I was single for one month.
And then that soon turned into single for six months.
Before you knew it I had been single for over a year.
The pathetic one stop shop dates don't count either.
I failed to retain a relationship for over a year.
The longer you're single. The more permanent it seems. Not enough semi-decent dates during the drought cause you to think that you'll never find anyone. The worry sets in. and as the length of time you've been single increases, so does the amount of thinking time. You begin to find faults. Faults within yourself and the seems of your confidence quickly fray. Find yourself asking questions such as 'am I took picky?' or 'what's wrong with me?'
For the century of the independent lady, independence only goes so far! It doesn't keep you company, or cuddle you in bed. Its incapable of giving you a surprise visit. Independence, when single is unfortunately over-rated.
I began to date the reserve pile. I guess that's the first sign of desperation, and desperation doesn't smell nice else it would be a perfume. So I dated guys that wouldn't have even got past the initial hello but with the seems frayed and apart, got to learn my name and if lucky keep possession of my mobile number. But the reserve pile is the reserve for a reason, you don't really want to have to resort to using it. All the small stuff which could have passed as mild irritations become magnified. He chews his finger nails, wears his hair too long for stylish, he's never heard of lip balm and he's just too short. If none of the above, well, he lives too far for anything to work, and if he lives close, why date him, he can be my neighbour!
I have questioned my self-respect every day for nearly five years. Asked myself what went wrong. Sometimes you need strength to carry on, which is odd because my actions are those of the weak. No strength can be found in cheating or being the other woman. A dirty secret. I am weak a slave to passion and my own flesh. Its theft. I have his heart and sometimes his body, when neither should be mine to possess. If I hate it so much, why do I keep hitting myself with a hammer? Because it feels so good when I stop.
There are important lessons which should be learnt in life, except they say the best things cannot be taught. You're expected to learn from history. In fact you're meant to. I guess that is why they put it on the curriculum with all the other main subjects. Its important.
They teach you English – you learn words, analyse text, debate and present. You learn all of that, yet when you need the best argument or explanation, there is none.
You learn maths, start by counting until you're progressing from the simplest equations to the most difficult of sums, where a solution evades you.
1+1 = 2. 2+2 = 4.
After four, you may count more. By itself a number, for me its two too many.
Science – biology, chemistry and physics, pretty self explanatory. Who hasn't felt the first sparks of lust, or its combustion when the attraction is just right.
And history, clearly the most important of all. We study the past to learn from it, we're not meant to repeat those mistakes in the present or the future. I was too short-sighted to see this.
Since when did poor sight mean that you had to be foolish also?
Thursday, 7 January 2010
I was single for one month.
Posted by Kristina at 17:11