My absence is...inexcusable, as always. I think I have finally come to accept that I will never be a 'proper' blogger. If you can find a way to work full time, blog 5+ times a week, have a social life and not be an emotionally exhausted wreck of a human being I salute you, but that is just never going to be me.
So what has been going on in my absence? Well I guess the main news is that we bid goodbye to the latest boy toy. I know right, that didn't last long. I have it down to a fine art. I do apologise in advance if this post all gets a bit angsty by the way - I will try to keep it as anti-emo cringe fest as is possible. But as I am a closet emo and am basically the cringiest person I know that could be tough.
Anyway. Another one bites the dust.
I would love to tell you that I was the epitome of a healthy, well adjusted, classy young woman when dealing with this turn of events. Of course, that would be a massive lie. The truth is I cried a fair bit (friends were horrified, I never cry), listened to a LOT of Taylor Swift, drank too much wine and went on a slutty rampage. I'm pure class, I know. Did it make me feel better? Briefly. Until I hit the post alcohol, post slutty rampage come-down and then I just felt kind of gross. It almost feels like I've had a three week hangover. A three week emotional hangover, after a four month emotional binge drinking session. To clarify, I'm a happy go lucky drunk who loves everyone and then falls asleep, not a violent and aggressive drunk who gets in fights and gets arrested. Although if I were that might go some way towards explaining my predicament. Anyway, I digress. My point is this - when you first meet someone you present yourself in a certain way, but over time inhibitions loosen and your guard slips a few inches. People get in, in the same way that alcohol soaks your system and persuades you that dancing on the table is actually a good idea. And it is a good idea - at the time. But the following morning you're lying in bed nursing a twisted ankle or a concussion or worse, and there's this sort of dull thudding ache where your liver used to be and your brain is rattling around your skull and your eyes feel like they're going to drop out of your head and you wonder to yourself - what the fuck was I thinking? Why have I done this to myself again? Sound familiar? Well, that's how I've felt for three weeks.
I know, I know, I'm way too young to be this cynical and jaded. The thing is, I'm simply going by experience here. I know that not ALL men are shits. Just like I know not all women are crazy psycho bitches (off the top of my head can't think of any that aren't but they must be out there, right?) I do know all that, really I do. But it's difficult to keep that in mind with the phrase 'not girlfriend material' still ringing in your ears.
And please...please do not misread this as a the whinging of a desperate girl who can't live without a boyfriend. That's not the case at all. I'm not one of these people who wants a relationship for the sake of having one. If that was the case then I probably would be in a relationship right now. I don't want a boyfriend just so I can say I have one. I just want to be treated with some respect. And in this instance, I haven't been. And that makes me angry.
You won't like me when I'm angry.
In seriousness. I'm ok. I'm not great, but I am ok. I'm sad and angry and hurt, but I'll get over it. The hardest part, as is the case in these situations, is trying to figure out why. My fragile little ego, that I've spent the last three years nurturing into something more than a quivering wreck, still isn't strong enough to withstand that sort of beating. Honestly, I'm not sure it ever will be. I think of how some people spend 10, 15, 20 years on the dating scene and I think...how!? How have you not drowned yourself in a vat of melted chocolate yet? How do you maintain the energy and enthusiasm? I've only been doing it five or six years and I'm already over it. I just want to curl up with a bar of Dairy Milk the size of a breeze block and watch Disney films and cuddle my cat. I know that's not a healthy attitude to have, nor is getting blind drunk and whoring myself out, so I have taken alternative action.
I've signed up for a 10k run.
Yes, you did read that correctly. And yes, I know how stupid it sounds. I can barely walk up a flight of stairs without passing out, how the hell I'm going to run 10k I will never know.
I decided to sign up for a few reasons really. I need a fitness goal, and by putting a date on it I can ensure that I will keep working hard to get there. I also wanted to do something to raise money for Cystic Fibrosis - you can read more about that here. Mostly I just need a distraction. Something to focus on that isn't my own neurosis. I figure the prospect of passing out from exhaustion halfway round a course should provide ample distraction from my fucked up love life. So there you have it.
Here it comes....the shameless plug for sponsorship. If you would like to sponsor me, you can do it via my JustGiving page. My fundraising target is modest because in honesty that was just an afterthought, and it seems somewhat cynical to beg for sponsorship when that wasn't my original motivation to start with. If you can afford to sponsor a couple of pounds then please do. If you can't, or you just don't want to - fair enough. I've closed plenty of sponsorship pages without entering my bank details before now too. Incidentally, I will be recording my progress with 10k training on here, when I can be bothered, because as previously established I'm a rubbish blogger. Keep your eyes peeled for hilarious anecdotes about blisters with their own gravitational pull and what are sure to be some fetching post exercise selfies.
You're excited, I can tell.
With all my love, as always,