My nose is running and periodically throughout the episode my hands sweep over my face, pushing tears into my hair.  The final episode of Sex and The City aired tonight.  I couldn’t watch it with anyone… I feared someone might talk or cry or do something to cause me to miss even a second of my life on screen.  It’s only my life because of the search to feel complete within myself.  Like my dog, the show has seen me through boyfriends and breakups.  Through a marriage, through some crap ex-boyfriend actually stealing the first three seasons on DVD from my apartment.  I’m sure of it.  I realized after watching that episode why I cried so much.  Because I’m still searching, too.  Looking for that love, the kind that is inconvenient, and consumes you, and makes life filled with those memories that taste good.  Aftertaste. 

I want that passion and love and devotion in my life again.  I don’t feel empty without it, but it certainly is missing.  Perhaps I analyze too much, am too critical or not critical enough.  When life seems unbearable, after finding my ex lied to my face, the whole time coming home trying to get me pregnant…  and after living through an abortion for a baby I wanted…for a life I wanted, I didn’t mourn.  I picked myself up, said fcuk you, wiped my tears and began to date again.  I’m sick of never choosing men.  I was fat all my life, and fat girls get chosen last for everything from kickball, to seven minutes in heaven, to dance.  I had no choice.  I liked the boys that liked me growing up, the ones who played chess and dungeons and dragons… lets face it.  I didn’t have choices; I had Mexican gardeners who pushed leave blowers staring at me.  I didn’t get to choose boys. 

Now I have choice, and I always pick what is safe, the one who likes me best and shows it.  I pick the men who fall all over themselves showing me how much they like me, how great they think I am.  But if they didn’t, would I even want them?  Then I think of times when I was in pain, curled in fetal position, crying for god to please take the pain away, please protect me, please give me strength to get through this, please.  Then I swallow and let the tears go.  I remember that pain and wonder, what’s wrong with a safe bet?  I look in Hallmark stores with the rows of sympathy cards.  We all suffer, and we all want someone safe there to catch us, to wipe our tears, to bring us ice cream and hold our hand.  What’s wrong with someone who loves me to death… is that so bad?  It’s what we’re all looking for… but it can’t be everything… I have to love myself to death first.  And I’m not there yet.  But I will be.