It was when I was in Singapore airport that I thought I’d finally cracked the point of boyfriends. As a resolutely single girl for almost all of my twenties I had things neatly divided. Fun, emotional support, someone to hang out with and relieve loneliness, depression or boredom, well this is what friends are for. Sex, now there’s where men can be useful. But any of the other stuff? Nah. As I always say, why go out on a date with some stranger when you can have dinner with people you actually know and like and then go have sex with some random eejit afterwards?
But... as you know a slow change in my attitudes has happened over the past few years. I think I just reached my own personal saturation point when it came to shagging eejits and now think it would be quite nice to have sex with someone I actually respect and like as a human being. Could be waiting for a while on that one though.
And of course, my twenties weren’t entirely emotion-free. There was a relationship at the beginning that was perfectly lovely, if doomed, and of course there have been my random deep, dark obsessions. These were ideal for me, full as they were of exquisite pain that made me feel I was in Wuthering Heights instead of just pissing my life away in the cheap dives of London, with their sticky floors and musty aromas of stale beer. Surely if there was all this agony and drama it must all be frightfully important? Life or death, true love or madness? But no. Like Titania, I was just falling for asses.
Which brings me back to Singapore. I had a 6 hour stop-off, it was 1am and I was bored and sleepy but couldn’t get comfortable on the stupid metal chairs, bolted far enough apart so that bits of my anatomy kept falling between the gaps. Then the drilling started. At night, they dismantle all of Singapore airport and rebuild it again just for fun and the hammering keeps frequency with the heartbeat pounding through the veins in your head. I tried pulling my blankie up over my ears (Yes, I am 29 and have a blankie, I’m not ashamed) but every gnaw of the drill made it through to stab me in the temple. And then I got it; a boyfriend would make this situation so much better! He could distract me by whispering dirty things in my ears and I wouldn’t even hear the drill! He’d be warmer than the blanket and I could concentrate on the sexy lips, messy hair, someone who made me laugh. Yeah, I get it.
Then I found the fish spa and forgot the boyfriend.
That could be one blog in itself but I’m not quite done yet, sorry. There’s a postscript.
I was having a sort through of some of my old stuff today. I found some old diaries and sat down to read. Mostly they were stupid, and I could laugh at myself as we always can at our past incarnations who were obviously much more clueless than our oh-so-smart present selves. I was reliving all the deep, dark obsessions, the confusion, bewilderment, the crying, the wondering why. Even though it hurt so much can I really leave that behaviour behind for, what? Someone who loves and respects me and wants to stay in with wine and DVDs. Where’s the edge? No bittersweetness. No scratch of brick against my back. If it’s not hurting it’s not working.
Shit, I always get like this when there’s nothing going on in my life. Get me a job, a purpose and something to do quick, or avert my eyes from the asses.
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