Chasing Avenues

“One, two, three, four, five.” Breathe. “One, two, three, four, five.”

No matter how I try, I can’t explain why repetitively counting to five soothes me while I’m running. Perhaps it’s because it keeps my mind off of my many swirling thoughts, even if it is a little OCD. “One, two, three…”

Counting is a great way for me to create calm breathing but it’s daydreaming I prefer as entertainment for hours of running. Suddenly my wavy, chocolate hair becomes curly ringlets or sassy straight, my skirts get shorter with a higher firmer ass attached to thinner legs, my love life hotter, and on and on…this guilty pleasure began back in elementary school. I would daydream of study dates with the boy du jour. Our history books cracked up, leaning close together, hovering over the same book and…and that was pretty much it. My eleven-year-old brain couldn’t envision beyond the innocent flirtation of attraction. I had no idea of the emotional rollercoaster I would willingly board with boys in my future.

And thanks to those boys, I also now rely on daydreaming as therapy, the only therapy I can afford. I once concentrated on the same daydream for three entire months. Every opportunity I had I would sneak off to this story in my mind. Each moment and all outfits perfectly crafted. Many two hour runs were focused on perfecting just one scene at a time. I would watch it over and over in my head until it was spot on.

I will never forget it. The reality was the love of my life and I had called it quits. It was unbelievably tragic and painful. We lived together so the drama was inevitable. Our love story went into overdrive just two months after we started dating when we couldn’t stand to be apart. Something as normal and routine as work was even an obstacle. So I sold my furniture, subleased my apartment and moved into his place. His place. A few months later, he suddenly stopped communicating with me…I tried words, sex, emails, letters taped above the toilet, striptease, everything and anything to coax interaction…so I had no choice but to prove I was serious about this issue and move out. To my dismay, he let me go. I received that message loud and clear.

I was beyond devastated, so, to cope I lost myself in an elaborate daydream where I set out to lick my wounds on a tropical vacation…solo. Oblivious to anything but my pain, Josh Duhamel spots me at baggage claim, upon taking me in his heart instantly skips a beat. Josh then proceeds to show up at the beach and lay his towel just feet away from mine, at restaurants he sits a table away, on runs he is a few feet behind, anywhere I am he is sure to closely follow. I give him my sweet smiles, after all he is Josh Duhamel, dreamboat! Surprisingly, in my pitiful state, I still manage to be amazingly witty and captivating. Despite my recent heart wrenching, life altering, lesbian contemplating experience, my aura exudes this great…well adjusted…person. Eventually, after a day, I reluctantly let my guard down and Josh and I have an amazing nine days together. I refuse to get serious. I can’t, I am broken. I have nothing to give outside of kisses and cuddles. I play adorably coy for days and we part vowing to be friends.

Three days after my return home I attend a wedding, of course, the heartbreaker is present. I, undoubtedly, look amazing…the details of this scene I worked on the most! My hair is silky straight with brown sugar sun kisses and touches just beneath my shoulder blades, my rich tan enhances my green eyes and I am wearing a yellow tube top paired with a white low-rise skirt with beautiful yellow, orange and red embroidery along the edge of my calf line. My hip bones are visible, my abs tight. I am always 10lbs thinner in my daydreams…it’s allowed…they’re mine.

To my surprise the song “This I Promise You” by N’SYNC starts playing over the loud speakers in the reception hall as the adjoining big screen (provided for the bride and groom montage) shows images of Josh and me frolicking in paradise. My smiles, both playful and mischievous, make a splash on the movie size screen as does the visual of palpable passion between Josh and me.

I am so touched by seeing, with my own eyes, the love Josh and I shared, that I’m immediately hit with a pang of regret. Its then I realized, my broken heart prevented me from accepting the real love, the true love, right in front of me. My heart rate quickens as I begin to fear I’ve made a huge mistake and now it’s too late. But then…Josh swaggers into the scene mid-song. He soberly stands with the microphone in his hand. I’ve stopped breathing and all in the audience hover on the edge of their seats as his sweet and honest words reveal how much he loves me and will never break my heart because “this is our destiny”.

All of my friends’ eyes shine with envy and pleasure. This they know I deserve. Needless to say, my “go ahead move out…how’s that for communicating” ex is stunned! He slumps down in sadness and shame. ‘Why did I let her go?’ is written all over his pathetic puppy dog face.

When I first began this daydream, it’s his reaction I played over and over in my mind. Oddly, after three months of this daydream/therapy/narcissism, his reaction actually mattered very little to me. I fell back in love with the idea of love. I felt freed of lost love thanks to Josh Duhamel. Although I cannot say for sure if Josh I would have made it for the long haul after that glorious public display of affection. Probably not, seeing as he is married to Fergie and I returned to secretly pining after my ex.

And lucky me, around every turn I find myself in yet another sticky situation. Which is the exact reason I am focusing on “one, two, three, four, five,” breathe. Mornings when I am in this condition my daydreams become aggressive and get me all fired up…perhaps I should not be listening to Alanis Morrissette, the 90s version, because today it is imperative that I be cool, calm and collected. My thoughts are making me edgy so I am staying with…“One, two, three, four, five.” Breathe. “One, two….”