Mini-update on T. and a small treatise on Romance

Thanks for everyone's comments on my last post; it fills me with unabashed gladness and glee that you took some entertainment value from my dating fiasco, and that you actually applauded my slightly inappropriate but liberating move of Leaving Without Looking Back, instead of chiding me for my childish behaviour.

T. texted me again yesterday, a completely passive aggressive text of "Yeah, must have been really hard to be stuck with such a douchebag, right?".

I had absolutely nothing to add to that sudden spot of self-awareness, apart from utter agreement, so I didn't respond.
For once, I thought, let's just keep to the adage of not saying anything at all if you don't have anything nice to say.

On the whole, I'm just getting tired of the romance game.

I'm a lost cause.

On the one hand, I am fairly anti social, I can't stand people more often than not and I sometimes despair of the feeling that I'm incapable of forming a relevant connection to anyone, with the possible exception of a few close friends none of whom I would want to date.

On the other hand, romance seems an important part of life to me - I do crave it, I crave the chemistry, I crave touch, I crave the rush and the excitement, that tingling sensation that you get along the edges of your spine when you suspect that things might be Developing Into A Certain Direction.

It's not just the sex I am interested in, either - I crave the intimacy, the mental connection, the build-up, the entire package.

Which is a shame, because a craving for just sex would always be easier to satisfy.
I am a sensual person at the core, but I am also, in addition to that, somewhat of an incurable romantic.

Throw that in with being uncontrollably impatient and misanthropic towards people who I find do not meet my standards of at least semi-coherent conversation (and there seem to be a lot of them these days), and you get someone who is haughty and desperate all at once; Too High Standards and yet Starving For Anything At All.

I tire of romantic partners easily, even prospective ones.
Yet I wish for and dream of someone whom I'd not tire of ever again, nor him of me.

And finally, on top of everything else, there is also that voice - that voice that I can never for the life of me shut up, that voice that whispers to me constantly: "You are a fat fuck. No one's ever gonna love you unless you stop being such a fat fuck."

Put together, it doesn't amount to very much by way of being able to develop or maintain a healthy relationship; or even a fling-tastic casual one.

I'm not entirely sure where I was going with this - I guess I just needed a good old rant, and I thank you all for listening to this soon-to-be old spinster and crooked crone raving about her inability to Get On Good Terms With Romance.

Oh well, I figure if I do make it to spinsterish Old Crone status some day, at least I'll have one entertaining story to tell - the story of T. and the night when I Disappeared Through The Backdoor.

Date Night

Unexpectedly, I have a date tonight.

That is unexpected and sudden in so far, as it is, well - sudden and unexpected.

On my way to meeting with up my friends last night, I was accosted by a rather nice looking, rather handsome and rather well-dressed guy of about my age.

"Excuse me", he said, and I assumed he was going to ask for the time or directions, "Are you hungry by any chance, I'd love to take you out to dinner right now."

I said that I was flattered by the suggestion (because I did like what I saw), but that I was meeting some friends and was already running late, it was past 11 PM and I should have been at the bar half an hour ago.

He said that was a shame and asked whether there was the slightest possibility that we could go for dinner tomorrow instead, and because I was sort of taken by surprise and also in a hurry, I simply gave him my number and said that why not, he could call me and we might plan something but now I really had to go.

I don't know, this might turn out to be a fiasco (I am not a fan of spontaneous almost-blind dates per se), but in keeping with my resolution not to waste my life on anxiety and hesitation anymore, I've decided to give it a shot.
Who knows, that guy, which I am going to nickname T. in the (highly unlikely) event that he actually takes on a recurring role on this blog, might be worth knowing, might be interesting or funny or charming for all I know.

So, I'll let you know how that goes.

Also, I will now be answering a set of questions that the lovely and incredible Petal posed:

1) What is your favourite kind of cake, pie, biscuit, dessert, or sweet thing? (To eat, smell, look at, destroy...)

It varies - To eat, it would be crème brulée, to smell it would have to be Walkers Shortbread Highlanders - I can get high off that smell, I'm not kidding, it is intoxicating like a drug.

To look at, it is now something that I have just discovered - an outlandishly beautiful creation of white chocolate sprinkled with raspberry pieces, ground rose petals and chilli, all blood red on snowy white ground, extremely enchanting to look at and for sale at our local Organic Foods supermarket.

To destroy, it would be chocolate muffins, because I cannot resist them and I hate it; they destroy me from the inside.

2) If you could only listen to one song for the rest of your life, what would it be?

