Phyllis

Lost that Lovin’ Feelin’

I’ve fallen out of love.

Or maybe I just slid out. It didn’t actually happen all at once, but I willfully ignored the few scattered clues that the attraction was lessening. Looking back, I guess it was inevitable. There was never any real compatibility. But it was comfortable. That is what drew me. I thought, in the beginning, that it was love at first sight.

We moved to Fairhope together and I had a glimpse then it wasn’t a good fit, but it still felt good. I felt warmed and comforted at a time I needed comfort. Friends commented gently about the unlikely pairing, but I defended my choice. I had chosen solid, sturdy, not based on appearances or even mutual style.

And I enjoyed the relationship. I felt hugged and cushioned, but there was never any real commitment on my part. I made disparaging remarks at the same time I professed my love.

It’s been three years and we made the move to a new house together. I questioned the wisdom of staying together when I bought my house, but I thought I could make it work. Night after night I took comfort, yet always with an eye to something better.

Then tonight, like I had peeled back a skin, or ripped off a mask, I really saw. Stark reality. The flaws I have overlooked are insurmountable to me. Or at least I don’t want to be blind to them anymore. I hate to be shallow but I can’t believe I was ever attracted. So. . . big. Shapeless. I know I’m not dainty myself, but still.

I won’t be rash. I won’t make any changes right away. I don’t look forward to the “I told you so” of my dearest friend, although I know I should have listened to her. And I will have to eventually deal with the empty place if I say good bye. But I know I will fill that space. I will fill it as quickly as I can. But this time, I will go in with my eyes wide open. I will choose wisely because I want to be happy, not just comfortable. And I want it to last.

So I turn away and whisper an unheard goodbye. With still a touch of affection, I add, “You were a comfort, my friend.” Then I turn out the light and walk away from that big, green overstuffed recliner.

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Phyllis

The Un-blog

Once upon a time in a life far away, I was a journalist and a newspaper columnist. My column was not political, or philosophical. It didn’t give instructions on how to garden, lose weight, improve your love life, cook gourmet meals, live on a budget, or get out stains with ingredients commonly found in your refrigerator. It was just a danged old column about nothing (to modify a line from Hank Hill’s friend Dale)

After a series of “finding myself” phases where I raised horses, grew tomatoes, studied alternative health practices, and daydreamed about running away to Montana, I returned to writing, this time fiction, but I missed my weekly column. I had moved to a new town, Fairhope, Ala., and had no newspaper connections here. So I came up with a revolutionary idea.

I would write my column, but instead of looking for a newspaper or magazine outlet, I would post it on the Internet for anyone who wanted to read it. A Cyber column. A cylumn, if you will. I told my best friend about it.

“Oh, a blog,” she said, disappointingly unimpressed with my invention.

“A what?”

“A blog,” she repeated, then took me to several sites where other people were already hard at work implementing my brainstorm. Only momentarily daunted, my Pollyanna attitude took this as a sign that my idea could work, rather than proof that I was too late.

When my webdesigner mentioned a blog page, I immediately translated that as “my cylumn.” So here, good folks, I will update you every Friday on all manner of observations, ideas, happenings, people, and thoughts from my life. True to form, my cyber column (blog, if you must) is About Nothin’.

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