On the Head of a Pin

I scroll through the online personal ads – bad photos of goofy looking guys, bald or baseball capped, a little extra padding or a bathroom mirror picture of their ripped abs.  I pass by stupid screen names like redsoxfan or lover4U or even lickuatthey.  Profiles that are as interesting as the back of a shampoo bottle – I’m a basic guy,  I’m just an ordinary guy, I guess you could say I’m an average guy.  I like sports and John Grisham novels. These tidbits are followed by confessions that they are stooping so low by going online – “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” “We can tell our friends we met somewhere else.” Get over it!

I turn the computer off in disgust.  Is this really what he wanted?  I know he’s on this site, I know he’s looking, but what does he think he’ll find here?  I’ve been there – one too many times. There’s a lot of cute girls on this site. I’ve scrolled through them, picking out the ones I think he’d like.  Cute, funny, interesting girls.  Maybe he’s already found someone cuter and smarter and more adorable.  I, somehow, need to find peace with it.

Regardless of what he’s doing, I wonder why I spend time looking for myself.  I’m receiving five to ten emails a week.  Most don’t interest me (I guess my profile says I respond “selectively”) and the ones that do, well, our “conversations” seem to go nowhere.  I know I shouldn’t be out there yet.  I know I should be healing, working on myself, fixing what’s broken.  But I miss being part of a couple; I miss sharing private jokes, talking over my day, cooking dinner for a table for two, sharing a bed, sharing a morning.  The house is too quiet.

I just want to shut myself down – from wanting a relationship, from looking for a man, from searching for someone who loves me.  The old adage goes, “you’ll find somebody when you stop looking.” That’s Bullshit.  I’ve tried that, too.  I’ve basically been out there for 29 years – I know what’s out there, I’ve seen what’s out there, I know how slim my chances are of finding someone for me – not for you, not for him, but for me.  What I’m looking for could sit on the head of a pin.

I thought I finally found him.  I was wrong.