I’m hard to love, I think. And if I remember the mythical beings I dated with a certain unkindness, I am sure they remember me with an equal unfondness. But this is my blog, and therefore, these are my tales. And worry not; everything here is imaginary. How could it be real? I’m talking about my life, and I know for a fact I didn’t even exist until January, 2018.
I dated a Vampire once. It was nicer than you’d expect. The blood-sucking was entirely literal, which was an extremely pleasant change of pace. Her tastes were, admittedly, ancient and outside of any culture we understand today; but I quite like the 1980s, so I was fine. And in terms of our intimate life, let me say that Anne Rice was underselling just how beguilingly freaky are the tastes of the restless undead. I was cool with that.
I dated a social worker once, ready to root out every evil in the world and oppose them. I told him, from the start, that I was evil, but he didn’t care until it became a popular sort of evil. Social work is an honorable profession which often grinds its practitioners into a fine mist, or makes them cynical, but a few are lucky; some of them only liked the idea of having ideals, and they get to choose whatever side seems cool at the time, as opposed to things which will actually help.
I dated a Fairy once, and she left me with no memory of her face, and a ton of Fool’s Gold, aka Pyrite, which she dropped in my foot. I’ve still got a limp, but at least I’ve forgotten the rest of her.
I dedicated a Completely Normal Person once, who was so normal, and loved me so much for me, that she looked around for someone to take my place before the first blush of love had grown stale, and now, she never talks to me.
I dated The Girl from Wonderland, but her story’s not mine to tell. Not here, not now, not yet. If that seems mysterious, you should try dating her. If you’re in the afterlife, which is where she currently resides.
I dated the loyal, loving Dog for almost a decade and a half years, married for much of that time, and he left me for a list of very good reasons which I totally, totally believe. He was a Hero, and he thought I was a Hero, and he was probably as surprised as I to find out I was a Villain masquerading as a Hero, and I have no idea if he’s happy or sad now, because I never plan to see him again. I first wrote “He still blames me, because who else would he blame, himself?”—but that’s unkind, because when last I looked, he was doing that, too. I’d feel bad for him, but there’s a certain quantum of solace lost now, so I won’t worry. I’m sure he’s found a better home; I know I have.
I dated a modest Goblin who kept saying she may not been as pretty or as supportive or as loving or as kind as a human, but at least she was loyal, which she proved by betraying me, deceiving me, and stabbing me in the front hundreds of times. I like Goblins in general, just not that one. I can’t imagine she thinks terribly highly of Dark Lords, either; but I’m sure she can tell her own side of the story. I’m sure she does.
Now I trust myself alone, and I love on the basis of those who know what I was forced to learn: that love takes courage, determination, and strength; that love is not easy; that loving in the good times is like smiling only when you go on vacation. I was never easy to love, myself; I could tell you stories about me, but I don’t have to; the Internet has made up so many already.
I do have a hot date with myself. I’m going to write these words and then cook myself a steak dinner, and the words are nearly done and the meat is the opposite of the words. See, I covered the meat with salt two days ago, and left it in a covered pan, and the salt entered the meat and drew out the moisture, and the mineral lost some of its bite, and the meat is now very tender.
In contrast, I was covered in wounds three years ago, and then covered in salt, and I’ve recovered from the wounds, but I’m still salty, and far tougher than before.
My name is Jeff Mach (“Dark Lord” is optional) and I build communities, put on events, and make stories come into being. You can get most of my books right here. Go ahead, pre-order “I HATE Your Prophecy“. It may make you into a bad person, but I can live with that.
