February 12

The Others:

Man#7,8,9 et cetera were nothing more than improbable contenders I tried to connect with at local bars. One, was actually on Valentine’s. Trying to tell myself not to feel sorry for myself, I talked myself into going out. I did this often. For some reason I could make myself go out to the bars, alone, rather than getting myself connected with the nanny agency. I think I was afraid of not being able to connect with other nannies. I was, am, a unique breed. The bar seen seemed to be where any ol’ riff raff would fit in.

But I ended up doing a lot of stupid things in my quest to meet someone. For one, I had a habit of drinking more than I should have. It cooled the nerves, and there were times I just couldn’t stop. This naturally clouded a lot of judgment. My list of prospects were made up of one, long haired musician fifteen years older than me, one twenty year old who after one night of serious drinking wanted to put a ring on my finger (after sobering up, the reality of my zero attraction to him was alarming), one old chum from high school that had always been a good friend but suddenly seemed like someone to plug in to that void, and one stranger in a café that I never had the courage to talk to. I was drowning in the reality that there could be nobody else to complete me the way he had. I tried. I really, really tried.

After Philly I moved back home to Minnesota after my roommate got married. A year later, I moved back to Florida. Florida failed me. I gained more than twenty pounds this time, and when I had finally admitted defeat I moved back to Minnesota yet again. I had my hair cut again, too, in my haste to make change. I was back to square one with my self-esteem. Zero, if you want to get technical.

But just when I thought I couldn’t feel any more hopeless about getting over you know who, I met a new contender. Even though only a friendship came out of it, this was the first time in ten years that I began to believe in the idea of falling in love again.