I took the weekend off from blogging. Not because I didn’t have anything to say. Mostly, because I didn’t have anything nice to say. And we all know how that old saying goes, right? If not, imagine your mother’s voice and say, “if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” It’s funnier if you give her some sort of an accent that she doesn’t really have. I have a tendency to give my mother a New York-ish accent, even though she’s actually from Pittsburgh. But that’s neither here nor there.
The point is, I was in a funk all weekend and when I am having a pity party, I like to do it alone. I don’t like to bring other people down. And it’s not like I had any real reason to be depressed and stay in bed all weekend aside from the fact that I’m more broke than I’ve been in the last 5 years and that I have to get a “real job.” But I know both of those things are temporary. I know that everything will work. Because everything always works out. I know that none of this will matter five years from now. It may not even matter five days from now, though my bills will probably say different.
But I just couldn’t muster up the energy to be happy go lucky Angie this weekend. And I was in a “boo hoo poor me” state of mind.
For so many reasons. Reason number one, I felt like it was my fault that Alejandro got back with his ex. My logical mind says that’s not true, he would have done it anyway, but my depressed mind says that if I would have just opened my mouth and not been so go with the flow and said something like, “so where do we go from here?” or “hey, we should give us a shot” then maybe that would have worked out. And he was sweet and had feelings and knew how to communicate and was fun… but again… that’s me crying over spilled milk.
But I think I’m at this point in my life, I just want someone to be for me the person that I am for everyone else. I want someone to hold me and tell me everything will be ok. I want someone to come peel me out of my funk and say, “we’re going out.” I’m always the one looking on the bright side for others. I’m always the one encouraging people. I’m always the one giving my last five dollars because I think someone needs it more. And I”m not complaining although I’m sure this sounds a lot like that. But really I’m not. I’m just exhausted and sometimes I wish someone would just swoop in and take care of me. All the way around. Mentally, physically, emotionally. All of it.
I do realize that nobody can take care of you the way you should take care of yourself, but there are days and weekends where I just want someone to have my back. I want someone to bring me a bag full of thrift store dishes when I’m pissed off and tell me, “here you go, break all of them.” I want someone to say, “don’t worry about your bills, I got you, you just write, it’s what you’re great at.” I want someone to say, “let me cook you dinner.” I want someone to say, “let me hold you, go ahead and cry your fucking eyes out. I don’t think you look hideous at all after you’ve cried for three hours.” I just want someone to be that person for me one time. I’ve always been that person for people. And I know how the saying goes, “you can’t expect people to do for you what you would do for them.” And I know it’s true, but you know what, fairy tales aren’t true either but sometimes I still want a happily ever after.
So, yeah, that’s why I didn’t blog this weekend, because I would have been all kinds of bitter, and sad, and brought everyone down with me.
Even being on a dating site didn’t help. It may have even made it worse. I think I hate meeting people online. Because they are all fucking liars. Speaking of fucking liars. I called Flea Market Guy this weekend. I hadn’t seen any signs of life from him in a while and last time I talked to him he seemed pretty suicidal, so I thought I would check on him because oftentimes he crosses my mind. I called. And he answered. Which was a shocker in itself. We talked for 22 minutes (but who’s counting?).
He told me he saw me on Plenty of Fish. I didn’t see him on there because I didn’t do a search. I basically just threw my profile up and people messaged me. Plus, I couldn’t get the search to work. Which is probably good, because if I would have seen him, I would have gotten pissed off. But then he told me he was on there and that pissed me off too. So I deleted my profile. Then I went and got on Tinder. And what do you know, he was on there too, which also pissed me off and reminded me that people are not who they say they are. I mean, he looks like he has his shit all the way together online, which is what he looked like when I met him, but he doesn’t. He’s just a liar. And a serial boyfriend. Which I don’t need. I don’t even really know why I was so pissed off. I think maybe part of it is because we were so compatible and I thought when he got his shit together he would call me. Or maybe it was because his profile said he was looking to get married and he didn’t even want to label what we were doing 3-5 days out of the week. I really don’t know, but I did get the closure I needed by the time we hung up.
And then I thought, how many men on these dating sites are exactly like him? Probably a lot. So I resolved to only meet men in real life. Which probably means I’m going to spend another four years single because I don’t really go out that much and when I do, I’m going to places like the nature center and walking by myself. Not really the kind of place you meet men. Or the library. I might find one there but 60% of the men hanging at the library are homeless and just there to charge their phones or to sleep in a corner.
Needless to say, I guess I’m still in a funk. I tried to meditate it away, but instead, I ended up just getting more and more inside my head and not in a good way. I guess I will sleep on it and try again tomorrow.
And since I’ve exceeded my one thousand word blog limit, I guess I’m going to head that way… see ya on the flip side.
Sorry for the venting.
RouletteWeekend 