Matchmaking for Beginners

by Maddie Dawson

“I just want to be ordinary,” I say into her scarves and beads. “Can’t I be ordinary?”

I feel like I’m standing in front of a magnificent giraffe, and she’s saying to me, ‘Why

do I have to be a giraffe? I don’t think I’m going to go around giraffing anymore.’ But that’s just the way it is: you’re a wonderful, incredible giraffe, and you’ve got a life to lead that’s going to take you to amazing places.”

“You’ve got some miracles to perform, honey child. Please try to remember that for me, okay? The world needs your miracles.”

“Oh, I meant to tell you. You need a mantra to help you. You can borrow mine, if you want: ‘Whatever happens, love that.’”

You bid them a fond farewell and get back to what you wanted to do in the first place.

In the interest of friendliness, I have given my tumor a name: Cassandra. She was the prophet nobody believed.

So I am going to die. Most natural thing in the world to have happen. Life ends. And I’m okay with that. It’s just a change of address, really. It doesn’t have to be awful.

I close my eyes and tune in to the conversation the pigeons are having on the windowsill. They always sound like they’re on the verge of figuring everything out.

I just want to enjoy the sun coming through the cracks near the windows. I am tired of making so much effort.

You are going to be okay, I beam to her. And then to them both: Be brave. Be brave. There is so much fear to wade through before you get to love.

I’m a misfit who can’t pretend any longer. A dandelion in the lawn. An ugly duckling out paddling among the swans, hoping they don’t notice.

I could either live under my bed and be passive for my whole life or I could do something that scared me every single day.

We drink a bunch of beers, flirt with some guys, and then I get tired and sad and tell them I’ve got someplace I need to be.

don’t anticipate anything good, or it won’t happen.

heartbreaking narcissistic toothache of a guy,

He’s feeling pugly, he says. Pugly. This is code for Patrick thinking he’s too ugly to be in polite company.

“Oh, my darling, I have decided not to suffer,” I tell him. “Suffering is optional.”

he adores me, and although I can make a list of all his wonderful qualities and I know that he’s perfect for me, I am not suffering the way I usually do when I’m in love.

I used to think we became stars when we died. From stardust to stardust, someone told me. When I told Houndy that, he said, “Nope. Not stars. I want to become a potato chip.”

I’ll be processing this guy for the rest of my life if I’m not careful,”

If this isn’t the life you want, then you shouldn’t feel you have to have it.