It’s been a long time since I’ve blogged about anything, but that hasn’t been without trying. I have 3 or 4 other posts sitting here that have been started, but they’re such crap, I doubt they will be finished. Even this post has been started three times, and more-so, the title has been changed twice to match the content. It hasn’t really been writer’s block, as such, but more just not being able to. Basically, I’m pretty useless. So, here I am, forcing it out, making it happen, no matter what, not (too) worried that the end product might be crappy. Just doing it.
These last few weeks have had me happy. Like really, proper happy. It’s weird because a friend that I had met on Twitter saw me last night and said I was quite a miserable person. I didn’t really like that, but it was good to get the external perspective. (I guess). But, in reality, it didn’t really bother me.
I’ve started feeling single. Like properly I can go out and do anything and not care about anyone else single. It’s nearly a year on, and I have finally moved into a place I am happy about. I have my cupboard doors completely covered with photos, and I spent a while removing the ones I thought were okay to be there. I was told they weren’t, so off they went. But yes, don’t get me wrong, I am loving it, only to bitch and moan about how difficult it is being single. I have even started actually being single. I know that’s weird, but it’s not really. I’ve gone out and surprisingly even spoken to complete strangers. Got numbers, met new people, gone on the first date in years, and have been given the wrong number by someone. (I can’t imagine why, I mean really?!) It’s all pretty much complete. All that’s left to do is actually be single with them. All is not lost, I still have hope.
One thing I was told by the ex when we broke up was that I should use this time to go out and learn about myself. Blah. I’ve been living with myself my entire life, anything I don’t already know will come out when it’s good and ready. I have, however, discovered that I’m a little obsessive and become quite easily infatuated. This has always been the case with me, but I’ve only recently been reminded about how silly I am about it.
I have been so obsessed to find someone new, that I haven’t really been enjoying myself. Okay, so that’s not entirely true. Actually, that’s not true at all. I have been having a great time, which as ultimately made me more relaxed about things. And, looking at the infatuation definitition, I’m being infatuated fairly often, with even the smallest things.
My infatuated obsession has jumped around to no less than 3 girls over the past month, each making me think that my longing for company will be fulfilled, but not having it has only helped me realise that I don’t really need it just yet. Sure, it’ll be good, but I think I like this single feeling. This weekend was again spent with friends and fun, and right now, in this moment, that’s all I really need. But if she happens to fall into my lap in doing so, I won’t be complaining.
All this being said, it is really the frame of mind that dictates just how good we feel – In that moment. I mean, throw a teaser at me, and I’ll probably be hooked again, but this time, I plan to be in control, and if not, I’ll damn well be enjoying myself in the process… And G-d help you all when that happens.
obsession |Ébˆse sh Én|
the state of being obsessed with someone or something : she cared for him with a devotion bordering on obsession.
€¢ an idea or thought that continually preoccupies or intrudes on a person’s mind : he was in the grip of an obsession he was powerless to resist.
infatuate |inˆfa ch oÅËŒÄt|
verb ( be infatuated with)
be inspired with an intense but short-lived passion or admiration for : she is infatuated with a handsome police chief.