I Need a Bridle with Blinders

I once knew this PhD chemist character, not the most insightful sort generally. But he said something to me once that blew me away. I asked him, "John, what is it that you want anyway?" and he answered, "To be loved." Did he say, "What everyone wants" before it? I can't be sure anymore. But the sheer honesty, gut wrenching soul bearing realness of what he said what he meant what we all feel left the ache in my own heart exposed to me again even though I've never been real good at covering it up.

I hate it when husband pats my head like a dog. "Stop acting like a dog then," he says. Did I mention he isn't an easy sort to get along with?

I have said that in my heart of hearts I don't believe anyone has ever really loved me, except my Uncle T and my paternal grandparents. My parents in their own way but not unlike all parents, they had their agenda. And every lover, well, whatever it was, I don't think it was love for me. The same would apply to me I suppose. Although I do believe I have loved, and even loved purely. But like Aragorn said to Eowen, "You are in love with a shadow." I have been in love only with shadows.

And I married a dwarf (archetypically).

And railing against the whole knight in shining armor myth still has not saved me from it.

Brucey baby said, "We have one last chance to trade in these wings on some wheels."

Do we? Is there ever a last chance? Any chance at all? And are there really any wheels? What would they look like?

I need to go get a bridle with blinders. The mare always wants to see, look around corners and behind, and she likes to pretend she is startled. But her job is to just put her shoulder to it, one step at a time, and keep at it.