Fields of Stupid Gold

It’s Easter. I’m sitting in my bed knowing what I already know- that if I text John, he’ll just tell me that he’s dating someone new.

And now I’m running, after that, and I’m thinking of this sticky hot holiday- how it was in Florida anyhow during this time of year, because I can see all these people dressed up in hot, wool, expensive blue suits. And it seems inappropriate to be dressed like that during a hot day when you’re muddling through a lawn that’s next to another lawn where the owner is mowing and you can hear that large humming sound. It’s the same sound I used to hear on Sundays, at about 2pm, while the football game was on in the living room.

So I’m running up this street- I think it’s called Lavendar or something near that, and I see this big party with groups of kids and a woman about my age with a dog (thank god she’s not carrying a baby), and I try to run past them acting like I don’t notice them. So it’s sort of hard because they are all standing out front of this brick split-level with a yard that’s sloping down and the guests in front of it are kind of sloping too. It’s impossible to run “through” them on the sidewalk because they all try to be polite, but it’s awkward.

So I finish my run, and I finish two more runs within two weeks after that Easter one, and I’m blank on John. I remember fishing out his phone number after I deleted it and texting him about tennis and “Do you know any famous players?”, “Tell me something about scoring. I need to know about that. Max is really into tennis. Did I tell you that? He’s a hitting partner for Josh Groth. Can you believe?”

And then nothing. He’s still dating his stupid agent or dietician or diabetic weirdo and I move forward. It’s just that I do sort of start to believe myself. Max is afterall gorgeous-probably the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever dated. He looks like Jared Leto. And he wants to sleep with me all the time, except that I’m tired at night and I whine and say “let’s do it tomorrow morning”. But then I sleep in past the time I’m supposed to get up and he stares at me when I come back to my room in my green skirt, eating a bowl of milk and granola and I make sure to take a bite of it so that when he asks “So how about now?” (you know, about the sex), I say something inaudible that sounds crunchy.

I keep thinking how when I have a glass of wine or two it makes me more inclined to get flirty. And then when someone is over and it’s late, well, I can’t stand tight things around my waist. And I don’t’ love pants. So I put on some PJ flannel shirt and they take it as a come-on! But it’s not! I just want to be comfortable. Although, I would be hurt if they weren’t attracted to me. It’s just guys can be so pushy. I’d like to have people/guys over to my house- for just a glass of wine and dinner. But it leads to sex! I have this limit, this rule. NO. NO. NO. No sex until after I’ve known you for a month. I waited three years before having sex with my former boyfriend, Yair. And he begged! He is very good looking and a millionaire to boot and he’s two years younger than me. But I knew he was off having fling after fling and so I was careful!

What’s happened to me now? Where’s that little voice in my head that use to caution the same thing? Anyhow, it’s Sunday and it’s time for my run. 5 miles. It’s out there waiting for me to traverse it. And then John calls. Stupid, stupid John. After I don’t feel anything for him anymore. After he soured or- ? Poisoned the well. And he’s drumming on about Easter and about how I called, and why won’t I hang out? And I say, “No”. I want Max now. We’re free-spirits and I like our dynamic.

So, off to traverse the fields of windy gold!

P.S. To whomever may read this and I’m sure it will be <1, I apologize for that diabetic comment. I didn’t really mean it that way…I have lots of people close to me that have it. I’m sure to wake up tomorrow and have it too! And I love sugar, and it will be so terrible to have to eat fake sweetners. So…I just meant– well this girl is a hypochondriac (the one I mentioned and…well, you know.)

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