Can someone tell me if there is a bible or something someone has published on how to understand the opposite sex? Quite frankly, I have no fucking idea what I’m doing or what I’m saying. I attract so many fuckboys and not enough decent humans. Currently, the guy I’m speaking to denies being either an asshole or a fuckboy. But does that mean he is a relationship guy? Because I’ve certainly come to realise I am a relationship gal. I’ve been in Singleville for over a year now, I’ve had a few flings during this past year but these past six months have been dead and right now, I am most certainly having a ‘lonely moment’.
I think my lonely moments are my most depressing, and the thought of being wanted and needed is what I want ideally. I go out for dinner with friends, I shop with friends, I road trip with friends – but right now, I miss the romantic side of life.
I have gone out of my way for the past few months to ensure that I do not watch anything of the romantic genre. Like avoiding the reality of my life. My free membership with Netflix is at its half way mark, I’ve finished a dozen television series and a hundred movies thus far. In three months it will be September and I’ll have to pay for my Netflix boyfriend – almost as great as ‘Hire a Hubby’!
My expectations of my reality are absolute bullshit. The notions of moving out, travelling and ultimately finding happiness are quite literally piled under layers of concrete. I am a relationship girl, I am in fact happiest in a relationship and that’s scary because you know your moments of procrastination and deep thoughts in the shower? Well my thoughts – in one way or another – all lead to the idea of turning twenty-one, turning thirty, turning forty and celebrating my fiftieth alone. I know you shouldn’t think so far ahead but my deep thoughts take me into the worst possible scenario.
What if I never find my happiness and I make it to fifty having spent thousands of dollars on Netflix to pass the lonely days? What if I never have myself a family? What if…
So now, to my future self, I hope ten years from now that you are happy. I hope you find your love and you’re passionate about whatever career you’ve made for yourself. I hope you don’t have grey hairs and maybe you’ll have some sort of family either presently or in the near future. I hope you’re still fit and healthy and you knee hasn’t given up just yet. I hope you have support and respect from your surrounding relationships whether they be friends, family or a partner. I hope you shoe collection has someone shrunk maybe, or grown. I hope you’re well-travelled and have the bookshelf you’ve always dreamt of. I hope you learnt to cook food other than eggs. I hope you’re still indulged in a love affair with this blog you created at the end of 2014 as your diary. I hope to look back on all these opinionated, bitchy rants or diary entries in ten years and reminisce on my crappy life.
I hope you’re not alone.