Day 0214

Pining.

I had always thought that was the pinnacle of romance: to be the object of someone’s pining, unrequited love.

Until the beginning of this year when someone I cared for said: I can’t be with you, but I think of you alllll the time.

When I passed this on to a girlfriend, she surprised me by not saying ‘awwww’ sympathetically, but by declaring:

Thinking of you? What, does he think you’re not real? And that he can gallop by some day on a white horse and scoop you up?

She was so indignant, it made me think. And then I realised how right she is:

I am real. I deserve to be treated like I’m real. If some doofus wants to sit about pining and wishing and dreaming  and then live his life with someone else, that’s his problem.

In this case especially, if he had really wanted me, all he had to do was walk through my door, into my arms and …

voila!

There I was. As real and magnificent and difficult and funny and challenging and intelligent as only a real woman can be.

And it is precisely because I am real that The One Who Dreamed, The One Who Pined, The One who thought of me alllll the time, is not allowed to have that dream girl any more.

Days 0204 & 0205

I don’t think it’s love that is blind.

I think it is loneliness that makes us blind in love: makes being cared about and paid attention to an end, a beauty, in and of itself.

So we make stupid mistakes, because even when we’re not with that person who is the focus, we can at least fill the lonely times with thoughts and dreams and anticipation of that person. 

And then we begin to mistake those dream times for reality.

Even when being with the beloved one actually makes us feel lonely.

It is the dream that we prefer.

That has long been my mistake anyway. If I could live in dreamed relationships, I would be a happier person. Real people just end up giving me the shits.

 

Day 0181

Am I the only person who becomes utterly blinkered when I’m in love.

Even if I say so myself, I’m quite the accurate judge of character of those I’m not enamoured with, but those I am … not so much.

I think love adds a gloss for everyone where you don’t see the skin blemishes, or smell the bad smell or notice the bad farts.

But I seem to have this great way of letting my irises turn into pulsating hearts that can only take in the beauty of a person, their personality and their actions. I can very nearly make black white with my eyes when my heart has taken them over.

When I hear words like ‘drip’ or ‘ineffective’ or even ‘lazy’ used on someone I used to love, they seem unkind at first and then the distance wipes some haze from my eyes and I can see where that perception comes from. I might not want it to be true for the person with whom I was once in love, but the hard part is that I need to let it be true.

I don’t really want to stop believing in people’s better nature, in particular that of people I’ve cared about deeply.

But I think I need to learn to let reality poke its head in once in a while.

Just as not every soldier who is killed in a war is a hero, every lover is not perfect. Not some holy grail of light and love. In fact it is a disservice to think so: it is far more brave to go into battle a human than a hero, to love someone for all their humanity rather than just the good bits …

You would think I would know that by now, from bitter experience, if nothing else.

But I don’t.

I still hope for the best of those who have proven they are drips.

I still believe in something that doesn’t exist. Why do I do that? Especially when it makes life all that much harder?

Day 0128

Anticipation has got to be one of the most fun and enjoyable things in the world, especially for a dreamer like me.

While I’m hanging the laundry, while I’m disciplining the child, while I’m clipping my toenails, I prefer to cast my busy mind to a place where I can inject my imagination into reality. Imagining myself in the throes of romance, love, glory …

This is what trapped me in that last unholy relationship: that thrill of wanting to see someone, of wanting to spend time in their company. Too bad it didn’t stay that way since reality always left me in tears, but my dreams kept reviving and coming back to brighten my day. Kept me coming back for more. It was so free-ing to rediscover my capacity to dream after years of losing it to unhappiness.

I am now enjoying the anticipation of something a bit less mirage-like: the return of a good friend who promises thoughtful conversation and a Big Hug (is there really any other kind worth talking about?).

We all misfire, I suppose, allowing anticipation to become ‘reality’ when reality is really so much uglier and less appealing.

But an entire relationship can’t be built on dreaming and waiting for things to become something ‘more than, better than’ can it?

Relationships are built on humdrum reality, aren’t they? On conversations about one’s day and the irritations of co-workers? Or the sorry state of politics?