This is such a tough one - spontaneously, my brain came up with "Tower of Song" by Leonard Cohen.
Then again, I would also have to take into consideration "Bring me The Disco King" by David Bowie, because I can physically not go a single music-related question on anything without trying to bring Bowie into it.

Another candidate would be "Acts of Man" by Midlake.

I wonder why none of them are upbeat happy songs.
I guess it says something about me, something sad and very very cliche.

3) What is your favourite part of your body?

My lips, hands down.
They are perfect in my eyes, although that seems very cocky and narcissistic; to lessen that impression I will add that I have had that notion reinforced by quite a few others.

If we were talking body parts outside of the facial region, I would say hands or the region around my waist and ribcage, because I tend to be much slimmer there than anywhere else.

4) Do you paint your toenails and fingernails? If so, what colour, and why?

Sometimes, and when I do it is usually in one of three colours -

A) black, because it brings back fond memories of my "rebellious" teenage years, when I considered it an outrageous fashion statement,
B) some sort of transparent colour because it is practical and doesn't really show when it chips, or
C) bright hot pink, because I consider it an outrageous fashion statement now, coming from myself, and most people who know the usual confines of my style would agree.

5) Do you prefer baths or showers?

This is another tough one, I am very schizophrenic on a lot of issues like that.

There is a part of me that ABSOLUTELY prefers baths, because they are relaxing and contemplative, and that part used to be very dominant and had me bathing far more often than showering in my teenage years.

Then again, there is a part that believes people who only ever bathe are pussies, and that prefers showers because they are quick and cleansing and sharp, and wake you up.
I've been showering more often recently, it seems to be tied in a silly way to my idea of becoming more assertive.

6) Have you seen Alice in Wonderland? If so, what was your opinion on the dancing scene?

I haven't; if I had I'd probably be bitching about the dancing scene because I love to get all flustered about questionably entertaining scenes in movies like that.

7) What means the most to you, and why? This could be anything, an item, an emotion, a person, a place... you decide.

As and abstract concept - freedom.
That is silly because it is such a cliche and an unobtainable one to boot, because one cannot even define entirely what it is about, or how one would go about achieving it to completeness.

Still, it is the word that has always meant the most to me.
Tied in with that, the place that means the most to me is the sea and the seaside, because it embodies and defines and symbolizes my romantic ideal of freedom to perfection.

8) Would you eat spaghetti with a spoon and fork, or a knife and fork?

I'd really prefer to use just the fork, but if I had to choose I guess I'd take the spoon.
And then leave it lying next to the plate untouched the entire meal.

9) Can I have a kitten?

Only if you don't dress it up.

10) Do you prefer hand-written letters, or emails?

Both, for different reasons and different occasions.

PS: I have just decided it would definitely be "Bring Me the Diso King" - I just cannot live without that song.

You promised me the ending would be clear
You'd let me know when the time was now
Don't let me know when you're opening the door
Stab me in the dark, let me disappear

Memories that flutter like bats out of hell
Stab you from the city spires
Life wasn't worth the balance
Or the crumpled paper it was written on

Dead or alive.... Bring me the Disco King.

Small-Scale Miracles

Yesterday, pretty much immediately after I posted, a glimpse of summer suddenly and magically appeared.

It had been getting warmer throughout the day, and by late afternoon when I was travelling across town to keep the weekly appointment with my therapist, the scenery had completely transformed itself into a picture-perfect tableau of summertime.

Troves of bored youth kicking around cans on street corners, hands buried deep into the pockets of baggy pants.
Young girls, with glittering eyes and shimmering hair, getting out their still-white legs in floaty floral dresses.
People riding their skateboards in short-sleeved attire, people eating ice-cream in the streets.

It was rather cliche, rather pretty, and rather unexpected.

I also managed to stay content with myself; turns out it does pay off to take my own advice from time to time.

I didn't entirely fast, but near enough: I had nothing apart from water and a single plum all day.
I ate the plum when I was feeling reasonably hungry, too - so it felt good, like the natural thing to do as opposed to a false messiah, a mindless craving I was simply giving into.

I was pleasantly surprised by the compliant and easy fashion in which my body submitted back into the (almost) no food regime, after being fed to a more wholesome extent the day before.

It even left me the energy to go running, twice, a nice and easy way towards an instant high.

Today, I replaced the plum with a 103 calories of single-serving-sized caramel flavoured soy yogurt; I think I could get used to this one-item-a-day "diet"...
At least it's been keeping me happy so far, we'll see whether stark hunger or the frustration to be eating even anything at all dictate otherwise tomorrow.

