Regardless of what my blogs say so far, I am a simple creature. I do not require a lot to make me happy. Green frogs. Oreos. A heartfelt cuddle. Cold beer. Eyes meeting across a crowded floor.
A good song.
I am addicted to music. I live and breathe notes and tunes and harmonies and riffs and frets. I inhale lyrics like air and always think they can be adapted to my own situations. I can find it easier to express a sentiment through song than my own bumbling clumsy words. Lyrics speak to me more than a person ever could, being immortalised in song.
I went to a concert tonight. One I have been waiting and waiting for with bated breath. The expectation I had lain on this event was phenomenal. I am glad to say it did not disappoint. From the chord of the first note I smiled until the dying strains of the last note. I danced like nobody was watching. I sung the words with a gusto only reserved for football matches or a fight between lovers.
This is my happy place.
I am riding on a high that no one else seems to understand. Nor do I feel like sharing it with any one else. This is mine. My secret.
And until I find someone who can express this to me without even saying a word, I will keep it close to my heart. Until I can find someone who can express this to me without even saying a word, I will not fall in love.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
When Is Young Too Young?
For the first time in as far as I can remember, I went on a date. Like a proper butterflies in the tummy, holding hands, nonchalant brushing arms when walking date. He bought me an icecream, and in true Honey fashion I dropped some of it on my dress. He told me I was absolutely gorgeous. He held my hand as we walked and I could feel he was just as nervous as I was. When the wind blew he tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. When we lay on the grass together he leant over and kissed me on the cheek. On paper this boy seemed perfect.
On plastic, he did not.
By this I refer to his drivers license.
He is 5 years younger than me.
If you knew me at all, you would laugh at this. I have not had any previous qualms about exploring the younger market. In fact, I actively encourage it. I enjoy the thrill of a younger man, i revel in it. The lack of pretenses, the nervousness of the inexperience they have, the gratitude at the experience I can bring, the awe in which they uphold you. It can become quite addictive.
But generally although I prefer the bodies to be lithe and young, there is something I also like. That is maturity. You can sense right away whether a young boy is ready for this kind of experience. I'd rather not have a relationship with a boy when all he can think about is where to set off the next bunger or whether or not he will get Hungry Jacks before the Simpsons Saturday Special begins.
Unfortunately my date falls into the latter category. There are 22 year old men who are mature, and then there are 22 year old men. Period.
So although he walks the walk, and he talks the talk I dont think I will be the one to draw him into my world. I'm a baby maker, not a baby sitter. I'm a cradle snatcher, not a cradle rocker. You get my point.
But what of the energetic sex, the endless reserves of youthful stamina, I hear you cry. And, believe me, this is a point which has been well considered. Dear reader, this is an area which had been explored previously, and one which, although not been found lacking, comes with side dishes upon which I choose not to partake in. Like the salad on the side of a meal in which you poke about your plate and consider eating but in the end gets pushed to the side.
I believe he is at that delicate stage where he could take one of two paths. One is that he finds a girl his own age and has a tumultuous relatioship in which he discovers the world. The other is that he follows me into my world in which I will inevitably use him and then spit him out like a piece of gum chewed for too long. Can I be responsible for the destruction of such innocence? Such naivety?
Robert Frost famously said -
"I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood and I -
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference."
So for this boy, I will be the road less travelled by. Am I ready for the looks from other passers by, the scrutiny from his friends and family, the self examination in my own conscience? I think not. Never mind that he may make me happy, never mind that I may make him happy. The puppy dog adoration in his eyes, although completely enchanting, is not an avenue I am 100% willing to take.
What does Robert Frost know anyway.
On plastic, he did not.
By this I refer to his drivers license.
He is 5 years younger than me.
If you knew me at all, you would laugh at this. I have not had any previous qualms about exploring the younger market. In fact, I actively encourage it. I enjoy the thrill of a younger man, i revel in it. The lack of pretenses, the nervousness of the inexperience they have, the gratitude at the experience I can bring, the awe in which they uphold you. It can become quite addictive.
But generally although I prefer the bodies to be lithe and young, there is something I also like. That is maturity. You can sense right away whether a young boy is ready for this kind of experience. I'd rather not have a relationship with a boy when all he can think about is where to set off the next bunger or whether or not he will get Hungry Jacks before the Simpsons Saturday Special begins.
Unfortunately my date falls into the latter category. There are 22 year old men who are mature, and then there are 22 year old men. Period.
So although he walks the walk, and he talks the talk I dont think I will be the one to draw him into my world. I'm a baby maker, not a baby sitter. I'm a cradle snatcher, not a cradle rocker. You get my point.
But what of the energetic sex, the endless reserves of youthful stamina, I hear you cry. And, believe me, this is a point which has been well considered. Dear reader, this is an area which had been explored previously, and one which, although not been found lacking, comes with side dishes upon which I choose not to partake in. Like the salad on the side of a meal in which you poke about your plate and consider eating but in the end gets pushed to the side.
I believe he is at that delicate stage where he could take one of two paths. One is that he finds a girl his own age and has a tumultuous relatioship in which he discovers the world. The other is that he follows me into my world in which I will inevitably use him and then spit him out like a piece of gum chewed for too long. Can I be responsible for the destruction of such innocence? Such naivety?
Robert Frost famously said -
"I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood and I -
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference."
So for this boy, I will be the road less travelled by. Am I ready for the looks from other passers by, the scrutiny from his friends and family, the self examination in my own conscience? I think not. Never mind that he may make me happy, never mind that I may make him happy. The puppy dog adoration in his eyes, although completely enchanting, is not an avenue I am 100% willing to take.
What does Robert Frost know anyway.
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