Oh man. I'm writing a
day log and listening to
Tom Waits. Something must be seriously wrong.
To explain : I have a long history of tortured, screwed-up relationships. This was followed by a year of single-dom in which I went crazy, dropped everything and moved to a new city.
Eventually, everything settled down a bit, and I settled into a cosy relationship with a really sweet girl who I'd been friends with for a while. Yesterday, by mutual consent, we agreed that while we loved each other, that something was missing. The overwhelming passion and desire to be with each other wasn't there. We were by no means the centre of each other's universe. Neither of us felt a massive leap in the base of our stomachs when the other walked into the room.
Both of us are young and stupid enough to believe that passionate, romantic love can be found and kept. Or that even if it can't, it's still worth searching for.
I had been really worried all day, because I knew it had to be done. I was terrified that she'd cry, be bitter, hit me, hate me. I was even more scared that she'd talk me into staying. Ironically, she had spent all day Saturday feeling exactly the same way.
The relief of not having to spend the night being a bastard completely overwhelmed any sadness at the end of a relationship. We talked for a couple of hours, hugged, kissed one last time and went our separate ways. I went straight to the pub and got drunk with some friends. I spent a night in a drunken haze, expounding on half-baked theories about the role of pop music in society (coming soon : A Defence Of Pop). It was all good. The world seemed bright and happy.
I deliberately had a good time last night. Because I knew I'd wake up today, and only be able to think one thing.
What now?
Somebody once accused me of constantly needing a woman to look after me. It really pissed me off when I heard that. Because it's absolutely true.
I'm no good by myself. For me solitude is more claustrophobic than the most stifling relationships. I'm always intensely aware that I'm single at every moment. I feel like I radiate sadness. I get embarrassed when I buy single servings of anything at the supermarket. I prowl nightclubs like a panther (albeit a drunk panther with arthritis), unashamedly hungry and looking for meat. Then I feel stupid and sit in a corner for the night. I just really, really suck at it.
But I have learned the hard way not to let myself be rushed into anything. I'm not going to hurl myself at the first woman to not be repulsed by me. I'm going to bide my time. And maybe I'll be better at it this time. I'm much more balanced now, and I feel like I have less to prove to the world.
Ah, I think I'll be okay. I have a few months of crushing loneliness, intermittently sprinkled with tragi-comic sex. And then someday, I'll find myself back in the old place again, complaining to my friends how the new girlfriend is driving me crazy.
Who knows, maybe I'll even make it to that point without writing any more daylogs. Just maybe....