Every so often, the suggested friends portion of Facebook gets a click from me. An old poker-dealing buddy was the first hit from an unanswered question; after all these years, is he still with that girlfriend he’d constantly complain to me about? Yes, he sure is.
Funny, I thought, I wonder if he’s still unhappy. But then my aperture widened. He was talking to me about his unhappiness on our breaks, and had crossed into a flirty, ambiguous sexual-tension zone with me.
The accuracy of his account of his relationship was tailored to fit the narrative he wanted me to see of him. The poor guy. He just needed a real quality-caliber woman (like me) to make everything all better. That was the underlying message.
Although that pseudo sob story worked on me a time or two with others, with ol’ Jeffrey it didn’t. He was too outside my pity, my desire, my anything. And so I’ll leave him in the suggested-instead-of-actual friend zone on Facebook.
Funny how hindsight works that way.
Forty-four years on this planet is an asset. That seventh sense of hindsight is like a magical seeing-eye dog on steroids. When replaying memories, especially the messier, tougher ones, I forget that I have hindsight sometimes and think things like. Why was I so stupid, irresponsible, reckless?
A more accurate thought when reflecting is: I bet you had a good reason. I’m proud of you. And you’ll get through this.
Gosh, golly. I dig that idea. I may have to try it.
I’ll see you tomorrow. Love, Jaclynn