I’m nothing if not a pierced fool. It’s
Thursday night—Thirsty Fright Night. The undergrads go nuts. In turn, this
makes me a little bit nuts. That’s where it starts.
I’ve been really conscious of my age.
Suddenly, 27 feels old. I feel the absence of husband, child, career and
comfort. The theoretical mini-van of acting my conventional age reeks.
If continuing at this pace, my first child won’t arrive
until age 32. When my mom reached 32 I was writing suicide notes in my room. At
this rate I’ll be a senior citizen before my kids start writing suicide notes.
As yet there is no plan. There is E*…who
gets me. He even gets that he doesn’t always get me. I can’t count on him
though. He’s busy. And scared. The commitment scares him—or, more truthfully,
my ability to stay committed scares him. He thinks I’m a wanderer. So, either
way, neither the proposal nor the intent for marriage exists. Perhaps there is more than this.