paranoia has taken over

Kids, it's time to move on. 

I've been feeling a bit of paranoia lately. I keep getting a ball of anxiety in my stomach - what if Lara found out about the blog? About my feelings for Fletch? All the terrible things I've said about her? The effect would be devastating to my friendship with her (which has never returned to what it once was) but also to the whole family. The chance of discovery is slim to none, but I can't risk it.

It's not just a fear of discovery that is sending me packing. It's also whenever I think of this blog, I think of Fletch. I want to be able to write here, about whatever I want to, but I feel like he's always hovering. I don't want to feel any kind of connection to him, in 'real life' (whatever that is) or on the internetz. 

I will start another blog soon (just as soon as I think of a new name) and of course I want you to come along for the ride. I've changed the settings for this post so I have to approve the comments first so if you want to be told when the new blog is up, leave me your email address (I won't publish it. Obv.) and I'll let you know.

Thanks for the love and I hope to see your email addresses in the comments.

x

knowing

Sometimes, you know exactly how something is going to play out. The exact direction a situation is going to take. And that knowing fills you with confidence and you can act the way you always imagined you could.

I knew I was going to kiss Fletch's friend, The Doctor, from the moment I saw him. We had a met a few weeks ago, just before Christmas. He was cute in a geek-chic way. We flirted. Lara later told me that she wanted to set us up but he had moved to Asia. For a year. As you do. But she was wrong, he was only going for a holiday and when I saw him on Saturday night, it was as if a sixth sense kicked in. I knew how the night was going to go.

It did, of course. Go the way I knew it would. It felt good to be kissed by someone who could kiss properly. The Nice Guy, for all his niceness, wasn't a nice kisser. The Doctor was good.

What I didn't see coming though is still blowing my mind. I thought we met in December, two months ago. He told me a story in which we met in December, five years ago. That night. He knew about Dirty Matt because he was there. I was mortified. I don't remember him at all but then I wasn't really making eye contact with the three guys that were sitting in the living room when Dirty Matt took me home. Funny how something from five years ago can come back and kick you in the arse and kick it hard.

I also didn't see us not exchanging phone numbers coming either. Maybe that is connected to the first thing I didn't see coming. Maybe it isn't. When he was telling me the story, I didn't get the vibe that he was trying to embarrass me, just the Actually, I have met you before kind of vibe. I just didn't ask for his number, he didn't ask for mine.

Another thing I didn't see coming: I wanted to see him again. And that surprised me. Not all that long ago, I said to the tree-hugger that I wanted to hook up with one of Fletch's mates. It was a childish thing to say and I knew it wasn't going to achieve anything that I wanted it to (him to get jealous and realise all those things I want him to realise) and when The Doctor fit perfectly into that plan, I thought that was going to be it. I didn't expect to want to see him again but I did. I do.

I don't have that sick feeling that I had after I met The Nice Guy. I dreaded getting a text from him. I'm kind of surprised that I would like to hear from The Doctor again. I didn't see that coming at all.

It's the same old shit.

The tree-hugger is having some issues with her housemate. He says he's in love with her. This has been going on for over a year or so. She has told him that she isn't interested, but he persists. He is aggressively rude in putting down the guy she is currently seeing, all the while following her around like a little lost puppy. I tell her that he needs to get over it, let it go, and then I say Says me who hasn't let go of the idea of Fletch for five years and we both laugh. Ah, the tree-hugger says, clutching her wine and cigarette, unrequited love.

I am hesitant to call what I feel for Fletch 'love'. Surely I need to know him better before I can say that's what it is? But perhaps not. Perhaps it is love. Maybe if I did know him, I wouldn't be in love with him.

I found myself at a bar, drunk and with Lara and Fletch, a few weekends ago. We had been to our aunty's birthday, had a few drinks and went out. Just the three of us. She told me she missed me, that she thought she had done something wrong and that was why I didn't talk to her anymore. It would have been the perfect opportunity to say I couldn't be friends with you; I hit on your boyfriend and felt guilty as hell. But I didn't because people don't say that kind of thing.