I'm oddly tired right now, not even weak, not even exhausted, just slightly disenthused in the brain.

I think I'll go for a trip to the video store and rent a few episodes of some entertaining show or other, hand the responsibility for my thought process over to the tv screen for a bit.

It's back to university next week, and god knows that'll be the end of excessive time left for lazing on the coach, so perhaps I should make the most of it.

I'm thinking Nip/Tuck perhaps, certainly does well in the "entertainment" department, while also being thinspiration personified - what with the entire premise of the show being the obsession with perfect bodies, and its cast of actresses ranging from staggeringly bony to solidly zero-sized with few exceptions.

I apologize for the lack of substance in this post and will be back the next time with something a little more relevant and a little less.... lethargic.

I'm blaming it all on the prayed-for yet unexpected onslaught of summertime, obviously.

Ineffectual Musings

Perfection... I've always been obsessed with that little world, and I know I am far far from alone in that.

It is often curious to me why human beings work the way we do, and why that little word holds so much power over us.

How it is that the concept of perfection can motivate us so much, elevate us, crush us, excite us.

How the thought, that every little part, every centimeter of our bodies, minds, even souls could be perfect, seems so liberating and promising, and daunting all at once.

Still, it is all that sustains me often.

My life is far from perfect right now.
My flat isn't perfect - it's a bloody mess.
My mind isn't perfect - it is equally messed up.
My "career prospects" aren't perfect - I am letting it all go to hell, and I'm not even sure I have chosen the right direction with what I'm doing at uni.
My "love life" isn't perfect - I am still painfully in love with a boy who doesn't even deserve it, King of Cowards that he is.

And finally, my body isn't perfect - it is farther from perfection than it ever was.

I dare not even step on the scales at this moment, but I reckon (and I am an unfortunately gifted soothsayer in that regard) it might be as high as 60kg, 132 lbs, a BMI of a square and scary 20 (defined, of course, as perfectly "normal and healthy for your age". Blech. Whoever comes up with these definitions obviously hasn't seen the state of my thighs. Or my behind for that matter.).

60kg would be the absolute highest I have weighed since the day I was born, and I swear I'm going to die if it goes any higher than this right now.
I need to regain control but I am struggling, pitifully, to rediscover any fragment of my former strength, any semblance of my old composure.

And yet, amidst all this chaos, I hope and dream of a state where perfection can be attained.
No matter how unrealistic it may seem - if I didn't cling to the abstract hope that perfection was possible, I would have thrown in the towel on life long ago.

It is all that keeps me from giving up when submerged in the darkest, dankest recesses of my personal Void... the possibility of perfection.

PS: re: first picture - that sunrise, on that day, was perfection to me.
Nothing quite like watching the sun rise from aboard a boat...

The girl below, of course, displays a different form of perfection. And yet she seems so forlorn - the atmosphere in that image is pretty much how I'm feeling right now, so I like it.

Lies

You know how they tell you "Oh, even if you DO get skinny, that will not suffice to make you happy!"?

How they tell you that the perfect weight is not the gateway to the perfect life? That you need to see that skinny doesn't equal happy, that reaching your goal weight won't satisfy your craving to be whole, fulfilled, perfected, complete?

It's bullshit, if you ask me.
I have been there before - never as skinny as I wanted to be, never perfect - there is always room for less, how couldn't there be.

Still, I have been skinny-er before, I have been starving myself and exercising vigorously, and yes, I have been happy.

Hell, less than a year ago, I was ever-so-close to where I wanted to be with my body - I was thin, I was toned, clothes were falling off me and people were commenting the way they always do, with a mixture of awe and concern, of jealousy and curiosity.

"My, you have become ever so thin!", The Blonde Girl would say to me, and I would smile, all oblivious.

"Really? Hm, if you say so, must have been the fact that I took up running again..."
And she would laugh, unbelieving, flabbergasted "What, you didn't even notice?", clearly envious, so skinny herself, and yet in awe of my progress.

Those were good times, and I can honestly say that I was SO much happier then - not only happier; more complete, more in control, of myself, my life.
The "simple" fact of my body being closer to perfection made a whole world of difference in controlling my messed-up mind.

So there, I never want to hear those again, those lies of "It won't really make a difference" - It does.
If only I could get strong again, if only I could reach my goals, make up for the time I slacked.

If only...

Stay strong, and take those offerings of "wisdom" with a grain of salt.