Halfway to the bus stop on my way home from work, feet aching and brain frazzled in the line of customer service,
an impish desire snuck in the back door.
I’d really like to get a corset. Ooh! Expensive underwear shop!
And something stopped me. Maybe it was the pain in my feet. Maybe it was the overly whoreish face on the poster for the underwear shop.
But I remembered that I don’t need a corset, and in fact owning one would just draw attention to the fact that no one has even seen all the other nice matching underwear I’ve bought in the last 6 months. I put my hands deep in my pockets and crossed the road and got on the next tram.
I am going to celebrate my victory over the spending goblins by having a pizza.
Nah don’t give me that shit, it’s only a margherita, it’s only 4 euro. And it comes with a free can, which upsets me because I don’t fucking want a fizzy drink, because I’m on a diet (the pizza is ok because it’s just a margherita and also, my pills mean fat isn’t…ahem…digested) but I don’t have the wisdom/restraint to say “no thank you” or to not drink it, and keep it in my fridge for a hangover day.
(Everyone knows calories consumed when hung over don’t count)
Ackk… starting to think maybe I shouldn’t have ordered a pizza.
It’s a foolish waste of money. but then buying food in the supermarket is similarly expensive and €4 is actually pretty cheap. The free can is annoying though, I don’t drink fizzy shit, it’s so fattening and not even enjoyable enough like chocolate or this pizza I’m about to receive, to warrant a bend-ation of the rules.
But free shit cannot be refused.
So… anyway. I have the rest of the evening to myself (went home early because tomorrow morning I’m getting an early train… I’m going to buy all the shit for the shop for the autumn winter season, all by myself… motherfuckin responsability, yo!
You see you may think I’m the most incompetent employee ever, but you would be mistaken. Or rather, misled, because that’s all the information I have supplied you with. My bad.
Yeah, I’m a REALLY bad salesperson. I don’t like customers. Whenever I picture “customer” in my head, the version of me that is in the picture talking to them is scowling and doing a really aggressive double middle finger thrust at the customer while making a “Nnnnnnnnnghhh” type of sound. This is a fantasy I have.
But I’m actually pretty good at the other stuff. I should really be hidden away in the back somewhere I can actually be useful, shut away from the people like the hideously ugly and the hump-backed, doing important managerial business. Other than dealing with people, I’m good at my job and I like my job. It’s just the bastarding customers….
So tomorrow, the fucking customers can suck my balls, or rather they can’t, because I will be far away, buying from suppliers. It’s tremendously fun, like shopping except I don’t get to keep the clothes and I don’t spend any money.
And as much as I despise their stupid faces, I know the sort of crazy crap they’re willing to spend their money on.
So tomorrow, I go forth as a business person, not as a retail slave, but a serious person with a briefcase ‘n shit.
Actually, briefcase has mysterious stains on the front. (I think they are beetroot stains although how they got there is unclear)
It’s not really a briefcase anyway, but it’s the closest approximation I have. Except now it’s stained. So I’ll have to carry a folder, and look like some kind of amateur.
Anyway, I drank the Pepsi (Dude, I asked for coke. What kind of asswipe doesn’t at least say “we only have pepsi”? Since when are coke and pepsi even similar in taste? They are not. But it’s free, so gifthorses and such.)
And I ate the pizza.
It was delicious.
And…. now I regret the pepsi. I didn’t even enjoy it. I would have maybe enjoyed Coke. Fuck pepsi: I CAN tell the difference. Even if the difference is just psychological, it was in a pepsi can so I didn’t enjoy it.
I watched the notebook. I know, what the fuck?
I had never seen the notebook. I really hate sappy romantic films, honest! I like romantic comedies, even if they are shit. But there has to be comedy in there. So I never watched the notebook, and then yesterday I was scouring my external hard drive for some shit to watch, and the notebook was there.
I downloaded it when I was with husband, but I didn’t want to watch “the greatest romantic film ever” because I thought it would make me feel shitty about how non-romantic my life was. Oh I was so right. In fact, during the in denial phase of our relationship (a long phase) I had to stop myself reading or watching anything too romantic for fear of remembering how I used to want to be cherished and told I looked nice and occasionally surprised with surprises that weren’t “some random dude will be living with us for a month! I told him it was cool…”
Eventually I read Lady Chatterly’s lover and wow that is a brilliant book. At first I thought it was really shit, but then I had nothing else to read, and finally it opened up to be a really brilliant insightful book and I loved it. And it took me about 2 weeks to break up with my husband after I finished it.
And then I began to go through my stages of getting over a man.
These stages are:
1. Finally admitting I don’t want to be with him any more. Justifying the breakup n my own mind as being partly “good for him” and more about us as individuals than as a couple, and I love him but aren’t in love, and all that bullshit.
