Drag Your Heart Up

Love, Music, Drama, Life


It’s been two long weeks
Too long. Weeks. Since we’ve talked, and
I’m going crazy

(I hate going to the gym when Mike isn’t there. Boo.)


Happiness is an
Impromptu lunchtime chat with
That Boy…just for fun


I met a perfectly nice guy on OkCupid. Couple of dates. He’s really nice…and I’m really just not into him.

It didn’t help when he made a big deal about some vendor at a farmer’s market trying to (supposedly) come on to me. Jealousy? Pride that he was with the woman who gets attention? Either way, it was only our 2nd date and it didn’t sit well with me. Leave the comments for later, when you actually have some sort of claim…ugh. “Claim.” 

Yesterday, he texted me, saying, “I know you’re all Beyonce Independent Woman…” before saying he’d like to see me regardless. 

So yeah. Maybe not perfectly nice? Nice, certainly not a total creep. Actually, a gentleman. A little too eager to show me his house on the second date. And I searched for a way to say no, thinking, “Oh, God. I hope he doesn’t try to kiss me…” 



How is it that I
Can forget you for a while
Then suddenly, BOOM.


I went on a date
With a gentleman…we had fun…
Still, I texted YOU.

Happiness is a text from That Boy…

Sigh. I’m such a loony toon for him. 

There is a concept called body autonomy. Its generally considered a human right. Bodily autonomy means a person has control over who or what uses their body, for what, and for how long. Its why you can’t be forced to donate blood, tissue, or organs. Even if you are dead. Even if you’d save or improve 20 lives. It’s why someone can’t touch you, have sex with you, or use your body in any way without your continuous consent.

A fetus is using someone’s body parts. Therefore under bodily autonomy, it is there by permission, not by right. It needs a persons continuous consent. If they deny and withdraw their consent, the pregnant person has the right to remove them from that moment. A fetus is equal in this regard because if I need someone else’s body parts to live, they can also legally deny me their use.

By saying a fetus has a right to someone’s body parts until it’s born, despite the pregnant person’s wishes, you are doing two things.

1. Granting a fetus more rights to other people’s bodies than any born person.
2. Awarding a pregnant person less rights to their body than a corpse.

Hannah Goff (x)

The only pro-reproductive rights argument you’ll ever need.

(via misandry-mermaid)

(Source: kimmymary, via misandry-mermaid)

So, I was sitting there this morning, having a nice breakfast with a really nice new guy (who I do want to see again, because I DESERVE to be pursued, right?!) and mentioned my weight loss/work with trainers, etc. He was impressed and asked why the plural and I mentioned that I had four different trainers, because some of them moved, and then I moved, etc. and told a few anecdotes about each—Brutus, the gum-smacking, ex-Marine, body-builder dude. Candace, who allowed me to get away with not working hard enough or eating well enough. Gerald, who I once told, “I hate you.” And Mike, who was reasonable and helpful, who TAUGHT me how to work out, not just made me work out.

Jeff asked which trainer was my favorite, and the answer is easy—Gerald and Mike BOTH, because each got a different Lady, and each handled the Lady they got perfectly. Gerald knew I needed to be pushed, that he needed to piss me off to make me prove to him (and then to myself) that I could do it. By the time I got to Mike, I was more confident, more into working out, so he got the easier Lady, the one who gives everything a go and does what she can until she gets stronger.

Anyway, I mentioned to him that it’s been over two years since my last paid session with Mike—TWO YEARS!—and yet he still offers advice, lets me pepper him with texts, bug him at the gym, etc. And New Dude smiled and said, “That’s awesome of him!”

And I paused and thought, “You know, it really is.”

I put it in the back of my mind for a while, and I enjoyed talking with New Dude, laughing, etc. But as I drove home from work tonight, I thought about that again and thought…Holy cow…I have, for TWO years, treated Mike like my trainer even though I don’t pay him for it. And he lets me. He just happily gives me advice and cheers me on, always. And when he doesn’t respond to a text, he comes up to me at the gym—sometimes when he’s in the middle of working with a client—and comments or asks about things. He’s let me blubber with excitement about my job, dump on him that my niece died, and endlessly, endlessly, cheered for me as I run more and more.

I’m not saying this is some Grand Romance—if he wanted me, he’d go for it, right? But damn, he cares. And I wish I just had the balls to tell him how much I really, really appreciate him without feeling like it will come out wrong.

I’m so fucking in love with him, and paralyzed by it.