Maybe I had a moment, or a few moments, tired as shit, washing dishes and cursing to myself about how I’m the only one who does the fucking dishes. I have these brief seconds of wishing, daydreaming, that some knight, tall and sexy, come up behind me, wraps his arms around me and slides a glass of wine in my hand and tells me to park my sexy ass on the couch so he can wash the dishes for me. Then I wake up to an alarm I’ve been hitting the snooze on for 10 minutes, screaming like a banshee for the midgets to get ready for school.

Moral of the story, there’s no knight and a constant sink full of dishes that are all my responsibility.  It’s the old story of wanting help but getting frustrated when they don’t do it right so you just do everything yourself. The fact is, it’s easier, saner and tidier to just do everything myself. I still don’t trust people not to butcher my heart, I still don’t trust my heart to pick the right ones, and I have no fucking clue how badly my being alone is fucking up my kids. I don’t think I’m Wonder Woman at all, but I do feel the weight, and it’s fucking heavy. I’m not complaining, I know this is just how things are, temporary as all of this is, and they will get better and they might get worse, but I’m trying to stay in the present moment. Aching for connection, touch, deep conversation and cuddles, but content to call the shots.

The resentment I used to feel when I had a partner unable to live up to what my crazy heart/brain wanted, needed, expected has all but fallen away. If something doesn’t get accomplished I know exactly who to blame! No one is coming to save me, I don’t need to be saved, nor do I want to be. I’m afraid of unleashing this weight on anyone, I’m afraid of what being myself will do to anyone, I’m impulsive, spontaneous, wild and loving, I need my freedom but desperately want someone man enough to walk by my side, to hold my hand, occasionally check me, but always love, support and lovingly shake their head at me. I don’t want to wait six months for love, no matter how perfect those two days were.  I have to suffer the consequences either way.

I’m taking this armor off because it’s heavy, My skin is thick, almost bulletproof at this point, true to my sign, I have a shield and a bow and arrow. I let all of this out not for pity, I have no use for that, not for attention, not for anything other than opening this scarred, bruised yet full heart just a little more. Nothing is perfect, the highlight reel we see or chose to project, there are screams, falls, face plants dodged bullets and scrapes. It’s human and it’s life.