I'm lonely. I'm not unhappy, just lonely. The kind of lonely that aches. Before anyone says it, internet dating isn't for me. For months, I've weighed up the pros and cons, have listened to my friends talking it up, checked out online profiles (and, admittedly, become mildly fixated with two), but I just can't go any further. I'm okay with that. I'm not ruling it out altogether, but for now, it's off the cards.

So. Loneliness. What a bitch. It's a battle to decide which is worse: loneliness or depression. One can lead to the other, I suppose. It hurts. It makes me feel like I'm missing something, like a part of me is missing. I guess that's what people mean when they refer to "my other half". Not that I think I need someone to make me complete, I'm enough of my own person, but I do have an emptiness and I know what is required.

I'm just waiting. Going about my day-to-day, in the hope someone out of the ordinary will happen. That's how I would like to meet him.

I used to be full of optimism about 'him'. I believed he was out there, also waiting for whatever twist of fate would bring us together. These days, it's getting harder to keep the faith in that belief. And that's understandable, isn't it? It's been so long. So very, very long. And I've waited patiently. If he doesn't come along soon, I fear I will explode or implode or just fade away.

a short-lived textual relationship

In my lecture yesterday, instead of listening, I wrote out a blog post I had intended to post last night in response to the Nice post. Here it is:

I know what is written in the previous post sounds awful. Know that I don't believe in being in a relationship where the other person is more into you is than you are to them is desirable. Know that. That is important to me to know that you know I don't think like that.

Know also that I am not considering taking this nice guy on a flight of fancy. I am not keen on playing with any one's affections. That's not me, that's not what I do. Last night, I wrote at a low point. I've been single for so long, it's been years. I've thought for so long that I would never compromise what I wanted, that I would never settle. I've taken that as a matter of pride. You might choose to be with someone that you don't feel passionate about, but I would rather be alone than to have less than perfect.

Next month, it will be six years since my last relationship ended. Six years. In that time, my brother met a woman, got engaged, got married, had a daughter, had a son. It's been a long time. It's easy to feel moments of weakness.

But it is true. I would rather be single than to settle. It's just sometimes hard.

I started to panic yesterday. I was thinking of that rule, the one of how many days you have after the weekend to get in contact - Wednesday, I think (or is it Tuesday?). I remember sitting around with my friends back in the day and us trying to decipher. Monday! It's Monday and I haven't heard anything yet! Don't worry, he's got until Tuesday night to get in touch. I hadn't heard from him and I didn't want to. But I had said in a text on Sunday night: speak to you during the week. I said it. I had to do it.

I ignored my phone. I put my phone on silent, hid it under the bed covers and spent the night in the lounge room, determinedly watching television, pretending not to think about it. At midnight, I checked. Yep. A message from him. A really lovely message, saying that he hoped I'd had a good week so far, that everything was good and that he was free on Friday or Saturday nights for drinks or dinner. There was a smiley face.

Honestly, I felt wretched. I didn't want to go out with him. His niceness repelled me. I would think about things he said or did on the weekend that annoyed me. If I was feeling like this so soon, then there was no hope. I knew I had to tell him so I resolved to tell him I'd meet him for a "quick" drink on Friday night, but because of the lateness of the hour, I decided to wait until morning to send the text.

Today came. I felt slightly nauseous all day. (Is this a major overreaction? Other people seem so blase about all of this kind of stuff.) I didn't want to meet him at all, not for a quick drink, not for anything. I didn't want to risk him reaching in for a kiss. I spent a good few hours researching "break-up+text message" etiquette on the internet. It wasn't a break-up though so most of the information was irrelevant, although people said less than three dates = text message is borderline acceptable. Anymore dates, unacceptable. Total agreement. I would call him. When he finished work. Late in the day. Give him time to get home, don't want to call while he's driving.

