… and I’ll cry if I want to.
Actually it was less of a party and more of a begrudging acceptance.
Yes, there it is again. Or rather there it was, gone in a flash, leaving a trail of misery and devastation behind it. OK, I’m exaggerating. It wasn’t quite that bad.
Having your birthday on a weekend means you can not avoid celebrating it. You can try, but usually someone tries at some point, to spring a surprise on you, at which point you have to look marginally pleased about it, while trying to hide the fact that you would rather be crying in to your pillow at home, alone! Comfort eating and consoling yourself with the fact that although the end is fast approaching you still have good hair and teeth.
If I die tomorrow, they will say it was such a waste, she had so much to live for. Such a beautiful caring soul, and those teeth, Oh My God, they were amazing! Well, the teeth bit at least!
I have lost the plot. I don’t know what the plot ever was, but I am as far from it as I have ever been.
Over the last month I have opened up the laptop with the intention of trying to pull something from the emptiness inside my head, but nothing would come. I still feel a little bit like I am missing some important factor, that I have overlooked something really quite crucial that would somehow completely explain the way I am feeling, but I think I am just down in the dumps.
This in itself pisses me off. What the fuck have I got to be pissed off about? Not much, if truth be told. Apart from being a penniless singleton (and I know I am not alone there), life is ticking along. I wouldn’t say it’s ticking along nicely, but it is ticking along. Albeit a little quicker than I would like.
Is it this that is making me feel so unsatisfied. Did I think I would be more… I don’t know, grown up? More sorted? More in control? Married even, with the obligatory 2.4 children and an over priced pet?
Yes. I did think that, actually!
Am I allowed to feel slightly aggrieved that I never got it. If not why not?
It is becoming increasingly evident to me that I am unhappy with my lot. It is also becoming increasingly evident that sooner or later I am going to have to get off my flat arse and do something about it!
I moan about moaners and yet I am becoming one. I dislike negativity, it is one of my bug bears, so this alone makes me want to slap myself. My usually very sunny disposition has become really rather cloudy and I don’t like it. I want my mo-jo back.
I am still trying to date. Well they say God loves a trier and I am definitely that.
Yesterday I went on a date, his name was Eric and he is 50, he is the oldest man I have ever been on a date with, you can make of that what you will, but my point is this. While Eric was a nice guy, he had hair and good teeth (I know, I am getting a bit obsessive about this), he just wasn’t for me. I might be 47 and I might not be able to hide that fact any longer, but I still have the bloody devil inside me and he wants to play.
BUT… I can’t find anyone to play with.
I keep telling myself that I should go on a second date with Eric, like I am trying to persuade myself to give him a chance. Things could be different on a second date, it will be slightly more relaxed, there might be a bit more flirting. I might get the impression that he wants to take me up a dark alley instead of the one he gave me, which was that I am sweet and chatty and nice. Which I am, or try to be.
There was nothing wrong with Eric, if you don’t count the fact that he was a non-smoking, teetotal, vegetarian buddhist. I mean if that’s not a match made in heaven I don’t know what is? If I’m honest none of those things put me off. I couldn’t care less whether he is looking for or has found enlightenment, or whether he has a fag while he’s doing it, what I do care about is whether he wants to kiss me or not!
I don’t wish to sound shallow but if there is no attraction to a person then it really won’t matter if they eat bacon or not.
As it turns out he didn’t want to kiss me and there was a very awkward moment as we left the pub in which he kind of half went for it, then didn’t. It ended up as a half-hearted hug, with an almost fatherly pat on the shoulder. The kind of hug my autistic niece gives me. She doesn’t do up close and personal and neither it seems does Eric.
The thing I hate most about first dates is that they are not usually a true representation of the person you are meeting. Dependant on how much conversation you have maybe had beforehand, you will not know much about the person and in just a couple of hours there is only so much you can learn. So what do you do?
I liked Eric. He was a nice guy. He didn’t make me want to rip his clothes off, but I think maybe there is potential for that? Maybe not? Maybe he was just being polite and we won’t see each other again anyway? He is not a frequent messager, so it is really hard to tell? I quite liked that about him in the beginning, he didn’t constantly bombard you with messages. Say something when you need to, it is enough.
Desire though is something we all crave. Who doesn’t want to feel wanted? There has to be obvious signs of attraction as well as the seemingly good conversation.
See, I am talking myself out of it already.
It’s such a shitty game. I don’t want to play anymore.
It’s the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle I have been trying to complete for what seems like a lifetime, the edges were easy, but finding that little bit of blue sky that will slot in to the middle is so ridiculously hard. Does the fit have to be perfect? It has to feel perfect, surely?
I am still feeling slightly melancholy about my birthday and the realisation that time is not on my side. I know that sounds dramatic and I don’t mean it to be, but it is just the truth. Time moves fast and I want to be happy and I am not, not entirely anyway.
I am at odds with myself and this makes me question everything.
Perhaps I should look in to this buddhism lark, there might be something in it! Maybe it will mellow me a little?
Although if I have to go without bacon, I’m not sure the mellow me will last long!