Warning! Some rough language present in this post. Read at your own discretion.
I saw your profile on the Pen Pal Project and thought I’d write you. It looks like we have quite a bit in common, so here goes.
My name’s Terrill Maldonado, male, single but in love with a terrific, beautiful lady, and a resident of Aurora Skies. I’d say my life is pretty good now but it always wasn’t so. I always believed in those defining moments that shape us, kick us in the ass, and gives life its direction. Life can turn on a dime; mine certainly did.
I was your average run-of-the-mill kind of guy. I minded my own business, did my work, and just meandered through life. I went to college, got a degree in business administration, and started my own music store and instrument repair shop. I’d had aspirations of being the next Mick Jagger (who doesn’t dig the Stones?). As these things often go, it turned out that I didn’t have the talent or the chops to take on that kind of life. I dig classic rock tunes but I prefer clean living to substance abuse that inevitably goes along with hardcore concerts, no privacy from being too famous, and all the other shit. Call me a dork but at least I’m a dork with no major vices.
I might not be Teen Idol material but I still enjoy playing the tunes, mainly for myself. At least this way, nobody ends up booing me or throwing rancid veggies my way. “Play to your strengths and work with what you got, love,” my wife, Betsy always told me. She was a good woman, Betsy was, and she was known for her sound and practical advice.
I already said I was single, but believe me, that wasn’t by choice. Betsy died of cancer not even three years after we were married. She was always the picture of health, so it was traumatic when we found out she was sick. By the time we discovered it, it was too late and there wasn’t much we could do except keep her comfortable and wait for the end, It gutted me and riddled me with guilt for a long time after. I never ignored or neglected Betsy, but I always felt that if I’d paid more attention, we might have caught it in time.
Well, life moves on but I sometimes still find myself talking to her. You never quite get over something like that and I’ll always miss her, but I’m to the point now where I feel like I can live again. Besides, if Betsy were to see me moping and blubbering in my beer, she’d kick my ass royally and tell me to buck up, that there was still plenty of life to live. Like always, she happens to be right.
I realized I found what I’d been looking for when I met Debbie, the lady I’m in love with. She’s smart as a whip, sharp as a tack, sweet, funny, and loving…but she’s got baggage and lots of it. I’ll just say she’s been through Hell and back several times and it’s damaged her. It took her a long time to let me in but even now, I feel like there are times she holds back on me. I somehow need to make her believe I won’t hurt her, but that’s easier said than done.
She’s got a cute little son and is an excellent mother. Call me a sap, but both he and his mother stole my heart the instant I met them.
It’s funny. Kids always seem to like me, and Nathaniel was no different. I don’t mind being a big playmate as long as I get some playtine in with his mother, too.
Debbie and I are to the point now where we’ve become more intimate. She was reluctant to start a relationship, so I had to bide my time. I convinced her to have lunch with me, and that went well. We just talked about a lot of things and became comfortable around each other rather easily. It grew from there, and it was clear to see there was mutual attraction for both of us.
I’m trying to take things as slowly as she wants and needs so as not to scare her. Sometimes, it’s like dealing with a cornered, frightened kitten, and that’s where I’m at a loss. We have a good thing going and I sure as hell don’t want to fuck it up,
When I’m not trying to impress the crap out of Debbie, I’m either working, jamming out some tunes, or having a workout. Exercise is good for blowing off some steam and dealing with frustration. Sometimes I have a love-hate relationship with the bench press; I love it – it hates me. Still, we’re bosom buddies.
Well, I guess this is pretty decent for an introductory letter. It’d be cool if you want to write back but it’s all good if you don’t. Betsy always said, “Don’t sweat the small stuff and it’s all small stuff.” Life, man! What a trip, eh?