I found some good articles about what to say when there's no chemistry. I wrote a few lines down. I said them aloud, trying to imagine myself saying them over the phone. I just about broke out in a rash, I was so nervous. Had to be this way though, have some courage and do what you know is right. If you can't do it face-to-face, then at least - at the very least - do it over the phone.

Then my childish side kicked in: Hang on. Why should I have to call him to tell him this? He asked me out on a date via a text message. Surely I can do it this way too?

I grappled with this for ages. I swayed between having some balls and calling him, to being weak and texting him.

It was after five and I knew I had to do it. It was getting too late and I didn't want to be rude. I did a practice run and felt incredibly sick. And I'm ashamed to say, I took the cowardly way out. I texted him.

Niceties out of the way, this is what I sent:

This is probably going to sound shit no matter how it's worded... I had a lot of fun last weekend and am glad to have met you, I think you're a great guy, but I just don't think the chemistry is there. Which is crap because I think you're great, honestly. But I can't ignore chemistry. I really appreciate being asked though and I'll probably regret it later, but this is how I'm feeling and I want to be honest.

He responded within ten minutes:

No worries, honesty is the best policy, I appreciate that! Take care and look after yourself.

There was another smiley face. (Is a 37-year old man too old for smiley faces?)

RELIEF. Fuck, I felt better. Well, kind of. What a nice response. I'd probably have felt better if he had said Bitch. Made me angry so I could justify ending something before it began via a text message. But if he gets to ask me out that way, I get to end it that way.

I just feel so much better now that it's sorted. I know I let myself get way too worked up over it all, but I hate any kind of confrontation or when I think I'm letting someone down. Maybe I'm flattering myself too much anyway, maybe it wasn't that big of a deal to him. Whatever, that doesn't really matter. I had originally planned to see him at least once more before I made up my mind but my gut wouldn't let me. I've been like this since the first non-high school guy when I was eighteen: I went all weird and couldn't figure it out. Not straight away. It's the only time I know 100% what my gut instinct is. God, I appreciate that.

So there you have it. A short-lived textual relationship.

Nice

A couple of weeks ago, a friend said to me that she wanted me to meet a friend of her husband's. He's nice, she said. Really nice. He's just a nice guy who owns his own business, likes animals, loves music, loves a good time. He's nice. Great, I said. I like nice.

We met on the weekend, at our mutual friend's housewarming party. He was nice. He was nice to talk to. He was nice to his friends. He was nice in bed. He was nice in the morning. He was nice in the text he sent me. He was nice.

Finally, a nice guy who is interested in me. That's nice.

Except. Except, of course, you know what's coming, don't you? Nice isn't always enough, is it?

It's nice to feel butterflies in your tummy when you think of him. It's nice to jump with wound-up excitement whenever your phone's message alert beeps. It's nice to plan what you're going to wear when you see him next. It's nice to lie in bed at night and remember what you did to each other and feel the pit of your stomach turn warm.

We're supposed to be going out this week. I don't want to call it a date.

So, what do you do? What do I do? Am I wrong, is nice enough? Do you need the anticipation of the next text, the next phone call, the next time you kiss? Or do you enjoy the certainty that all of those things will happen because he's nice and that's what nice guys do?

Is chemistry overrated? Is it a good idea to build a relationship on friendship alone? Where does attraction fit into all of that?

I remember being told once that it is always better to have someone be more into you than you are to them. I remember being incredibly shocked that someone could be so calculated in a relationship, but now, I do see the benefits. In a horribly selfish way, it's like having the upper hand. In a way, it's how I imagine most men feeling.

It's never easy though, is it? Finally a nice guy and he's perfect on paper. He's into me. That's nice, it really is. But I don't want a nice paper boyfriend, I want some passion and I want butterflies and I want things to get things to get hot.

