A Cow Worth Buying

this is me at my desk, i know, v cool.

Sometimes, it is easier to write than to speak.

Recently, I have been going on dates with someone new. I like him. He is sweet, intelligent, and attractive. He is funny and has interests that make him cool, or that I also share. Things seem to be going well. He takes me on real dates and opens my doors when I let him.

Yet, our politics don't align. Nor does our sense of religion. He seems kind, but occasionally, he says thoughtless things (as do I). Texting is not his strong suit and our plans often change right before they happen. I have yet to be forgotten entirely, but long delays in texting and unfulfilled (or changed) plans leave me in a state of emotional turmoil.

This has more to do with me than it does him.

I thought I could be cool, but I need a lot of attention. Yes, I want a text back within a few hours. Yes, I want to know whether I am the only person he's talking to. Yes, I want to be able to express my opinions and ideas. I am scared that if I tell him what I need that I will be less wanted, less "cool." I am scared that I am defective. Without enough evidence to back his intentions up, I am floundering.

Yet, until I have evidence of his reactions to things that make me "too much," I cannot gauge our compatibility. I cannot operate based on perceived reality rather than the facts.

Clearly, love is a mystery to me. Of course, I love my friends and my family. I care for them and want to know about their lives and their interests. I would sacrifice for their happiness and well-being. It is pleasant and warm to hold these connections close; they make my life more meaningful.

Thus, a better question might be: What does it mean to fall in love?

Is it a good friendship with sex? I tried that twice and it did not work out for me. I am too jealous for sex to be shared when I am interested in someone. So then, is falling in love exclusive sex and a good friendship? Maybe. Obviously, I am not the authority on real-life love, but I hoped for it to be more than that. If you wanted to quiz me about romance based on the top fifty rom-coms, I am ready, but:

I think Hollywood has been lying to me. They have convinced me that if I am beautiful and kind enough, that it is simply a matter of circumstance before I get whisked off my feet.

"You can't earn love with sex."

My friend said this to me the other day and I can't get it out of my head. Of course you can. That's what all the movies say. You meet someone and have a steamy, whirlwind romance. Sometimes you meet at a bar, sometimes it's a one night stand. Other times, sex comes at the end of the movie, but then, it was the goal all along, was it not?

A different friend reminded me this week that I don't need a partner to be happy. And of course I don't. Not right now. But I will need a partner if I want a witness to my life. If I want a co-parent to my children. If I am to be someone's number one priority (before friends and work and all that). And sure, I am romanticizing the reality of relationships, but what else am I meant to do at this point? I am approaching my 25th single valentine's day. I feel like a loser.

So yeah, I am going to try a little harder to make a relationship work than I have before. I am going to hope for better communication, even though he promised to send me a text today that still has not been delivered.

"Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?"

Maybe I just wanted someone to think that I was a cow worth buying.

-

Dream Girl

by Macy Conrad

I think all my friends hate me.

I think I’m bad at art.

I think I’m thoughtless.

I think I think too much.

I trip over my thoughts like shoelaces.

This is why I am easily fooled

and easily wooed.

If you want me in your bed,

ask me to model thrifted lingerie.

Like a modern-day Barbie doll,

I come with perfect tits and blonde hair.

My accessories include: 

six piercings, four tattoos, shark bedsheets, 

and a weighted dragon named Percival.

If you play Bananagrams with me,

I’ll let you fuck me frog-tied.

I have no needs, no boundaries.

Use me first, find true love second.

I’ll ask you if you believe in fate.

I don’t, but your eyes will soften. 

I’m the girl you’ll remember

but I’m not the kind you’ll call.

Real manic,

Fake pixie,

Conditional dream girl.

Now available in thrift stores near you. 

I tend to say that I’m not looking for serious,

but I’ve had a Pinterest wedding

planned since 2013.

The problem is, I’m addicted to almost.

I play like I can’t lose

so I win (short term).

Everyone wants my body at twenty-five

on repeat

like a favorite song they lie about loving.

I am a vinyl played too many times

warping under the needle.

I weep.

I laugh.

I fuck.

I write.

But then when I am normal

(or hollow)

Or when I am left alone

(for too long).

It fades.

Into my professor perpetuating boredom,

her voice a metronome for monotony.

My peers debate the ethical implications

of gin and beer in the enlightenment era,

I philosophize about what I doodled.

I drew two creatures.

-

**I should get a shirt that says "free milk" right across the tits. That way no one mistakes me for a cow for sale. I'm kidding, obviously.

Yours truly,

Macy