"Remember those walls I built? Well, baby, they're tumbling down..."
Much like Beyonce sang in "Halo," I realized over the last couple of months that my walls were tumbling down. Well, maybe not tumbling down. That's too much. It's more like what's going on with the brick fireplace that is original to my 1880's shotgun apartment - there's some natural wear and tear going on because that wall is just plain old.
My emotional walls were built almost 6 years ago. They were hastily made with less than stellar equipment and they eventually started to crack. I'm pretty sure there was even a hole in there somewhere. There must have been because somewhere along the way my ice cold heart thawed out a little. Each encounter with a new man was suddenly leaving me with hope and optimism, instead of my usual fear and caution. I found myself feeling vulnerable at the hands of people who did nothing to deserve that level of control over my emotions.
What's a girl to do?
Logic told me a trip to the hardware store was in order. Time to pick up some rebar, some really good concrete. Maybe even call the Corps of Engineers to find out what they've been using to make those fancy new floodwalls in NOLA.
But then I realized that's a terrible idea. Making the walls stronger and higher will not do anyone any good, especially me. Sure, it will keep the bad men away, but it will also keep out the legitimately good ones. Once I do that, I might as well start hoarding cats.
Instead of driving to the hardware store, I opened up the sunroof and headed straight for the mall. I still have feelings to deal with (mostly disappointment and it's almost entirely with myself - I'm an excellent judge of character, but I have a tendency to ignore my own judgment) but at least I'll look hot in my new dress while I sort all these feelings out.
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