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I was driving tonight, by myself, thinking about how long it had been since I had blogged. I was thinking about writing and about how I have to feel compelled to write anything worth reading, and even then, it’s not necessarily worth reading. Something inside me prompts me, urges me, to get some part of some story out of the inside of my head…that prompting…urging…happened later in the evening, after my drive had ended. I had spent the day with my best friend…that person that knows you, all sides of you, and likes the fact that you aren’t sane most of the time…that person that knows your history and your present, and in knowing, has a clearer picture of all you are. We had been having fun. And then we moved on to more serious things: boys. It was inevitable, I suppose. We are both dating failures. Well, no, not even that exactly. We haven’t really had an opportunity to fail. We are dating challenged. And we understand this about each other, like no one else in either of our lives could…attempt…to. So there we were, talking about boys, our lack of, and reasoning through it all, attempting to convince each other that we would not end up old lonely hags, in so many words. We talked about our almosts, or rather our almost almosts, and about how much we felt in those instances, and how we couldn’t comprehend what it would feel like when it’s real. We talked about the lack of logic in it all, how we will always feel a certain way for certain people even the tough those people may never know we ever even felt that way…and we will always wonder if they felt anything for us…if we will ever have the courage to ask them, thinking maybe we will, but knowing really we won’t. And that’s how our evening ended, with all of those raw and sincere and sometimes painful realities rising to the surface of both my heart and my intellect, a volatile combination. She left and I was alone.

I was going to go grocery shopping, but my check that I had deposited earlier had not registered in my bank account. It was pending. Damn Bank of America. So I thought I would go and try on clothes. I felt like it was necessary, that when a woman is feeling emotionally distraught, and is also alone, she has two options. Chocolate or shopping. I knew I wouldn’t buy anything, so I thought that shopping would be the least destructive option. I went in Old Navy and walked around for three or so minutes, and it didn’t work, so I left, to go get some chocolate. That was definitely more helpful. And then I ran into an old friend from High School. She is a second year medical student. I love it when second year medical students, who will one day deliver babies or save lives or treat cancer patients ask me what I am doing, because I can say that I work at Starbucks. What a gratifying “look what I am doing for the good of humanity and also how I am oh so effectively using the degree I am currently making payments for” answer. So let me tell you, after the rising of my emotions that deal with a lifetime of rejection from the male population and then my running into the valedictorian of my graduation class, I was pretty much feeling secure and on top of the world. Not. Needy, rather. Yes, that’s a much better word for what I was feeling.

I also forgot to mention that I had driven by a very serious crash on my way to Tulsa…I was passing by immediately after, so much so that the fire truck had to cut in front of my lane of traffic to get to the victims. There was a man sitting, bleeding, probably in shock, a gigantic light pole leveled to the ground, and firemen struggling to get into the other side of the vehicle, the side that wasn’t recognizable. I drove away in tears.

So after I had finished my chocolate and tolerated enough forced catch up conversation, I left the book store and my mind numbing magazine behind, and decided to go and indulge in my other respite from the world…the world of film. I had wanted to see Year of the Dog, with Molly Shannon, for a few weeks now. I had suggested it to my parents, but after reading reviews decided it wasn’t the appropriate humor for my mom. My friend and I had thought of seeing it earlier, but it had started too late. So it worked out perfect, actually, because I felt better about seeing it alone anyway. It’s one of those odd movies that a lot of people wouldn’t get, so there wasn’t any pressure for anyone with me to like what I had recommended, because I was with myself. I got there a little early, and when I went to find my seat, the theater was empty and the teenage employees were still sweeping p popcorn off of the floor. I don’t know why, exactly, but that made me feel even more like a loser. Anyway, I took my seat, in the row right behind the bar, because I like to be able to put my feet on it, and also because it’s sort of close and I am near sided, so I can see better. I sat there for a good ten minutes, the only person in the theater, trying to convince myself that I won’t end up a lonely hag. And then a couple came in the theater, and we joked about how this is clearly a must see film, judging by the size of the audience. I joked that I couldn’t get anyone to come with me, and the man reassured me, saying he and his wife go to movies quite frequently by themselves. I told him I actually do to, and that in many instances, no offense to people, but that I prefer going alone. We talked about the philosophy behind that, about how you don’t feel pressured to talk to who your with, about how you are less distracted and can just enjoy the film, and what I mentioned previously, of how in going alone there is no pressure for the person you are with the enjoy your recommendation. And then he said something that brought me to tears. He prefaced it by saying how in love with his wife he was, so I was confused by the direction the conversation was going, and he was hesitating, forming his words carefully, which caught me a little off guard as well. He said that am a very pretty lady and that I should be out on a date. I am not saying this in arrogance; I hope I have made that clear. I am just saying this because it’s something I really needed to hear, something I don’t think I have ever heard, and it came from a random stranger in an otherwise empty movie theater in a moment of extremely rich neediness. I thanked him, and told him that I thought I was about to cry. And then his wife told me that I could pass for Maggie Gyllenhaal’s sister, and that was a compliment too because I really like her. She actually described her as that baker lady in the Will Ferrell movie, which was even cooler, because I want to be a baker.

This may sound really cheesy, but then I turned my eyes heavenward and thanked God for taking care of me in little ways that I could never expect, in ways that touch so close to the core of my soul. Honestly, that’s all I could think to do. It’s silly, I know. But that little scenario and those few words that came out of that gentleman’s mouth on that night when I was so aware of the feelings in my heart and disappointment on so many levels…it wasn’t just a coincidence. It was a beautiful thing, and I felt as if it was God’s way of reaching out to me in a way that He knew I would hear Him. And I did, very, very clearly.