t about bringing awareness to drug problems or abused children – like most of these kinds of books are. The theme is so much deeper. The theme forces the reader to examine the foundations of love. This book also isn’t for the faint of heart or easily offended soul. It pushes boundaries of “apprpriateness.” I couldn’t put it down. Read it in one day.

I just finished The Book of M tonight. This book has so many themes I haven’t fully examined them.

Bouquet

Sometimes an idea strikes and I have to write. I read tbis prompt and had to write my thoughts down. I’m on my phone so linking and counting words will be difficult… But I need to let the words out.

June 14: Flash Fiction Challenge

She awoke drenched in sweat to a humid morning with memories sailing through her head. She wasn’t sure where the urge to connect came from. Was today the anniversary of the explosion? How many years have passed?

After a cold shower, she mindlessly threw a dress over her undergarmets and rushed to her giant Rubbermaid tub stored in the closet. Inside, she quickly located a Walker’s shortbread tin. Under the lid lay two bouquets of perfectly folded, hand-written notes tied together with string, resting among a bed of plastic frogs that once magically materialized in her high school locker.