A little mulling over one’s single status…

Well. This is my first blog. At least on here it is. I’ve strayed into the blogsphere before, although usually as various other alias; mainly fanfic in a way I suppose. But this one is about me. Not the person I pretend to be, nor the distraction from myself I am most of the time, but the real version. The version that wakes up in the middle of the night to stress about something completely inane, or whom has more bad hair days than good.

Most of all, my mind spends too much time stressing and worrying and thinking about pretty much everything. Which I’m told is normal, but this inner monologue I’m writing here, well this is exactly what its like in my head. Analysing and thinking about stuff that I’d never truly voice out loud. There is something about a blog that seems somehow remote…not quite out there, despite the ease of its searchability by those that know you, or even total strangers. Which I suppose is part of its appeal to me, that there is the vague chance someone else might read it and find something within to agree or disagree with.

So, here, when the mood strikes, I will wax lyrical about whatever has annoyed or frustrated or puzzled or hurt me the most…the translation of that inner voice to an outwardly typed one. The mood has struck, and the mood is this…

Romance. Couples. Life. Marriage. It seems, and I think this might be somewhat late twenties what the fuck am I doing angst, but it seems the whole world has found co-habitation and grown-up bliss. Not that long ago, I had a brief moment of realisation that in fact, and this includes my virtual friends, I have less than five single friends. In fact the total is about two. Now, I have of course more friends than five, but the singletons in my life are rare. So while I am still wanting to socialize like a single person…have drinks, be part of a group, talk about anything and everything…almost everyone in my life wants to do stuff with couples, have couples around, eat dinner, go to the pub with, blah blah blah. Now, I happen to quite like being around couples. I hate the whole prowl of a mate thing, and all I truly want is good conversation, which the couple of our species often quite like also. I don’t view myself in the slightest as a threat to couple-ville, given my most heinous of appearances, but I think even if a single person is the ugliest and thickest person you know and thus highly unlikely, a couple will suddenly not want said person around in fear of them doing some single person crime against loved up-ness, whatever that may be. I truly don’t get why the second a person becomes a two, the other single person will become less of a friend, less of a loved one, less of a mate, and thus sitting at home on a friday night eating dinner for one when all their loved up chums are off laughing and chatting and having a ball together.

I’m happy being single. My life does lack certain things that I’d want to be more of, such as more outside socializing rather than indoor occupation (clearly having time to write this indicates a lacking in the social area). Maybe it all has nothing to do with what box I tick on the marital status box on a form, and infinitely more to do with me as a person. Maybe I’m the sort of person its easy to outgrow…a person that perhaps is the facilitator of couples, a couple fairy-godmother if you will, and therefore once the coupling start, a bit like Nanny McPhee or Mary Poppins, my time to move along comes. Maybe I’m just a person that isn’t designed for mass socialization, being the Stilton of  personalities…for some people the heavy complicated taste is a unique, special occasion pleasure to be savoured, but to most, far too much and makes you have both cheese nightmares and headaches. Who knows.

Lately, all this wondering about why I feel like the three seasons out of date top on the floor of the bargain shop during a sale at christmas, well its got me thinking. And noticing things I never really noticed before. Couples eating dinner together in a restaurant passed on the way to the bus. Not completely hideous, in fact objectively rather gorgeous, wedding dresses in a shop window. Watching Dont Tell The Bride and Four Weddings with alarming regularity. Now, given my age, my almost permanent single status and the fact I feel the odd animal left behind because the ark only took species in twos, it might be a logical conclusion that I am experiencing what is known as the ticking clock. That clock that apparently women experience to find a mate, settle down, and overindulge in a life of domestic bliss. But that would be the wrong one to draw, and I certainly havent come to that conclusion myself. In fact my theory and pontificating on the matter would be entirely different.

I think its envy. Envy at how being ready for marriage, and cohabitation, and coupleyness means you’re grown up and settled. That (and even though I have spent the last twenty-seven years loudly protesting that it isn’t the case, and it wouldn’t ever be for me) being half of a couple, being able to say we rather than I, it validates you. It makes you easier to be understood and tolerated. When arranging a night out, or a party, or any social gathering, the hosts can easily regard you as this unit which is self-sufficient. Rather than a single person whom might do something that apparently only single people are likely to do and thus upset the apple cart.

It makes me mad. Mad that I’m seemingly destined to be the mad aunt in the attic, the spinster, the blue fairy out of Sleeping Beauty whom has to hang around with the other two spinster fairies and put up with her lot of being very bad at the profession of magic because it’s all she’s good for. Only good for working her magic at helping the beautiful people hook up and go off and live happily ever after. What about old tubby clumsy Merryweather? Did she ever find a male fairy that would be funny and clever and handsome but most of all get her and want to sweep her off her feet? Doubt it because then Sleeping Beauty would have had to make her own dresses and be aware of spinning needles herself. The lazy cow.

It makes me mad that being single, even if that is my choice, is expensive, as if there is a literal single person tax on the world. All my bills – almost all of them as expensive as it would cost for two wages. Booking a hotel room – a single room has an extra cost on it, even though I’d use less of their facilities than two people would. Buying meals for one – well, everyone knows they are the most expensive thing you can buy food wise, which is ridiculous as I am not going to stand and slave over a hot over just to feed myself. All that hard work and no-one to show it off to.

Sure, I’d like to be loved and liked as much as the next person, and when I think of the acceptance that wearing that white dress and walking down that aisle with the next person to even vaguely offer…well a teeny tiny part of that is appealing to a teeny tiny part of me. To no longer worry about being alone but to be marginally contented with the other presence in your life. To be social again because you can do all those mysterious couple things, well it would be oh so easy to find the next random guy and do just that. But there’s this voice, and it’s quite loud. Its my own, inside this noggin of a head and every time I feel like giving into the other one, it screams at me. Screams about how life should be about love, and purpose, and happiness, and that being contented, even if that contentment is unconventional and sometimes isolatingly lonely, that should be enough. To aim for the seemingly impossible, for the unobtainable ideal of true happiness, that’s what matters more than being able to make up the numbers at what, lets face it, if couples aren’t careful can seem like it’s a bowl of car keys away from being a swingers party anyhow. I actually value my complexity, and my uniqueness and my difficult manner because it means I’m like a black diamond….rare and to most ugly, but to the very few, so beautiful and so lovely that its blinding. I wouldn’t trade in my flaws that make this thing called life hard in order to become some sort of stepford wife or girlfriend.

Recently I learnt this formula for life, and it’s what I’m trying to live my life by. E+R=O. Meaning  the Event plus your Response equals Outcome. The event being my perpetual single status, and my rapidly diminishing social life. I could respond with all the anger, frustration, bitterness and hurt I’ve felt because it seems like I’ve been dealt a raw hand, but maybe that’s not the way to view it. Maybe I should view it as something to aim for, or something that is helping me know what I want out of life. That it helps me know that I want the extraordinary rather than the ordinary that has seemed to be on offer to me in the past. Therefore, the outcome will be at one point, maybe in the dim and distant future, I’ll achieve that overwhelming happiness that right now seems just beyond my grasp, but one day it will be in the palm of my hand, and the present and the future will seem limitlessly joyful.

Something for me to mull over during those moments of quiet and reflective solitude.

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