Love in LA

Sitting after a weekly ritual of watching True Blood, I wonder if hormones can be controlled and if this is healthy. For the last five months I have been fumbling around California on my own. I have not met a man and I wonder if I wanted this for myself. After getting out of toxic relationships on the east coast, the idea of being with a man made me uncomfortable for a while. My self esteem issues also jaunted me in to a terminal lonely abyss . Now I'm here in Los Angeles the city of angels glamor and beauty to name a few attributes. L.A. seems to be the melting pot of beauty and talent, things wish I like to believe I possess. Why then am I struggling to connect. Well for starters I find myself alone with my German Shepard on many a Friday night and not with a sense of sadness either. I almost covet the idea of sitting alone pondering life, listening to music and reading the paper. Being around people almost always make me question all the great qualities I have "invented" about myself, which are never questioned when I am by myself. MY little self created fantasies of who I believe myself to be usually come crashing down the second I open my mouth with another person. All the grace and elitism I play out within the confines of my own world suddenly gets dampened by anothers' sideway glance or my own lack of security about looks etc. So instead I sit in my house and watch shows like true blood, the ultimate love and sex fantasy- my hormones would agree. I wishfully begin to imagine a crush from summers past loving down upon me that is then immediately followed by the sadness that its just a myth in the air.

Tonight was none different except for the revelation, the face of truth, as ugly as it may be. The man you fantasize of, the vampires you openly love on tv and a warm body that you admire and respect curled up next to you are all figments of the imagination. The sooner you release these people into the universe the sooner you will be free to be yourself- whether this is desired or not, this is what must happen.

So, these ragging desires, do they be ignored, swept under the rug for a rainy day or dosed in gasoline and set flame for destruction before they do damage to my REAL life- the one that exists outside of my hopes dreams and prayers. My fantasies are not willed in to life and it saddens me to believe that I thought they might be simply wished into existence. Maybe hormones and life must remain on an even keel- a mundane existence seems about the looks of things.

A voice in the distance would like to believe otherwise, indeed.