A Preemptive Apology to Anyone Who Ever Dates Me

I think they fired my favorite adolescent receptionist at the gym because I haven't seen her in a week. This makes me sad; she's a darling, little blonde thing that reminds me of another darling, little blonde thing I loved some years ago.

I don't know this receptionist's name, so I can't even inquire about her, but I miss our routine. She'd giggle when I came in, ask how I was, giggle again and say, "You sound like you're from England." Every time.

I get that a lot, though, actually—that whole "You don't sound like you're from here" thing.

I can tell you, kids, I'm from a suburb of Cleveland that is known for a very New Jersey-esque accent. And then, of course, when my family moved to Carolina when I was 14, I easily slipped into the sweet, Southern drawl, ya'll.

I guess the North and South in me repel in accordance with some remnant of historical conflict and what comes out of my mouth is akin to a British nanny, as a nod to the mother country where it all began. Pip pip!

This is all running through my head because I found pages from an old journal I thought was long gone, lost in one of my many, many, many moves. But they reappeared, exactly when I needed them to. They were actually from the time when I loved that darling, little blonde thing some years ago. Interestingly, she is back in some capacity, though at a very safe distance.

For now, anyway.

We were, are and forever will be, complicated. She's also got a lovely girl now, and I'm mourning my young receptionist and A.J. and not in any place for a real commitment of any kind, so it could get messy if I even let myself think about pursuing it.

(For the record, I wrote that post about her when I was smack dab in the middle of grief therapy for my Mom, and we were exploring my anger feelings at that time. You won't believe how angry I was that Frito-Lay changing its packaging--I had to delete that post. Now, I'm not condoning or excusing her actions, but it's amazing how different things look and feel just a short year later. So, here--this grain of salt is for you to take if you went back and read it.)

But I realized recently that if no one else were around to chastise or question me, I would go running right back into her arms this instant. But as it stands, she did a whole mess of damage to a lot of people whom I love, and it's not that simple. It never is, is it?

Still it's been kind of nice to revisit some of those memories, and re-reading my thoughts of everything filled in some missing pieces.

It's helped alleviate a lot of my anger that stemmed from our relationship and brought in some clarity and understanding of how she found herself on the Crazy Train and wasn't able to hop off, just speeding faster and faster and faster toward one of those tunnels the dern coyote painted on the side of a mountain and not knowing what else to do but stay on.

Weird, though, because we'll both be back in our small Carolina town for the holiday. My entire being is torn between going into full-on stalker mode to "make" a meeting happen or just letting sleeping dogs lie on a nice, comfy carpet of distance and time, safe but suffocated by my yearning heart. Seriously, my pretties, I am yearning here.

Truly, it's probably going to depend on how hot, as in attractive, I'm feeling. We girls are so weird—yes, I'm going to base a life decision on how my hair and ass look. Deal with it.

I just don't know, my pretties. Do some people come back because we're not done with them or do they re-emerge to serve as emotional watermarks and reminders so that we don't make the same mistakes again?

I sincerely feel like if I could just get once more kiss, I could walk away.

Would it be sooooo wrong if I just cornered her in the Food Lion and we made out for 10 minutes and then she went back to her girlfriend, and I went back to my family, and nobody was the wiser?

Don't answer that.

See, I know the answer. I KNOW no good can come of it. I KNOW what my course SHOULD be, which is to run away from her, but she is the first and only person who has ever made me come unhinged in my 27 years, which explains why I just can't let that ever happen with another person again. She made such a mess of things, and I let her because I loved her. I still do, truth be told. That's how it goes.

So, listen, my pretties, those of you who know me in real life and think I'm too quick to walk away from relationships, let me tell you—I understand why some of those women on Maury don't care that their Dude is the father of their sister's AND their Mom's babies and they keep screaming, "But I love him. I looooooooooove him!!!!" Oh, buddy, do I get it. Love is not rational.

But that's why I only let myself entertain the idea of doing it with her (heh). One crazy heart per life time. I can't handle any more. I don't want any more.

I made a vow that any loves after her would be as calm and gentle as a summer breeze because that episode done brought enough drama for my mama, my step-mama, my grandmama and my llama.

Yet, if it was so bad, why am I here gnashing my teeth remembering her beautiful hips that made me dizzy? And her hands, oh, those hands. And that spot near her collar bone. I really loved that spot.

Oy vey. What's the British word for "hopeless"?

In the Comments section, tell me about that person for you. Oh, and feel free to heap on the advice, here. I'm flailing.