One of the things that I do from time to time is re-watch shows I used to love. A therapist would tell you that it is trauma processing, that I don’t want the ‘surprise’ of something new. There might be some validity in that.

One of the things I’ve done to try to re-set after the Daddy person went back West is settle into the comfort things. The HBO Max subscription found me re-visiting the love life of Carrie Bradshaw.

I can admit that there are times when I’ve imagined myself as a Bradshaw when I’ve hit these pages. I am, after all telling the tale of former single girl in the city. In the 90’s lots of us tuned in to watch the 4 women navigate the isle of Manhattan, sex, and relationships. The society around us tells us that these women are an aberration, that no one writing a weekly column can afford to live in Manhattan and spend 40k on shoes. To that I say you’ve never understood the attraction of high heels.

I recall once upon a time that I looked at the dysfunctional relationship of Carrie & Big and pictured Kahlil and myself and imagined there would be a memorable reunification that resulted in our happily ever after. I remember watching BOTH movies and seeing Big and Carrie married and thinking that would have been the two of us one day.

Things did not work out that way. They turned out better in a lot of ways.

From what I understand he is out there with E’Lea, living what ever their happily ever after looks like. Here I am sitting at the dining room table, with Charlotte ‘settling’ for her “fat baldy” instead of her handsome WASP and seeing similarities because well, that is what I do.

You can go back through the posts here, and revisit how determined I was that the wedding would never happen and that man I’d spent my 20s and 30s loving would finally pick me in my 40s. He did not.

Turns out that while I talk a good game, and while I am fully prepared if it happens to roll through this life solo, I did/do want to be picked. I am a pick me. I want love the way it’s written in Hollywood, just with anal sex and whips.

The Daddy person and I have been exploring conversations about how/why Black men and women connect. He is more Kevin Samuels, I am more Samantha. The statistics say women like me shouldn’t end up with men like Daddy. I think a little of that creeps in from time to time, in the distance. Then I think about our reality and understand that I don’t just beat the odds in life I also beat the odds in love.

The reality is that who we are, is special. I focused on how special in his time here. I focus on it daily while we figure out how to get me there.

June 30 was the deadline. I still haven’t given up on that deadline, and I won’t until July 1. Me being the realist that I am, I do have to admit I won’t be happy if we have to move the goal post, but I will find a way to power through. I always do.

As I think about what love looks like for this current experience and the two of us I do have some questions. I always have questions, and sometimes I have answers even.

He also has a lot of answers.

I am at the point where I want him to share those answers with me, but I am also at the bottom and realize that those answers might not come in my direction, and if they do they might not look like how I want them to. Ugly truth.

I’ve spent a lot of time the last 7 days pushing and pushing the employment agenda. I feel odd with the focus I’ve tossed in that direction, for reasons I won’t get into details about here, but yes I feel odd.

I miss him. I missed him before. I miss him more now. It took a week to be able to sleep through the night without him next to me. It took a week to get used to waking up and not kissing him.

Even with the new developments I know how badly I need him. How badly I need us.

I want everyday, especially now that I know what everyday can look like. It can look like it did while he was here. Perhaps less rum, but rum was not the issue.

There is still an issue, one that I can’t fix. One that I am terrified won’t go away. If it doesn’t I have to go back to the drawing board. That drawing board where I picture the perfect relationship as I mourn what was that which made me happiest.

It’s been a very long time since I allowed myself to think about forever. Whatever forever looks like.

There is a lot that has to happen, I’m ready for it.

I know that he is as well.

I want us to be ready together.