Shell Game

We used to have this argument about being alone and living alone. This was a very true discussion after the only thing we fought about. I finally told him very honestly that I was capable of taking care of myself and I didn't have to deal with the issue at hand. The only thing we fought about. I was not passive aggressive about it just frank. The only difference was as I told him I choose to be with him. I wasn't going anywhere. Little did I know he would show me just how right I was about being able to take care of myself. 

I'm doing it but it's not what I really want. I've been doing a bunch of reading as always. It doesn't matter what I read, a book on God, being thankful for what you have, a self help book, a mystery or just a plain ok romance novel, I find messages everywhere. The latest I read was an article in psychology today about widows and love. It was spot on. I'm going to have to find the article and share. It's not that I don't know what I want moving into my future but goodness I never want someone to think they would ever have to compete with my dead man's pefect love. That would be a big part of my non interest in dating. I do miss things but that doesn't mean I truly ever could handle someone else in my life. I laugh when I think about our 'perfect love'. That's such a joke. 

We fought. I slammed doors, yelled and screamed. He walked off and Lord knows we made up and he left me to fend for myself. I don't trust myself to keep someone around except in the friend box and side hugs category. I talk about wanting more but it's been so long I think I would pass out. 

I just miss someone caring about me enough to want more than that. I just happen to know I good with being stuck in this kind of purgatory, living in my Miss Haveshim world of Great Expectations. At least I don't sit around staring at a dehydrated wedding cake in my faded dusting wedding gown. It's all bundled in the closet just as it was the day I picked it up - never worn. 

As five years approaches in seven days I know I'm alive but am I really living. Am I good as a stuck in the mud. The term crazy old widow keeps coming to mind. Maybe that's why H is pushing so hard to get me out of this house. She knows I need to keep living forward but I think the anxiety will be the death of the rest of my shell.