Feb. 26th, 2008

Help. I’ve fallen and I can’t get up. (Or- my adventures in a tutu.)

Well it’s all so overrated
In not saying how you feel
So you end up watching chances fade
And wondering what’s real…

Dating, is really? Just walking the not-quite steady tightrope of life. It’s putting on those pretty ballerina slippers, strapping on a tutu and wishing yourself luck as you promise, (I will not look down.)

I’m that person- that totally looks down. I want to know before I even get on that tightrope? Just how far I have to fall down and smash my face in the reality and inevitable demise of the relationship. I’m pragmatic, I’m negative and I’m simply put: entirely disbelieving about good relationships in general.

It takes a while for me to even want to walk across. I have fallen so many times? I can feel the air fly past and the wind on my face even though I’m standing still. I know there’s no landing on my feet, or breaking my fall with the best of intentions.

And so- I dress up, and I wait at the podium. I watch. I test the rope. I wait, and I step out, only to step back again. I will probably find hundreds of reasons to not move one inch. In a fit of emotional frustration? My shoes will probably fall to their demise, below. But I’m steady, and I’m stable.. and I’m happily guarded on the wooden high-rise. (Which? In itself? Is a beautiful feat of ability in my eyes to even climb the stairs to get up there.. but I digress.)

I walked out for you. I walked out and become unsteady, and scared, and unbelievably nervous. I started to walk more, and more- and instead of doing your job? You dropped the rope. So now.. I hang on by a thread, and I drop to the floor, to look up at just how high I climbed. (What a waste.)

I told you all this. I always tell all of you, all of this. I tell you that I’m going to take my time, and you say, “Alright.” And I say, “Alright.” And for a while- we pretend we’re just fine in limbo. Most people cannot stand limbo. I don’t mind the part where you reconcile with yourself whether or not to even climb those stairs in the first place. I find the unusually non-impulsive part of me, refreshing. So- mostly… in the beginning of relationships- I’m totally cool with limbo. It’s the limbo of, “You just spoke all those words and now you want to rip the rope from under my feet and wave as I gracefully fall, flat on my ass.” It’s beautiful, really. For all men that want to be a superhero? This is not what you do.

I had this thought on the bus home tonight- that maybe? It’s evolution. Maybe, I’m simply just learning what the hell not to do, and how to adapt- so when my future, (perfect, and undeniably hunky,) mate comes into existance? I’m totally prepared. And maybe- he won’t ask me to climb a tightrope, (all the while blaming me for every mis-step, as he shakes the thing, and denies he’s even in the same area as me.) Magical… (really.)

Maybe the good guys are not the ones who have a rope at all. (Because maybe that’s to hang me with when I get to the other side, eh?) Maybe there’s no diving headfirst into a small pool of water, or doing any circus tricks. (Although? There’s something to be said for a guy who trapezes in tight pants.) Maybe we just stand on the ground and watch everyone else do this silly ritual. I have an idea- in fact?

Im going to sit on my ass under the rope. (With snacks.) It’ll be entertaining.

This way? You don’t even have to push me. You can pretty much drop the rope, (giggle,) and point. I’ll wave and pretend I’m exausted and really, really injured. I’ll brush myself off in a huge fit of stomping and tutu-rage. I’ll smear my mascara a little, (for show,) and you’ll feel shitty, and I’ll feel shitty. And this? Will be the future dating ritual.