I kind of feel like I'm (for want of a better expression) digging my own grave here, turning away a nice guy.

A year ago today. Can you believe how fast time has gone by? Nothing much has changed in that year except that she's home now. These days I think I don't feel the same about him, it's more of a habit to feel like I do/did.

I did think that with it being a year since I told him how I felt, that it would be somehow meaningful to sign up for internet dating today. You know, like, it's been a year and this is how much I've moved on.I haven't signed up for internet dating, but I don't think I can do it. I've heard several success stories: a girl I go to uni with met her current boyfriend just recently and another is having fun dating some guys. I've checked a few sites out and have seen guys on there that I know. This town is too small. I don't know, I don't think I can do it. The thought of telling people I met someone on the internet plays on my mind. I don't know why I care what other people think, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't care. And why is it that I care so much about what Fletch would think?

So for now, I don't think I can. And that's okay. But seriously - a whole year since that night?! That blows my mind.

Internet Dating?

I'm considering doing it.

But I'm scared. But I think it's my only option: Lara and Fletch aren't going anywhere; all of my friends are coupled up; no-one has any single friends; I don't go out much; I don't meet new people; and rather than bitch about being single, why not do something proactive? The three girls I go to university with all have internet dating success stories. P from What Possessed Me met her Fauxhawk on the net and had Blogland's best love affair before getting married earlier this year.

Of course, there are plenty of cons: I can't imagine telling people I met someone on the internet. Love isn't supposed to happen like that. You never know what you're getting: at least if you meet someone through mutual friends, they can give you the low-down first. Mostly, a lot of the time, it just doesn't sit right.

So, go ahead. Talk me into it. Talk me out of it.

Tell me what you think.

...

Sometimes I think this blog is dead. I'm having trouble relating to the girl who wrote all those posts. I don't want those posts to be there anymore. But I don't want to delete them either. I guess I don't want them as part of me.

I can't think of anything to write about. I don't feel like I can reinvent Without Rhyme or Reason. I think it's ran its course.

Maybe I'll start a new one. Secret blogs seem to be popping up all over the place. I do want you guys along for the ride (I kind of luff you all), but I don't want the ghosts of Fletch and Lara to come along. I want to be free of them - in blogland anyway, if not in reality.

I don't know. Maybe Without Rhyme or Reason has just derailed. Maybe I can pop it back up on its tracks. Maybe. Maybe not.

Diary Notes

I was sorting out old diaries the other day, ones from when I was in Ireland. This is what constituted a good night when living in a hostel:

"I sat with Dave the Australian and Robbie Williams - whose real name I never did find out - until 4.20am when I went to bed. When the other two guys came up, there was no snoring and in the morning, we weren't woken by people, asking if we'd shit on the bathroom floor."

That was written on 9 December 2007. My life was so different back then. In ways that I crave (and ways that I don't - living in a hostel was fun but also involved being woken up to ask if anyone had shit on the bathroom floor). And it's sad because I don't think I can ever be that person again.

Ugly

She sat in front of me, her body twisted in her seat. Her clothes looked to be a size too small, they looked uncomfortably tight. Her t-shirt rode up, exposing a roll of fleshy, pale skin, scarred with faded stretch marks.

Her clothes were black, but they were covered in short, coarse hairs, like a dog's. Her own hair was long and tied back into a low ponytail. It had been bleached, but it wasn't blonde. A thick streak of crimson ran through it, but it too was faded. The hair was so dry, it looked like I could reach out with my hands and snap it off at the hair-tie. I couldn't see one strand that didn't have a split end.

Beyond her hair, I could see large, angry pimples covering her neck. They were red, like they had had the life squeezed out of them. They looked painful.

Don't look at her, I thought to myself. She was making me depressed and a bit sad, like that feeling of homesickness you can get when aren't even away, but you just really need to get back home as quickly as possible to feel okay again. But my eyes kept going back to her. I couldn't stop looking at her. I felt a strange mixture of fascinated repulsion. I couldn't find one appealing quality, one redeeming feature.

