The Revolving Door

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Like slamming a revolving door... I used to call her Hot Friend #2 back in the day. Oh, she's still hot and still my friend. I've just given up on the monikers. She is Nic. It was a random thought in my head that became my FaceBook status on Monday morning. Her reply involved the impossibility of slamming a revolving door. And that became the spring board for this blog.

Ah futility... I do love thee so. I'm getting used to it. I can even laugh at it these days. So, what was my reply to Nic? Something about dating. Yeah, dating and futility. Soul sisters in my world. And very much like trying to slam a revolving door. It seems possible until it's impossible. You gear up, give it a good go, and whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. What happened to the slam? Keep trying, but it's not going to happen.

Now, I'm not trying to make any of the exs feel like assholes (please keep reading me). What is is very simply what is. I accept that. What's not meant to be is not meant to be. I have no ill will. I believe in Grace. But damn if it isn't kind of funny. I find a good girl and whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. It never fails. The revolving door... revolves.

It's a good thing I'm cynical. Otherwise I might be jaded and never believe a word anyone ever tells me again. They (my friends and my shrink) say that I'm so evolved that most women just can't keep up with me. I have my shit together and I exist on a higher spiritual plane (I think that means the same thing). I'm too good for them (I'm not so conceited as to think so... obviously or I wouldn't date them) and they know it. Or they quickly figure it out. So, they revolve because I'm evolved. That's hilarious (drink a couple rum and diets and you'll think it's funny, too).

When I was a kid I used to like running and running through revolving doors. I'd push and spin and the door would go whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. It's not as fun now.

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