Every Damn Day in June

Comparison is the Thief of Joy

A new guy I’m talking to opted to turn off his A/C unit in his 32 degrees Celsius apartment so we could talk on the phone. How old fashioned both in manners and the joys of telephony. Once our lines engaged he then charmed me with his extensive knowledge of, and interest in, The 7 Wonders of the World, both modern and ancient. It was actually kind of a turn on.

Smart works for me. More than tight stomachs and great hair and sweet smiles, all of which he has, but I like his mind. He’s pragmatic and clever, proudly blue collar, witty and the kind of polite that grandmothers go nuts for. He’s not a dreamer, not wildly romantic by nature, but there have been moments of softness in our conversations that have pinked my cheeks and made me bite my lip.

Our schedules conflict mightily for the next week or so making our courtship slow but steady and giving me time to think and overthink and enjoy his chipper morning messages that I have been waking up to for the last couple weeks. I’m trying my best not to self sabotage, not to compare, not to be jaded by the past. Comparison is the thief of joy and I intend to try my best to enjoy this new found fling.

 

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