The Struggle

This past Friday was the SOME Young Professionals’ Winter Ball. SOME is the acronym for “So Others May Eat,” and their mission is simple: SOME (So Others Might Eat) is an interfaith, community-based organization that exists to help the poor and homeless of our nation's capital. We meet the immediate daily needs of the people we serve with food, clothing, and healthcare. We help break the cycle of homelessness by offering services, such as affordable housing, job training, addiction treatment, and counseling, to the poor, the elderly, and individuals with mental illness. Each day, SOME is restoring hope and dignity one person at a time. It is an organization that I believe in, and I can say with certainty that they throw one heck of Charity Ball! A week before the Ball, a male friend who has been inviting me to concerts, dinner parties, and the like for a couple months now (but I’ve never been able to go due to timing) told me to buy my ticket. I had been honestly contempla...

Friday Morning, the day after the disaster that was Thursday night, I walked into work with what I would call an 'emotional hangover'. Thank God I already had a Cayenne Kombucha in the office fridge (my personal way of overcoming this awful feeling of exhaustion and upset – sweat it out with spicy black tea and probiotics). Our office was hosting a massive event for Continuing Education, so I was able to close my office door without seeming rude. However, my coworker who set me up with AM in the first place did come by to ask how the night had went. “If I wanted to argue with a 46-year-old about his behavior until 1 in the morning, I could have stayed with my ex.” That’s not true, though. My ex isn’t nearly that old and usually behaves impeccably. She apologized for introducing us and setting us up, but she's never dated him, she couldn't know. On Saturday Evening, I was watching TV and trying new wines with a friend – at 11:15pm I got a text asking how my wee...

“You’re what, 38?” “You’re very kind, higher” “40?” “Higher.” “45…” I start speak slower now as the nervousness creeps into my voice. “Higher.” “Not 50!" “No, lower than that. 46” “Divorced?” “No, valid questions, though. And I don’t have any kids, either.” “Do you want kids?” “Yes.”  I nod. “I should get home.” “Let me drive you.” I do the mental math – his last drink would have been hours ago. It should be fine. In said car, his heat isn’t working because his car is out of coolant, so that’s not comfortable. Then he has to stop for gas IN my neighborhood, I’m a 15 minutes walk from my apartment, a 4 minute drive, because this man (who you would assume at 46 has his shit together) is about to stall because he was driving me home on empty. Am I impressed? No. Am I interested? Not really, anymore. Am I embarrassed to be in this car right now? Hell yeah, I am. Monday – my co-worker, who introduced this man to me at a bar on Friday n...