Freedom is such a double-edged sword. It’s so deceiving. It allows you to think that the world is open to you. But it’s not. It’s just available to you to open. And that doesn't come without a price. I have always been one of those people who’d walk through a door if I found a doorway. Never one who went around carving out doorways. I let that fall to those smarter than myself, which, as far as I was concerned, meant just about everybody. So I’ve always been content to take what is given and live without the dream that something more could exist. It’s all a part of my anti-risk taking personality.
Looking for a new relationship was infinitely harder than looking for a new job—which I decided I needed to do since I didn’t enjoy working with Charlie anymore. It was fine when I had Chad to throw in his indifferent face. But now that I was Chad-less the thrill was gone. Plus, there’s got to be something better out there than slinging hash. But finding it was nearly impossible in this tiny two-bit town. Not too many jobs to choose from when you’ve got three restaurants and under a dozen stores.
And I felt way too visible for comfort right now. Despite my newfound emotional independence I was a little on the vulnerable side. Why is it when a relationship falls flat on its face—or several relationships in a row—you suddenly feel more noticeable. Like there’s a sign hanging from your neck: Date At Your Own Risk. Then Don’t Say I Didn’t Warn You.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment