Letting go

So I am currently still trying to divorce the Arsehole ex. (He whose name must not be spoken will be referred to as Mr A(rsehole) from here forward.) In between the aftermath of seeing Mr F and trying to understand how and why I put up with sooo much shit from Mr A I discovered that I’m still totally fucked up and still have a lot of healing to do. In order to make it through the messy hell of divorcing a narcissist whilst trying to heal and not implode, somethings had to go. The first was work.
I needed some time out. It was the first time I’d ever admitted defeat and listened to my body. It was screaming at me to STOP. So rather than experience the breakdown that I could feel hurtling towards me with the force of a thousand Lewis Hamiltons, I took a leave of absence that would go on to last five months. 

Second to go was Tinder, Okcupid and the search for sex. I could not be doing with the stress of online dating with all its checking and waiting and swiping and updating and poor results. It seemed as though turning 36 had taken me over the desirability threshold. Notifications dried up; no fish were biting. This was like a death nell to my vagina which was already having a MAJOR self evaluating crisis over the appearance of a few grey hairs. To be honest though I was too busy just trying to make it through each day to do anything about it: there were no ‘come fuck me’ photos to edit or warm smiles to flaunt, no full body shots for me to upload. I didn’t have the energy to come up with any more witty but not too intimidatingly clever one liners. I weaned myself away from daily swiping, deleted the apps and focused on living life offline. There were a few trips back to it all but after a day or two I was always left underwhelmed by what was on offer.  

The last thing to go was my car. My first baby. I bought it in 2003 and sold it for £90 in May 2015. I thought I’d shed a tear but instead I felt liberated. These days I’m in the world not in my car. I’m connected. In the rain. In the warm sunshine. Connected to the pavement as well as the person sitting next to me on the train. 

I’ve let go of all sorts of things. Tossed weight out of my canoe and into the sea. I’m paddling to the left and then to the right, plunging my oar silently into the water. Life feels lighter, as does my boat, as do I. 

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The era of non trust

How do relationships work these days? I mean what are the actual mechanics that make it tick along?

Let’s look at the order of things.
A. You meet someone online that isn’t repulsive that is actually interesting that you fancy to whatever degree.
B. You exchange telephone numbers.
C. You arrange to meet in real life.
D. You get on
E. You have sex
F. You arrange to meet again
G. You get on
H. You have sex.
Repeat C-H for a couple of weeks
And then you discover that actually no one minds fucking other people right in front of or behind the back of the person they are meant to be primarily fucking and that instead of relationships we are all involved in one huge fucking orgy. You sort of suss out that the guy you are seeing is disposable and that you too can partake in the delights of this mass fucking bonanza. And that is exciting because it brings that variety and summons the spice that is so crucial to human life.
But who on this planet has the time? I have a demanding job. I have a social life that due to a Lazarus style resurrection is pretty healthy. I have two children. I have things to do damn it! So where I wonder am I supposed to fit in the juggling of sex partners? How the hell do I message the guys that I’m interested in without getting sacked, without my kids turning into Oliver Twist extras, without losing my mind?
I have considered getting a PA. But can’t afford one.
I have considered checking messages once a day. But it’s too addictive.
I am wired. Hooked on and into the system. And I quake.
Maybe having kids screws up my chances of success in this cut throat business. But I refuse to let motherhood define me or my sexuality. I wanted to have lots of amazing sex forever. That’s why I got married. And now? I must whither and die consigning my vagina to a lifetime of mechanical toys? Forget it. Nope. No way. I need a man between my legs with his heart beating fast not Duracell batteries operating an imitation. So what to do? What. To. Do?
Well no point in letting a good ride go once you’ve found one is there? I’m going to use this one until the sex ceases to feel fresh and exhilarating. And until I can no longer fathom the idea that it is a relationship only of sorts. When those moments present themselves, I will ask again for exclusive rights. If it’s a no no from Mr F then, like Ciara, I’m Out. We are all disposable in this era. And to a certain extent that’s no bad thing. We learn to let go of each other and accept that we own and control no one but ourselves. It’s all rather Buddhist actually. As long as we are all honest with each other. Lying, cheating bastards like my ex don’t deserve a place in the house of free love. The trouble is, I think people like him provide the foundations on which the house is built.

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Why so serious?

Time for some dating frivolity. So if you’ve been keeping up with me and my one a day for one year blog challenge you will know that the last time I dated prior to Deluded Dick was way back in 1998. Wow that’s actually last century. It was a time when stopping a girl in the street was a legitimate way of meeting someone. It was a time before Tinder.

Now I know there are a lot of mixed feelings about the Tinder app. You know how it goes… It’s just for people looking for sex…it’s a hook up site…guys post pictures of their abs and penises… It’s shallow and based only on appearance blah blah blah. Well ok that camp has it’s opinion and though it’s not a free world, folks can think what the hell they want. But if you are trying to date online those arguments don’t make much sense.

So hmm let’s see. Firstly yes it is for people looking for sex. Yep. Can’t argue with that. I am looking for sex. And…the problem is what exactly? Aren’t we all. I’m pretty sure the guys and gals over on Eharmony want to fuck someone too. Oh. Sorry. My mistake they want to fuck somebody who has a degree or is 5.11 or likes books or (and this is my pet hate criteria) likes to travel. Now to me all of that seems a bit shallow. If a guy is broke and can’t afford to take snaps up a mountain does that mean he is not worthy? If a guy is 5.6 does that mean he is lacking in some area of masculinity? And level of education? There are some smart pieces if shit out there. And what’s more one does not fuck a degree or an MA certificate. And a sheet of paper is no reflection of someone’s character or emotional intelligence. A high paying job won’t stop them from cheating on you. Good character can’t be a tick box quality. I mean who would choose not to tick a box that indicates yes I am a nice human being? So complicated. And then you’ve got to sell yourself! Aaaagghhhh! You actually have to write your own flipping press release. Now one could say that the writing of faux self deprecating nonsense or self grandiose spiel is distasteful and discriminatory. I mean what if you are crap with words but are a kind and talented artist? What if you come across as an awesome catch but the truth is you’ve written nothing but lies?

I think it’s best to just show your best self. Smile at a camera and see who bites? I’d rather have someone who I fancy and who on the basis of a couple of photos fancies me. Not someone who is necessarily an Adonis but someone who whets my appetite. Also truth be told I am lazy and hate with an absolute passion filling in forms online. If too much info is required of me I click the x. Even setting up this blog was touch and go.

Tinder is a nice Luke warm step into the sea of love. There may be sharks out there but at least I don’t have to pay to swim with them or don a full scuba diving outfit to get wet. It’s free and honest. Unless you write up a press release that is make believe. Like my ex, who I happened to see whilst happily swiping one day. And yes before you ask I did indeed swipe left. But not before taking a screen shot and cackling wildly to my friends over the hilarious profile he’d written. Some people are just plain crazy. Don’t believe their hype but do believe in their photo. As long as the person who you end up meeting in real life is the same as the one you’ve been communicating with you’ll be good to go. Then all you’ve got to suss out is whether or not they’re a waste of time or if they’re likely to slit your throat.

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