The word ephemeral is an adjective I’ve shamelessly coined as a noun, meaning, lasting for a short time…fleeting, brief, almost as if you dreamt it.
I’m referring to people who come and go, check in and out of your life as if you were a midtown hotel.
It’s always mystifying to me, not to mention hurtful.
They say in AA, if you’re bothered by someone’s behavior, it’s merely mirroring yours.
Yes, I’ve done it too, took leave unexpectedly, but to defend myself, always with a polite farewell. I don’t make it a practice of flying the coop when one isn’t looking.
One woman who was pretty constant just disappeared. When I reached out to make certain she was okay, and to ask, was I at fault, in an email she said, no, but have never heard from her again.
It’s a shame since I liked her so very much though, I’ll admit, not for very long.
Another lady I’ve known for 30 years also made skid marks after suggesting we look at the good more often. In her 7th decade she has no desire to count her many blessings, so I’ve become the enemy. She even purposely ignored my birthday to make her point. Okay, got it.
Don’t need to be punched twice.
Then there’s that fella I was canoodling with who decided he didn’t have time to care, being a musician and all, traveling, needing his space, space, by the way, I’ve never asked for. I’m often accused of things I’m not guilty of.
He should really think about leaving his ego, the size of a tuba, to science.
Frankly I smell younger gal, blonde, tattooed since this guy, despite his 6th decade, is still a punk, so to speak. Toss in some casual abuse that comes with cleavage and lanky legs and he’s yours, which was something else that I apparently did wrong.
I was kind.
How dull is that, to be loving and thoughtful, generous and understanding to a fault.
I want a bitch who keeps me up at night, in more ways than one.
My friend Camille often reminds me that, make-up sex after a fiery feud, breathes new life into a dynamic duo whose tires may be going flat.
But ya see, I’m more invested in peace these days than warfare, so just to swing from that chandelier, one more time, really doesn’t interest me.
Call me crazy.