Happiness is a Red Scooter

last night, i wrote in my oh so poetic of ways, a few verses on how life is the victim of us. not the other way around.

still sounds true enough.

i keep those poetic lamentations in a directory (folder) on my harddrive labelled 'Thoughts'. and it's subsequently divided into subdirectories named by the years. 2000 through 2005 (the stuff before that delegated to the 'Old' folder).

for years i wrote only for myself. only to myself. excluding the occasional sad love poem i used to send to mcdoofus (my former unrequited).

parenthetical phrases... you gotta love em.

anyway, sometime in 2003 something changed. i may have been coaxed or i may have just been in one of those rare open moods. but for whatever the reasons, i shared. and shared. and then shared some more. sharing became a habit. for i collect habits like most people collect breaths.

what happened to cause all this? scoots happened. my first and hopefully last foray into the exciting world of infidelity. i would've been the 'other woman', except for the fact that, i've never been refered to as a woman, ever. always been refered to as 'girl'. even at the ripe old age of 30, still never been called a woman, but that's okay i guess. at least it's youthful.

what's interesting about the scoots affair is that first, i handled it surprisingly well, for me anyway. and second, that i never regretted it. not during, not after, and not now. believe it or not, it was one of the best experiences of my life.

now maybe that just means i've had a really pathetic life, but even if, i don't care. it was still good for me.

after having spent about two years wallowing and obessing in my usual manic-depressive way about mcdoofus, over the unrequited love i felt for him, by the time scoots popped into my life i felt like a corpse. i was finally over mcdoofus, and consequently felt nothing. that inevitable empty after the pain.

so it was that brief, but passionate affair with scoots that brought me to life like i had never been before. all my other loves prior had always been sad loves. misbegotten loves. unreciprocated brood-fests carried on in complete solitude.

but scoots, he was there. and so alive. so touchable. and so wanting to be touched. he was a phone call at least once everyday. usually twice. once in the morning and then again at night.

he was something to look forward to on fridays. i'd never had anything to look forward to before other than thursday nights at 8pm to watch survivor.

i still haven't decided whether i genuinely loved scoots or only loved how great he made me feel. i think i could've loved him, under better circumstances. could he have loved me? even if he told me yes, it wouldn't matter. i'd never believe it anyway.

Comments

  1. NOTE: When playing with a scooter make sure to wear knee pads. :-)

    In all seriousness though maybe it was best you got off the scooter before you got hurt.

    Believe...

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