When the class ended, I quickly left the room. I had to get out of there, get away from the girl and all of her offensiveness. As I walked back to my car, I scolded myself for thinking so harshly of someone I had never met before, never even spoken to. She's probably a really nice girl, I told myself. It's not as if you're a supermodel yourself, I reminded myself. But I just couldn't shake that feeling.

Safe inside my car, I moved the gears into Reverse and looked over my shoulder, accelerating slowly. I could see someone a few meters away, so I waited. I had considered just taking off anyway, making them wait for me, but stopped myself. Don't be rude, I said.

But the person took their time, meandering along, while I waited, my patience quickly coming to an end. Come on, I muttered under my breath. Fucking hurry up. Can't you see I'm waiting for you? You'd have thought they would be polite and pick up the pace a little. There wasn't any way they could have missed the white, fog-like smoke coming out of the car's exhaust pipe. The person knew I was waiting.

The figure got closer and closer. It was the girl. The ugly girl. I wanted to slam my foot to the accelerator. Maybe not run her over, but at least give her a scare, but I didn't. She took her sweet time walking past, looking into my car as she did.

I floored the accelerator just as she was out of the way. Ugly, I thought. Ugly person. Ugly ugly ugly.

And this is exactly why I haven't been posting for a while. I'm seeing ugliness everywhere. I feel ugly, especially when I think thoughts like the above.

It's not all doom and gloom though. I've reconnected with an old friend, one I used to work with before I left for Ireland in 2007. I thought this girl was... well, a bit of a psychopath back then. But she was pregnant then and going through a really rough time. You know that narky little thing people say about pregnant women: It's not an illness? Well, with her, it really was. She was the sickest (we're talking multiple hospitalisations here. It's as if her body had a chemical reaction to the baby) pregnant woman I've ever know.

But we kept in touch and now that she's had the baby, she's great fun. I'm still a bit wary though, her psychoness used to come out of nowhere, so I'm on guard for the same thing to happen again.

I'm working with some fantastic people who seem to think the sun shines out of several orifices of mine. Which is lovely, of course, to have them think that. I have a crush on one of the guys I work with and that's fun. It's harmless though - he's married (so it's a very strong no-go) and I barely ever see him, but Not-So-Psycho (who I'm working with again, although in another job altogether [we live in what seems to be a tiny, tiny village]) and I have a big girly giggle over our crush.

So I saw Lara and Fletch a few weeks ago. I knew they were going to be where I was that night and I made sure I got drunk before I went. All that was in the house was vodka and Midori, so because I think vodka straight tastes like paint stripper, I mixed the Midori in with it. Turns out I had the equivalent of eight rather large shots before I even left the house. By the time I met them, I felt no fear or anxiety. I haven't seen him, remember, since The Great 'He Ignored Me' Debacle of 2009.

He's put on some weight since I last saw him. Lara hasn't though, she was looking as fabulous as usual. I ignored them both for most of the night, talking to Molly instead. It wasn't on purpose.

And now that it's over, that first time of seeing him since I blurted out my big secret, I feel kind of free. In a similar way to when I realised the Hot Trainer had deleted me as a friend on Facebook (!!!) - with him, I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders, like I didn't have to check his profile a few times during the day, just to see what he had said, or if Marc with the Massive Muscles had written something. It had become a habit to do so and it was a relief that I couldn't. And it's sort of the same with Fletch. Maybe he had become a habit. Whatever it is, it feels okay. This feeling could be fleeting, though. I'm not getting my hopes up too high.

So, there you go. I haven't been blogging because everything is ugly, but it's not all bad. Clear as mud, right? Actually, just writing about the Ugly Girl has made me feel better. Maybe now I've purged it all, I will get past it and blog like a fiend again.

I miss you guys. Thanks for hanging around.