A few months ago my bulldog came running back inside after a successful business trip to the backyard. In her spazz sprint inside she got her nail stuck in the sliding door track. Being the neurotic creature that she is she freaked out, that’s the clinical term I’m sure, and jerked so hard it ripped the nail off her paw. It’s been months but she will not walk over that track unless I carry her or lie a towel across it.
I’ve avoided dating for six months now. Some friends encouraged me to jump back in but I couldn’t. Emotionally I wasn’t ready. January, I told them. Health issues and the weight of those issues mentally weighed me down. I wasn’t ready. Still.
This week a man has inserted himself into my life. I’ve known him through a friend for awhile. I haven’t been out of my house a lot lately. I go to work, doctor appointments, and maybe grab dinner early. This week I was determined to get out of my house. He was there day 1 of my quest to leave my home. Coincidence. I’ve always found this man attractive and love how casually he wears his confidence. He’s a lumbering guy, 6’5 and 230 probably. A lot of men his size seem awkward in their skin. He always seemed like some casual cowboy. Spontaneously I reminded him we share a favorite restaurant and I’d be there the next day for lunch. Then I went home.
He showed.
I’ll spare the details but I felt like my bulldog. I looked at the door and was scared. I thought how it felt to have pain, my fear of having that pain again. My Giant though sensed my fears. He suggested a double date with our mutual friend at a black tie fundraiser. He put a towel down over the tracks helping me cross cautiously.
For now I’m going to use the towel. I refuse to be carried, fuck that shit, but I’m not ready to cross alone. I’ll accept some help. For now.
Musings of Libby 