Most days I feel pretty good. The sunlight and brightness streaming inside from all of the windows, despite there not always being sunny days, have lifted my spirits, certainly.
Perhaps it’s because I had such little or poor sleep that I’m not feeling so spiffy and upbeat, but watching The Fisher King this afternoon kind of pushed me over the edge.
I suppose being anxious for the EI deposit to be put into my account doesn’t help any (since I’m down to $2.19 in the account and whatever loose change I have in my wallet), but definitely the movie moved me, touching on a part in my heart that had closed up over old wounds and just got ripped open again.
It was THIS scene that did it.
It’s all such a familiar thing, what she says.
The hitting it off; the invite; the overnight stay; the awkward morning; the momentary elation; the never hearing again. And the quirkiness; the awkwardness; the isolation; the hopes, both bravely entertained and then dashed.
It does get exhausting – so much so that the appeal of engaging in the motions has all but disappeared for me. To preserve myself – the little bits of heart that I’ve got left that still hold out hope – to keep those intact I’ve had to focus on other things… things that move me toward joy in spite of sometimes feeling alone and occasionally lonely; going it alone to spare myself of the seemingly inevitable disappointment.
Being alone is braver, sometimes, than being in a relationship that is juiceless and joyless, but sometimes being alone is a cop-out too… avoidance of relationships caused by an aversion to the high risk of potential hurt that might ensue.
I suppose it’s hard to be brave, either way… alone or with someone else.