The Lesbian Chronicles 29: Hope Is A Bitch Wearing A Rose-Colored Dress

I must save myself, still I long for a saviour. Searching through my mind's rolodex, I consider every person I have ever dated, fucked or sated and come up empty. Nothing outside of me can save me and I know this, yet I resist. I am waiting for my big lotto win, for the one that got away to return, for my proverbial knight to arrive on her white horse and take me away from all this.

Somehow it feels like all the hard, back-breaking work I have done for the last twenty-five years has gone to shit in a sandwich, because I am still wanting and waiting to be saved, and if that fucking lifeboat isn't coming; if the magical mother/lover/fairy godmother doesn't appear on the horizon at the very last minute to save me, I will go down in my ship.

So I plop myself down in my comfy corduroy La-Z-Boy chair to watch The Bachelor, hoping that love will knock on my door. So how's that going for me, you ask? Actually not so fucking well.

But that bitch Hope keeps showing up in her beautiful rose-colored dress, seducing me with her promises of Someday. I am really getting sick of this girl. Because everyone knows that The Bachelor is an 'unreality' show, the chance of that lottery win is pretty damn slim and truthfully, horses scare the shit out of me!

As my dad has often said, "here's the deal." I can see the glass half empty or half full or just be fucking happy I have a glass at all, because I have a sink with running water right in my kitchen that can be filled any time I want!

Now back to those twenty-five 'lost' years. Truth: love and money have not yet graced me, but what here is left?

I am finally free of a serious eating disorder that has dogged me since I was fourteen years old. If all I do moving forward is not harm myself with food than I shall feel satisfied.

This morning even though I was feeling 'faklempt.' I did not eat the two-day leftover MSG-ridden Chinese food. I did not eat the blueberry danish with icing and that was icky and sticky that I would have eaten with masochistic glee. I did not eat those Honey Oat Cheerios with milk that would have given me a migraine before I had even finished the bowl. I did eat fresh Ontario strawberries that I paired with almond milk yogurt and honey, feeling happy with my healthy choice.

So here I am - still looking for love, still feeling a lot lost and more than a little victimy, working hard to be okay with not being okay, taking pleasure in life's small mercies.