There are things we can change. And there are things we cannot change. Happily, thankfully, I am perfectly capable of changing myself. From the last post to now my life has had no dramatic turnaround. I still don't really have friends. The charity shop is still as boring as hell. I still smash fragile crockery on the kitchen floor of the restaurant. There are still obnoxious Middle Eastern women who come into the newsagents ferociously jabbering about...well...I don't even know what. Almost-Perfect-Should-Have-Loved-Me-But-Doesn't stays his quiet unexplained self with still no apology or goodbye. But I've had my time to bitch about it all (as, dear reader, I'm sure you have witnessed), and I've decided that I will stop bitching about these problems for a while.
I am now experiencing the difficult yet grand phenomenon of time healing all lovers' wounds. In the past I managed to haphazardly stitch up my broken heart with the fascinating recluse of yet another short-lived relationship. Now I welcome the opportunity, mostly out of necessity, to play peacekeeper in my own kingdom and not rely on the next male whose eyes tell me I'm pretty--or at least prettier than the other girl in the room--to make me feel whole again.
Now, in saying that, if the opportunity for an actual, well-founded, loving relationship were to unveil itself in the very near future with a man who actually cares for me and with whom I share common interests and I find attractive and who buys me flowers and lets me snuggle with while we watch movies or read out loud and who will sincerely enjoy the way I sing and who will let me cook for him even if I suck at it and who will make me feel comfortable in every situation and who won't mind if I get a little chubby (because I love chocolate and I hate exercise) and will hold my hand in public and who will love me despite the fact that I don't really like doing things outside except going for walks or picnics and is someone whom my Dad approves of and who is a tad bit rough around the edges and who would be honestly happy with me for just being me and he could be him and we, both of us together, were happy in every way....if this were to happen, I say screw you, wound-healing time phenomenons--get over here, Prince Phillip and claim your Sleeping Beauty.
The likelihood of this happening even in the course of my lifetime is fairly close to absolutely impossible. So I plan on waiting this one out. Letting the pain and the passion simmer and mold into peace. Letting me be me. Letting life be life. Letting the clock tick onward and the planet keep spinning. Letting memories be memories, not the very air I breathe. Not fretting over what once was, but creating a great and vivid now.
