sunday night

so, this weekend, I went back to my old life.
I sought comfort in the arms of another. twice.
we sat and talked about stuff we'd never said before. we kissed whenever we felt like it. we laughed and drank and had fun. we giggled as we dialed charlotte's number. we went to my house and had different sex than we ever have before. it was sweet. we saw things in a different light. then, my friends' brother went home to his wife and kids.
last night I went out with his sister. unbeknownst to her, the events of friday night...I laughed and danced and went home with Roger with an I. only after we salsa danced to every conceivable type of music a hot club can play, did we go to the den where they serve vodka all night long. in his uncluttered abode, we talked and sang along to Nora Jones tunes. after we slowdanced in his kitchen, we retired to the bed with the egyptian cotton sheets. not your typical torrid hook-up. there was no disappointment in what he saw or what happened between us. drawing me close to his warm skin, I slept with this stranger well into the day.

some time ago, I tried to break my cycle of strange bedfellows. Realizing that there is no comfort once the other person has to go home, I got that something is not always better than nothing. and my affection/attention addiction is not resolved. I am only 8 hours back on the wagon. in all of my transformation and inspiration, i still lose track of me. there are tears in my eyes. i don't want to go to work tomorrow, and I don't want to sleep in my own egyptian cotton sheets alone.
it's been months since I've made the decision not to accept booty calls from my friends' brother; since i decided to honor the instition that has eluded me.
I have stayed home countless weekends, and have made myself unapproachable, so that weekends like this don't happen. because i make myself bad and wrong. even though i am not. what i am is lonesome and wondering. wondering what you think of me. questioning what my life is. who the fuck I am and what difference any of this makes.
sometimes i'm so sure. sometimes i absolutely know i'm living the possibilities the world has to offer. other times not so much. i'm not depressed nor do I feel like I can't make it through another day. i am emotional. there's no full moon, and i'm not starting my period. i wonder if it's because i'm on the brink of discovery. what's to become of me? i'm weary. and did I say lonely? yeah. i'm smart and funny and look great in that black dress. i feel and hurt and give. and give and give and give. sometimes people try and give to me. acceptance is really the issue here. not mine of you. but yours of me. and mostly, mine of me.
my old life is not what i want for my now life or my future life. sometimes it seems like such a comfort. it never really is, though. 's like when i ate out of control two weeks ago. it tasted good, but now my pants don't fit. same thing here. it was fun, but now i'm ashamed to say that's me. again.