I am thinking about Love. I wonder if my Beloved will ever show up on my doorstep and say, “Hello.” Not literally, perhaps–I suppose he would have to call or email me first. Yet I imagine that possibility of the scene in the old movies where the man courting his Beloved shows up unannounced with the girl on the front porch (our house, incidentally, has a front porch) and the man is invited into the house for tea and cookies. Something like this happening in my life is part of my dream come true–yet it never has.
I often wonder why that door–romantic fulfillment–never came through in my life… though I have loved often I have always been an unrequited lover.
Yet I live on. It is funny, I always had this one big dream beyond being married or single… I wanted to be a writer. Oh, there have been times when I neglected my dream–notably times in college or my one year of graduate school. Then because I had to work on things for a grade, writing went on a back burner. So, too, perhaps, did my looking for love. Yet outside of these times my life has been about producing, or attempting to produce, literature. I longed to be like my hero, Charles Dickens. Nothing less would do.
Perhaps it was the tenacity of this dream, plus the fact that rather than a paying job I had a volunteer position at Breakthrough, a club for the mentally ill, kept from finding that interested male that never seemed to appear otherwise, either. I guess if the average guy in America in the past was a family man, today’s guy wants his wife to work–I think he does, anyway. Paying the bills for two is no longer the expectation of guys in general. I had no income outside of Disability for years (and it was 22 books I finally sold on my first The Bible According to Eve book with Austin Macauley; I misread how many books were sold the last time I wrote about it). Though it looks like a small amount of money, the $62 I made on my last quarter for my book is an auspicious beginning–or so I believe.
I guess I tell myself that if my creativity comes first, somehow everything else–including the right man–will fall into place somehow.
Right now my Beloved–we have not met face-to-face–exists, but I don’t know how realistic my dream of his being a boyfriend let alone husband is. Perhaps, as I told a friend, the reason I dislike romances is because nothing in my life resembles one–and yet like Snow White in the Disney movie, I keep feverishly wishing that “Someday my prince will come.”