Charming, but single

Sometimes I am running.

Running fast, because someone is chasing me. And I’m huffing and puffing and jumping over things, climbing up stairs – always looking behind me to confirm that someone is there.

I get to the roof of a building and I start jumping from rooftop to rooftop. And my feet hurt each time I land on a hard concrete roof with a thud, sometimes scraping my knees.

I don’t care. I am just running and flying and jumping.

I can feel the air filling my lungs and then rushing out as sweat runs down the small of my back. Every part of my body aches – my chest feels tight. It is so hot.

But I keep running.

First I see people looking as I’m running by them, but then they become a blur of things that I’m passing in my running.

Then I hit the open road and I’m really making good time. I have been running for almost an hour it seems. I’ve stopped looking back, stopped wondering who or what is chasing me.

And when I am too winded to run anymore, when my legs tremble from overuse and my chest hurts from exhaustion, I stop and hunch over, desperately trying to catch my breath. Bracing for what will happen when I am caught.

No one comes.

I look up. I am alone in the middle of nowhere. If anyone or thing was hunting me, they are gone and long forgotten.

I am physically drained, emotionally spent and terribly confused.

And then I wake up.

Let’s face it – Facebook and MySpace are pretty much legalized cyberstalking. Why Google your dates when you can track down their MySpace profiles? (Super simple if you’re online dating, as most people use the same pictures for both because everyone wants to put their sexiest face forward.)

Yes, I gag when I see wedding photos used as profile pictures on these sites. (The same goes for close ups of engagement rings, FYI.) I know it is because I have a pang of jealousy when I see these photos. Although, come to think of it, some of my own photos are from weddings – everyone always looks so pretty and smiley.

Must be the wine.

Tonight I experienced a new oddity in Facebook/MySpace-land. A classmate from high school is using her sonogram as her photo on her profile. Either a sign of the times or totally show offy – perhaps both.

And, in a seemingly unrelated note (stay with me here), I was at the cigar bar last week and The Blackberry barely said two words to me. It was very nice; Prom Date and I sipped wine and smoked cigarettes and generally had a fine time without me having some guy whispering in my ear about how he wanted to come home with me while also promising to not even touch me – not even a little bit – in a sexual way. (Really? I look that dumb?)

Anyway, Prom Date and I talked about this anomaly and figured that he’d finally seen the light (and that it wasn’t going to lead him to my bed). In reality, one of his friends was ribbing me about how The Blackberry was “my boyfriend” and I snapped back with something unflattering and I’m sure his friend told him. Which was passive aggressive, but a means to an end, right?

I wasn’t sure if The Blackberry was intentionally ignoring me or just scamming on another chick until this week. And I found out in the most gloriously high school way — when he deleted me from his list of friends on MySpace.

“How did we end up here?”

We were both flat on our backs looking up at the fan. On Paper had interrupted my thoughts with his question.

“What did you say?” I rolled over to my side to face him.

I’d been thinking the same thing – how did I end up here, all twisted up, physically and emotionally, kissing him again? It was so obvious that neither of us planned to commit to the other, opting instead to keep things casual. Our agreement unspoken. Despite the fact that it would probably end poorly. I’d get my feelings hurt – I already had. I’d push him away – wait; I’ve done that as well.  We do have some chemistry, perhaps not enough – though, really, how much chemistry is necessary? I suspect chemistry is like the porridge in Goldilocks and the Three Bears, sometimes being too hot or too cold and when it is just right, you know.

“How did we end up here again?”

He is so comfortable, I’d thought as I’d snuggled against him earlier. He was sitting upright on the couch; his feet propped up on the side of the recliner across from him while we watched TV. He had an arm comfortably strewn over my shoulder, occasionally tracing circles on my hand. Sometimes our fingers would intertwine. Occasionally he would playfully poke a finger in between the few undone buttons of my soft black Henley. I would jokingly slap his hand away. Later he took my head and titled it back with one of his hands – hands that are so big, so much bigger than mine that they look like mitts in comparison – and leaned down to bring his lips to mine.

Again, his words drew me out of my mental recap of the evening.
“Seriously. We always. End up. Here.”

On Paper wasn’t talking about the emotional space where we rested, but the physical place we occupied – his bedroom.

He smiled and brushed his fingertips across my arm. He teased, “You have got to stop wearing those low cut shirts.”

“I promise. I’ll wear only turtlenecks from now on,” I said, leaning forward to kiss him lightly on the lips.

But I sensed that my fashion choices weren’t the problem.

I miss cool breezes on my freshly shaved legs, which peek out beneath my skirt. Warm sun that is so inviting that I could just stay outside forever – forget whatever else is going on, the things on the to do list, like working, cleaning, shopping, cooking, exercising.

I miss green. That bright green that looks like life. Crisp. Fresh. The greenest green that feels fantastic against my ankles. Because I can only wear flip flops when everything is just so light and airy and beautiful.

And the sky is so blue and spacious and it feels like it expands all around me forever. So clear.

Maybe you – whoever you are – will be there. Under the wide blue sky, in the soft green grass, while the wind tickles our skin and you slide your arm around my body and you smell so good – clean like the air and dirty like a boy – that I will just breathe you in.

And I’ll kiss your cheek and smile.

Mmmmkay. Lots of new folks reading. Which is exciting.

I haven’t updated my blogroll (located here) in ages. So, this is a blogroll post. Comment on this post and I will add you in a fit of blogrolling this weekend.

Also, to make this fun for me, I want you to include in your comment both your favorite love song and your favorite “to hell with love I’m dying alone” song.

If you’re already blogrolled, feel free to just list the songs. I know I don’t always respond to comments, but I read them all, promise.

Repeat: Blog address, two songs.

Updated, 2/22/07:

Wow. So. Many. Comments.

My song picks of the moment:

The love is dying song: “Slow Dancing in a Burning Room” by John Mayer

Wish it were about me: “A Girl like That” by Pete Yorn

Post break-up misery: “Grace is Gone” by Dave Matthews Band

Post break-up bitterness: “Untouchable Face” by Ani DiFranco

Post break-up reality check: “Simple Together” by Alanis Morissette

Can we stay like this forever: “Feels Like Rain” by John Hiatt

So sweet: “She’s Everything” by Brad Paisley

Love, finally: “At Last” by Etta James