I see the eyes of older males lingering on me, briefly. I’m 55. I’m strong. I move gracefully.
I don’t take any medications. Many times I’ve had the experience of a quizzical look on the doctor’s face, a re-ask of the question if I take any regular medications, and then a re-order on whatever blood tests or other tests I took. “Maybe there was some fuckup,” I guess they’re thinking, “since this fat person shows no bloodwork problems.” No, the test was fine. I’m healthy. Possibly because of eating home-grown veggies for many years and generally not eating industrial crap food of various kinds. I’ve never smoked, and I exercise because I know the rule: Use it or lose it. These self-repairing machines need exercise in order to repair. We’re not generally meant to live this long, i.e. in most of human history we didn’t live past 40 or 50.
Feels good to be noticed, to be lingered upon; however, I’ll never have another partner. Recently, my crazy ex told me about his love-at-first-sight with some totally unavailable person. I told him I didn’t need to hear about that. “I’d be glad to know you had someone on your dance card.” Yeah, well, you dumped me. I didn’t dump you. If I have someone on my dance card, you don’t have to feel so bad for ditching the marriage that I meant to be for life, for ever. My sacrifices that I made beyond reason, hoping for a forever connection. No matter how hard it was, I didn’t want to end it. I wanted to fix it. Make it do or do without.
There will never be anyone on my dance card. No one could possibly accept me, given the crazy relationship that I was in. I weep, but I move forward alone. I took a chance and failed. Gotta try something different in future. Not cut out for romance or deep connection with other people. No one ever loved me and no one will. I accept that; I was not meant to be born. I’m a freak. That’s okay. Someone has to be on the end of the normal curve. C’est moi.