Breaking Up - again
It's Saturday and I'm sitting here in my pajamas and a dressing gown, drinking black coffee and eating Bombay mix. Across the table are about six books, which include it's a breakup not a breakdown and I can mend your broken heart.
The residue of that Pimm's round Jen's houselast night (the one that made me pass out on the settee) is fading fast, but the memory that I was actually going out with someone with a sum total of three months - a record for me over the past three years - lingers in an annoying way, annoying mainly because it requires self-help books to shake off.
It's another break up and unlike the other two brief romances I've had during my glorious single years, I actually liked this guy when we split up and knew in a small way that I'd miss his company. I knew that, apart from my bruised ego and a dent in my self-esteem, it would be harder to accept the break up: I couldn't do a character assassination, diss his love-making skills, or otherwise denegrate his worth as a person in my head. There was nothing seriously wrong with this guy apart from the fact that he didn't want to be with me anymore. Which is fair enough. We weren't a match made in heaven - I guess we were two nice people enjoying one another's company, for as long as the enjoyment and mutual attaction could hold out.
The return to single life has been relatively smooth apart from the occasional emotional vacancy that accompanies splitting up. I never gave up my friends or lost myself in this guy. I have way too many extracurricular hobbies to get bored and I like my own company, sometimes for days on end.
There's something about dating that got a bit difficult logistically - for instance, when I stayed the night at his on a Friday night, Saturday morning I'd want to see him but I'd also want to jump on my computer and listen to some new tracks and write and somehow you're not allowed to have both when you're at someone else's flat. Because dating is about 'spending time' with that person. Not ignoring them for a few hours while you flick through blog entries and check out what your friends are up to on facebook.
Then there's the constant comments about your lifestyle and person that I definitely won't miss. I hate the feeling that I'm being scrutinised or judged, which is inevitable when you're dating someone and trying to suss out if they're good enough or right for you.
It's a nice day, sunny and the back garden beckons. Armed with a blanket and my laptop, I forsee an easy Saturday morning. On my own.