At Odds With The World

I knew a woman once, who was talented, intelligent, profound, and gorgeous. She was a deep hue of brown with micro-braids in her hair because it was easier to "maintain" while she is in Medical School. And that's how I referred to her in much of even my own memories. Let's not ruin it with a new title. Anyway, MedSchool was a dream in some regards. She was a complex female, like most of the women that seem to garner my attention. And being with her felt like falling down and flying high at the same time. She had a deep past with a few scars like me and we tried to explore the depth of our pain together, while "getting to know each other" as she put it.

Most of the time it just meant me trying to figure out what was in her head and her just enjoying the time we spent together. Like my normal self, sometimes I was "trifling" if you will. Not on purpose, but simply because in my experience it has always been difficult to consider everything when I'm attempting to share a part of me with another individual. We had our good days. We had our bad, but holistically it wasn't a terrible experience at failing again to move to the next level with someone I considered a potential mate. Her schedule was often bogged down with labs, and rotations, and doctor-shadowing, and research projects, papers and interesting facts about how the body contains a sack of poison in it that you don't need called the appendix.

She was full of tidbits of "did you know" and "it's so amazing that." If for nothing else, the time we spent together was rewarding because it was like trying to get through a maze to discover at the end of it all is another piece of yourself. But like so many other attempts at this whole "shot at love" thing (minus the tila tequila and a whory show about a idiotic lesbian) there were many things that kept coming up that I feel like I visited before. Sometimes I had the tendency to be late. Sometimes she had the tendency to propose a simple activity that made both of us happy. We had a lot of free fun, but she like most women, was complex. Actually scratch that. She like many women was much like most men out here including myself: damaged.

No, I couldn't relate to instances where she discussed her father putting his hands on her mother. No, I didn't recognize the telltale signs of her being upset. And much like her I was still reserved at some points because both of us weren't sure what the others intentions were with their heart. We had the age old struggle of "mars vs. venus." And I kept saying well she's closed off today because this happened in her past. And she probably thought of each of the days I told her about life as attention-seeking latch key middle child. We both had our flaws but somehow those flaws allowed the disintegration of what could have been. I don't know. I think I need to look at this from another angle. Let's just say for now that MedSchool one of the most befuddling Almosts that I ever met. But everybody knows Almost Doesn't Count. May I should invest in an abacus.