Well, I most certainly had an eventful weekend. My sister had one of her infamous house parties, and as per usual I behaved unbecomingly for someone of my age and got very inebriated. I could give a million excuses, but it boils down to two things….one, my crushing social shyness, and two, hearing a truth that I personally universally acknowledge. That really, I shouldnt be so goddamn picky. That I should put up with all the unsuitable men, that I should accept anyone and everyone that will have me, and be grateful.
But I don’t want a list of regretted conquests. I find it hard enough to deal with the regrets of the decisions I’ve made that I was happy with at the time, so I know that I would be infinitely more unhappy with making decisions that I know are not right just because I think I should.
I guess if I’d never felt it, never felt that there was someone who liked me and I liked them back, that there was a possibility of mutual attraction, then maybe I’d be more likely to take what is on offer. Maybe if I wasnt so sure of my own feelings and thoughts, that I might be more likely to grab the next passing man. Maybe, just maybe, that’s what separates me from the rest. That knowledge of what I want, and whilst not confidence but comfortable in who I am.
I do acknowledge that I have an obstacle in the way of me finding someone to rub along with….that my size is said obstacle. It’s the thing that stops people seeing me for me, that stops them bothering to take the time to know me, in fact in the case of some, speak to me at all. I think if I fitted into the happy jolly fat person, or the no-holds barred fearless fat person then maybe I’d be more acceptable, that people would get me a bit more. But that’s not me. I’m the quiet, bookish, geeky, emotional, dramatic, opinionated fat person, and for that I don’t fit into the mould. I consider myself as equal screwed up as my friends, no more no less, and it makes my mind boggle that a little thing like weight can mean that those I’d love nothing more than to get passionate with wont even give a passing look in my direction.
Friends tell me that I’m intelligent, that I’m lovely, that I’m pretty despite the weight, that everything will come to me, that I deserve happiness, and the right person will just fall into my lap. But they have to say those things, because they are my friends. Look at Jane Austen, died single and alone despite her brilliance. I’m not that old, but I don’t want to wait until I’m 40 or even older to find love because that’s how long it takes for men to stop being obsessed with looks. Hell, I don’t even want to wait until I’m 30 for christsakes.
I have a pretty friend, whom was at the party with me, and her love life is rather eventful, but at least it’s that. She’s single at the moment, and I remember thinking that if she, a pretty, intelligent, thin, with a good career head of her sort of girl can’t get an even love life, then what chance do I have? I think that about all my friends whom seem to have amble opportunity. The Shakespearian quote of *and I’m probably quoting wrongly* the path of true love doth never run smooth, well that’s true for most people. That the path of any love is never easy. Maybe I *do* expect too much, maybe all of life isn’t easy, and you should take what you can get. Maybe my sister was right.
But then I think of the people who I know that have found love and then didn’t just accept it, it found them and they became joyfully happy. When they least expected it, in some cases when they least wanted it. Maybe that’s my problem, maybe I want and expect it far far too much.
ohh….maybe I’m just being too maudlin at this time of night, or morning I should say….plenty for me to contemplate and reflect on another time….