sweat pants

my friend and i once talked about how all of us want mr. big (yup--i'm referencing the most cliche dating show of our generation). we want that crazy, noncommittal guy to commit, so we try or we at least look for him. the sexy, successful, romance-you-while he's in town man. and as we're doing it, or at least while i am, we get swept away. we know it's dumb. we know he's in control. and we know it's going no where. the thing is, my friend that i was chatting to mentioned, during the same conversation, that she had found her steve. and although that makes her the miranda (and let's be honest, no one ever wants to be miranda), she's happy. she's unstressed. and she's secure.
i was never secure, not ever with phoenix. i think, in ten months, i wore sweat pants one time. one time? in 10 months? and i am a sweat pants girl. i also started smoking cigarettes to deal with the stress of the back and forth and the ups and downs. and the confusion. because when you're casually dating someone for 10 months, it is confusing. and when he's gone or when he's here and didn't call or didn't text or didn't ask what i was doing, i became confused. but you can't tell big you're confused. he'll think you care too much or are becoming too attached or want more than what his job or heart will allow him to give.
and so i, personally, ate my confusion and my attachments. i hid that, sometimes, he hurt my feelings, and sometimes, he made me feel like i didn't matter. for 10 months, i allowed myself to believe that it was okay to feel like i didn't matter. i allowed myself to believe that the time i spent with my big was worth the pain of feeling unimportant during other times.
what i've realized is that steve may be short, and not cute, and casually unsuccessful or at least not passionate about his work, but he would make me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world all the time. He would love me, even in sweat pants.

living.

i'm not really a dumb girl. but this time, this time, i was dumb. the bad part is that everyone, including me, knew that i was dumb.
one time, jack johnson sang to me, "you don't always have to hold your head higher than your heart." i think i'll blame my latest romance saga on him. because i didn't hold my head higher than my heart. i dove, heart first, into phoenix every time i saw him, and every time i thought of him.
honestly, it's over. this time, it's over for real. and now, my heart hurts. the whole time, my mind told me to stop, to get out, to look into the future and realize it was going no where. but isn't that life? isn't that love? isn't that what makes us get up in the morning...the feeling of diving in, heart-first?
as i lay, in my pit of despair, i still don't regret any of it, because if i'm not diving in, then what am i doing? observing, sitting back, watching the world go by? my heart hurts, and there's noting i can do to make it feel better, but sometimes, maybe, the pain of the ending is worth all that happened before. at least i know i'm alive, and at least i know i'm living.