Valentine’s Day just now. Same as always - avoid the people outside restaurants trying to hand you leaflets containing coupons for cheap dinners-for-two at their establishment, stock up on good telly (of which I’m never short, to be honest) and practise the Eyebrows Of Oh Fuck No so that when the bloke tries to sell you stuff to help you ‘look good for your man’, he actually hastily turns away from you instead.
Same-same, then. It slopes on by and I’m as unaffected as usual. I’m not bitter and twisted enough (yet) to ruin it for others, I’m just happy to be left alone.
The thing is, people tell you that you SHOULD have someone. And I’m thinking, what, I’m not enough? It’s taken me a few years to get my head round it, but now I’m willing to accept that there are a million things about me that make me so much better than anyone else in the universe, and sometimes friends see it and sometimes they don’t - but I see it. I don’t need some bloke in my life fucking up my personal space and getting in the way of my writing and obsessions, purely to serve as some kind of badge of validation to the rest of the world. As if ‘having someone’ means you’ve made it somehow. REALLY, people? I’m all I need, thanks very much. I’m more valuable than just someone’s appendage, like I don’t count if I’m not attached to a ‘significant other’. I’m not resigned to being single, I’m seeing it panning out that way because, sheerly by definition, I don’t need someone. And if another person exists the same way, we will not be getting together in some rose-tinted Hollywood saccharine-fest because - by definition - we feel that way. So there is no ‘getting together’ to be done.
And this has been slowly dawning on me throughout various relationships (which I don’t seem to want to do any more; see above) - one bloke cheated on me, and it hurt me to do it, but I told him to go forth and multiply far away from me - and then was when I think I left it all behind. One bloke just bored me, it petered to a stop. Others have just been an ‘ok’ waste of my time, like a disposable action movie you love for a total of ten days.
Guess what I’m saying is, without being arrogant, just realistic, I’m the important one in my life, and whether society judges me for being single or not really doesn’t impinge on my little bubble of concern any more. If you’re lonely, you’re lonely, but everyone knows that just having someone doesn’t automatically make that go away. I do hope everyone else gets whatever they’re after, but I also say ‘don’t hold your breath’. I’m not trying to be mean, but I’m one of those people who knows that half the world never meet the ‘right’ person.
Is there a word for people like me? Who really don’t give two shits (or even one) about this apparent mad dash to find some bloke? I still perv at blokes on telly and squeeze famous people I quite like the look of - but when it’s convenient for me, and it’s all make believe, it’s just for fun.
Hmm. Perhaps ‘weird’ would be a good summation. Yeah. Going to go with that for now. Sheerly because I don’t even care to be labelled, either.
And that’s all the news that’s fit to print.
Soopytwist.
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~ Valentine’s Day
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