Saturday Blast From The Past-Blind Date
Blind Date
It's so degrading to be fixed up. It seems like once you've agreed, you have accepted defeat, yet you never realized it was a battle. But it is a battle. Just one in the long war. In this battle you stand defiant. You stand with head held high, arms akimbo, wind in hair and declare to the world with added reverb, you shall not be fixed up, you will have a woman when and only when you choose. And when you choose, they shall come.
And then there you are. You find yourself driving to what feels like your doom but it's just a date, one that was arranged for you by some friends. Why'd you give in you ask yourself. And as you ask yourself this you also wonder what happened to the wind in your hair. No longer are your arms akimbo. No longer are your declarations layered with reverb. You are in a wooden chair with one lone bare bulb hanging above your head as you ask yourself what the hell were you thinking?
And as you drive with both hands gripping the steering wheel you realize that the next battle is raging now. Do you run? Run back to your little mountain and stand with the wind in your hair once again? Get out while there's still time? Laugh your triumphant laugh?
And what do you see from your mountaintop? You see the valley of the hooked up spread out before you, a sea of picket fences and patio furniture. Spread out before you as though you could reach out and pick any of them. But you can't. Not from your
mountain. And since you weren't able to walk through the front door on your own you now find yourself driving down the back alley called blind date.
As you pull up to the Beatitude Bistro and see the happy combatants passing through the doors you realize that this is where the real battle begins. The others have been minor skirmishes in comparison. You check your armor and weaponry one last time in the rear view mirror then begin the forward march.
And as you march you wonder how will you even know if you've won or lost when you come out. If you're sent back to your mountaintop of solitude then have you lost? Have you won? Can you say, there, I did it, I tried it their way and look I'm home again. Would that be so bad? Or do you walk out all smiles and bliss? Has she conquered you or have you conquered her? Have you won? Do you go to sleep in the palace only to wake up in the dungeon with your head in a vice? Or do you sit on your patio furniture in the valley looking past your picket fence trying to see
top of your old mountaintop shrouded in the mist of memory?
Originally published in Prose Toad c2005
It's so degrading to be fixed up. It seems like once you've agreed, you have accepted defeat, yet you never realized it was a battle. But it is a battle. Just one in the long war. In this battle you stand defiant. You stand with head held high, arms akimbo, wind in hair and declare to the world with added reverb, you shall not be fixed up, you will have a woman when and only when you choose. And when you choose, they shall come.
And then there you are. You find yourself driving to what feels like your doom but it's just a date, one that was arranged for you by some friends. Why'd you give in you ask yourself. And as you ask yourself this you also wonder what happened to the wind in your hair. No longer are your arms akimbo. No longer are your declarations layered with reverb. You are in a wooden chair with one lone bare bulb hanging above your head as you ask yourself what the hell were you thinking?
And as you drive with both hands gripping the steering wheel you realize that the next battle is raging now. Do you run? Run back to your little mountain and stand with the wind in your hair once again? Get out while there's still time? Laugh your triumphant laugh?
And what do you see from your mountaintop? You see the valley of the hooked up spread out before you, a sea of picket fences and patio furniture. Spread out before you as though you could reach out and pick any of them. But you can't. Not from your
mountain. And since you weren't able to walk through the front door on your own you now find yourself driving down the back alley called blind date.
As you pull up to the Beatitude Bistro and see the happy combatants passing through the doors you realize that this is where the real battle begins. The others have been minor skirmishes in comparison. You check your armor and weaponry one last time in the rear view mirror then begin the forward march.
And as you march you wonder how will you even know if you've won or lost when you come out. If you're sent back to your mountaintop of solitude then have you lost? Have you won? Can you say, there, I did it, I tried it their way and look I'm home again. Would that be so bad? Or do you walk out all smiles and bliss? Has she conquered you or have you conquered her? Have you won? Do you go to sleep in the palace only to wake up in the dungeon with your head in a vice? Or do you sit on your patio furniture in the valley looking past your picket fence trying to see
top of your old mountaintop shrouded in the mist of memory?
Originally published in Prose Toad c2005
posted by Mark at 5:27 PM
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