2. Pretending to really love being single. Actually believing my own bullshit for a while.
3. Becoming extremely slutty. Wanting a ride, no strings attached. Still pretending to be happy alone.
4. Having a ride, no strings attached. Really a let down. Depression. Admit hate being alone.
5. Go back out and try again. Sluttiness, gonna work second time round. Stop obsessing about men’s looks. Concentrate on my own. Hiding desperation a little better this time. Pretend to friends and loved ones, am FINE, in fact great.
6. Have sex that’s actually enjoyable, with someone who doesn’t make my stomach turn in retrospect. Elation. Am actually fine now. Awesome.
7. Don’t want a ride with no strings attached, want to know someone and have them know me, and passion and love and love and softness. Have figured out meaning of life.
8. Getting desperate for a passionate love affair. Nothing happening for me. Settle for first non- disgusting, reasonably normal guy who comes along. Fall deeply in love.
9. Reasonably normal guy turns out to have huge flaws I glossed over at first. Start to secretly hate him, under a flimsy layer of enjoying having company and being told “I love you”
10. Cheat on guy. Convince self that am ok and we are happy. Don’t want to be alone.
…..And back to stage 1 again.
I am now entering stage 7.
Stage 7 is the most dangerous stage. It is the one where I am most vulnerable to random kindness, most likely to ignore my brain as it screams things to me that I dismiss as paranoia.
Stage 7 is the normal person’s rebound, really.
And the worst part is, I’ve kind of already rebounded onto someone.
You know the guy I slept with recently? No?
Him. Well, it’s not like anything is happening between us, or is likely to happen, or that I even want anything to happen again.(Well, I’m sort of lying there. I do like him an awful lot)
But the crazy chemicals are still rushing around my body, trying to create love.
Urgh I hate it.
I think about him all the time.
I don’t want to.
But I do.
Now, there is no danger here of my doing anything rash like jumping into a relationship or anything. It’s not possible, that’s why. Or else I probably WOULD jump right into a relationship. Because I’m lonely, and I never learn. It’s ridiculous.
That’s just how I roll.
Right now, the idea of randomer sex, some one night stand or something… ugh. Gross. No desire whatsoever.
I saw hot barman and I wasn’t even stirred… and I walked past sexy homeless guy and all I saw was the homeless, and I just felt ashamed of the fact that I call him sexy homeless guy (obviously not to his face, just in my head.)
But… if my recent sexual partner lived near me, I would be all over him.. like beetroot stains on a briefcase-style laptop bag.
It’s really a good thing I don’t live in the same country.
I’m just really worried that I’m thawing out.
Since my breakup, yeah I have been super vulnerable, but I have been maintaining a certain amount of ice-queen bitch shell. I like the ice queen bitch shell. It’s badass. It makes me liable to hurt people as opposed to getting hurt.
I know you voyeurs know how pathetic my frosty together exterior really is, but then that’s because I tell you all the shit that’s in my head. There really is a tough outer bit that I show the rest of the world, I swear.
And now… I watched the Notebook, man.
I watched the fucking notebook.
And I cried. I actually wailed. Like, mouth open crying. Real wrying where it’s not so much out of your nose, sniffing and whimpering, but out of your lungs, like a baby…
I was probably mostly crying for myself, because I’m very lonely and sad, and not the notebook. Although man that film was a downer. Find true love, great… oh yeah and then one of you will go senile. And then you both die. the end. Sorry.. spoiler alert.
Anyway shit like that, it’s worrying.
I’m out of the safe, slutty part of my recovery.
I’m into the territory that has previously found me two seriously relationships, and yes they were back to back.
I found husband while in stage 7.
I found the prequel to husband in stage 7.
I need to ride this one out for once and see what happens… is there a cool, ass-kicking stage afterwards? An alternate timeline where I don’t just jump into a poorly conceived relationship with some other wildly unsuitable guy?
And if there isn’t, can the next guy please be rich?
I don’t want no scrub. I have had enough scrub in my short career as a sexually active woman.
I’ll never bag a rich guy, I’m too scruffy and rude. And my mind keeps flickering back to a certain someone…
Aggghhhh I found myself doing all sorts of suspicious, love-influenced behaviour today.
I listened to “More than Words”
I listened to “Lover, you should’ve come over”
I drew a heart over an “i” on my sheet of work hours.
I smiled at a baby, for absolutely no reason.
I am experiencing the symptoms of love, but it’s not really aimed in any direction. The catalyst, sure, was the dood I recently got freaky with. But I don’t love him, or anything. I DON’T.
It’s just the fucking hormones and shit.
It’s an unguided missile of emotion.
OH NO WAIT
….maybe I’m getting my period?
HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA (that’s hysterical, emotional cackling that finishes with a gulpy feeling in my throat as if I’m about to cry)
Yeah that’s it.
That’s what it is, damn it.
I’m not in love.
I’m getting my motherfucking asshole of a period.