Dear Hypothetical Husband

Hi, honey.  I miss you.  I’ve been waiting for you a long time, as I suppose you’ve been waiting for me.  Or maybe you haven’t.  By this point in our lives--assuming you’re close to my age--you may have gotten married to someone else, perhaps fathered a couple or few kids, and thus... you may not have waited for me.  I don’t know if you know that or not.  You may be divorced.  You may have yet to get divorced.  You may currently be happy in some doubly hypothetical marriage and family.  Perhaps, though, you’ve stayed as single as I have.  I’m losing hope by the day that you’ve stayed as celibate as I have.  I guess we’ll find out the answer when we get to where we’re going.

I can’t speak to your situation, whatever it is and wherever you are, but I will speak to mine and here it is; I’m very, very tired of waiting.  I’ve spent seven or so years waiting on you since I dumped what's-his-face, and I wasted a lot of time doing that when I could have been more successful in my life.  I don’t know if I blame you for not being there when I wanted you to be or myself for not being where I am now or being foolish enough to wait, but wherever the fault lies (and it’s probably with me) I’m done.  I’m really kind of over it.

I love you.  I really look forward to meeting you or realizing you someday, whoever you are.  However, I am done with this game.  You took too long to get here.  I took too long to get here.  We took too long to get here, and I’ve got other places to go, places to see, things to do, things to be.  Your life probably isn’t on hold and I don’t believe anymore that mine should be either.  So I’m breaking up with this hypothetical life of five kids, a minivan, and a picket fence or what have you that I had sketched up in my mind.  I’m going to go be a success on my own terms.  I’ll probably find you along the way.  You aren’t the guy I was looking for five years ago; maybe that’s why I missed you.

As it stands, though, I have to take care of my own self and live my own life.  If I do meet you someday, and if we do have children in this mortality, I don’t want to tell them that I spent all my career years sucking horribly at my work because I was afraid to succeed and lose that success if you showed up in the next few months and we got married and pregnant by the end of the year.  I want to be the sort of woman my potential kiddos could look up to as an example sometimes and not just a cautionary tale of how not to do adulthood.

I love you.  I want to have you forever, when forever comes.  I want us to have a passionate love life when it comes, and I'm working on dealing with my personal body issues and getting over Good Girl Syndrome.  I hope you’re doing the same in one way or another--if you have anything to work through--so we don’t have years of huge sexual hang-ups to overcome.  I know there’s something to be said about working through thing like that together, but I’m not sure I want to remain “ill” until we’re together for the sake of some “romantic” ideal.  I don't think it's a good idea at this point.
 
Until we meet, my love, I commend you to the watch care of gods and angels, and I’ll see you out in the world.

Love always,
Jena, your Wild Woman