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These things do happen – maybe it is a blessing in disguise, maybe not. I’m over it now (sort of) but I do wonder if I can trust the universe, my angels, ancestors and the stars with my hopes and dreams and wants and needs if they will continue to be mean to me. This is a deeply personal post and not my usual, however it felt right to just get it off my chest. And for the love of all that is good, not fall into the trap of trying to get “closure”.
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Meanwhile, I was dating a man who was emotionally retarded. East Coast women are snobs and forward and aggressive.
It was one of those things where we kept breaking up and getting back together, for like a year and a half. Cowboys wear chaps (maybe the last one is true) and are kinda not that smart, but goodhearted ole lugs who don't use technology and are rather from another time.
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story, though of course this was a subplot, at least, of one or more episodes—leaving the city and meeting "a nice guy" (a farmer, perhaps? Her book, should you choose to read it, is called . My style was like a mixture of H&M and sample sales. If you want to leave New York, or whatever city you live in, and move to the country and marry a cowboy, or an insurance salesman, or whatever it is you are looking for, so be it.
Healing was something I enjoyed and I felt gave me some form of purpose, but I had to release this part of me because it made me vulnerable to being taken advantage of and taking too much away from me for the benefit of others. An old friend used to say “self-preservation is a noble act” and I might agree.
Broken birds are a lot of work, I know because I too was one. I must say that it was nice to get some male attention, some cuddles and laughs and being a part of someone’s life, having a witness to my life and a sounding board for my thoughts – however brief it was.
They are a strange bunch of hot & cold blowers and particularly those men who weren’t exposed to affection between their parents are the weirdest of them all – in my experience of course.
There is something about men or women who don’t know how to be loved that need a lot of work – sometimes it is a mixture of broken families or just a tough time growing up and feeling like they have to fight for everything that makes it difficult for them to let their guard down and receive.
Jessie Knadler is our latest memoirist writing of her departure from big city life (she was a magazine writer and editor in New York City with an apartment in Chelsea; she partied hard and dated immature men, and despite all the trappings of success felt aimless and alone) to move out West with a "real-life cowboy" she'd met on assignment, marry him, and embrace the ranching life herself. I’m not the kind of person who looks at people’s butts, but his was insane. Along the way it was rocky, at times, but he reached out his muscled arm and held her tight, and kept her safe and warm and with plenty of chickens, because he was a man. It's not that this reverse-success myth, where the girl leaves the big city—where she'd fought so long not only to arrive but also to find happiness—to find it elsewhere, somewhere simpler, without really trying, is so , exactly.
I had some Prada pieces, some Miu Miu, a mix of high and low. But then the big clubs, like Twilo, went away, and I just started going out drinking, like everyone here does, and to little tiny clubs on the Lower East Side. But it perpetuates so many stereotypes, like: There are no good men in the city.
I had fallen in-like with a somebody who seemed exactly on my path; a somebody that I could vibe with honestly, a somebody that I could share my secrets with, a somebody I could try new things with and share experiences with, make memories and be me as I am.