volcanic's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- plus ça change See, not a lot ever seems to change around here. I've been living in this house for nearly nine years. that's the longest I've ever lived anywhere. True, I bought it from my parents nearly two years ago, but that was a paper exercise as far as changes went. I've been doing the same kind of work for the past six years- the past three in the same location. My hair's been the same colour, give or take a few cherry red slices here and there, and I'm still wearing mostly black, listening to the same kind of music and reading the same kind of books. I'm making it sound like there's something wrong with it, aren't I, when the truth is stability and security are strengths, and I know that, but my inability to take more chances, pursue more risks and embrace spontaneity a little more sometimes feels like a handicap. I don't dislike where I am right now- although heaven knows there are plenty of details that would benefit from fine-tuning a little- but I don't particularly love it loads. I know I've used- possibly over used- the "Groundhog Day" metaphor many times here (which is a joke really, because I've never even seen the film), but it's the one that makes the most sense to me. Anyway, I handed my Uni. application form over to my referee today, and tomorrow it'll be on its way. It's very difficult to extricate the potentially exciting changes that it could bring from the financial and logistical nightmare that could accompany them, but I'll deal with those obstacles as and when they arise. My other favourite whinge in here is my lack of a soulmate/ partner/ squeeze/ call it what you like. I struggle to accept that deep-seated need within me, because it makes me feel weak and needy and inadequate, despite the fact I know full well that I'm none of those things. It would be far weaker of me to pretend that being fiercely independent and stridently single made me happy, when it fact it doesn't. I know that being able to survive on my own is another strength, another thing I excel at, on a financial and material level, but emotionally it fails to give me any satisfaction. What confounds the issue for me is why I'm even in this situation. I mean, I'm reasonably attractive, I'm warm, empathic, honest and generous. It genuinely baffles me why I continue to be alone, and I know it's not misguided arrogance or vanity that fuels my confusion, because plenty of people agree with me. Only today, one of my colleagues was saying he couldn't believe that I'm not fighting the chaps off in droves, and Grim assures me that he could assemble a queue of willing suitors for me... I don't know. It's not like I'm scarily aggressive when I meet men- I don't put on a front, or throw out cheesy lines, or play any kind of game: I'm just myself, pure and simply. The fact that this approach doesn't seem to get me anywhere suggests that maybe there's a fundamental fault with the raw goods. Naturally, I know that's not true either, but you can see how it'd make me worry somewhat, can't you? I can only hope that the universe has something massive in store for me at some point, because it hasn't dealt me any of the obvious hands- there's been no marriage to childhood sweetheart, or exotic whirlwind romances for me. For some freaky reason this whole train of thought has reminded me of "Terms of Endearment", and I'm picturing myself as a batty middle-aged lady being driven around on a beach by an equally batty middle-aged maniac in a sports car. It's a cute image, but I'm feeling far too bratty and hard done-by to get any kind of spiritual glow from the idea. Sometimes I feel like I'm swatting jealousy away from me like mosquitoes. I start dwelling on something- in this case the thought that I will never be a young and dewy-faced newly-wed- and the sheer envy wells up in a swarm and threatens to overwhelm me. I'm flicking it away, like it's landed on my arm and is ready to bite me, only when I do that, another little bastard lands somewhere else, and starts to nibble. It's a futile exercise, and I still wake up itching and sore. And it's not the unfairness that niggles me so much as the sense of sheer monumental injustice of it all. And I'm not hard done-by at all, really. I'm immensely lucky- not just compared to the billions of people in the world who live in fear or poverty or under oppressive regimes, but in comparison to all the people who are trapped in ugly relationships or destructive behaviour and thought patterns. I'm blessed in so many ways, materially and intellectually. I'd just like a little more fun and fulfilment, and a nice man to come home to sometimes. It's not a lot to ask. 11:11 a.m. - 17.04.02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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