People Problems

I’m not miserable exactly, but I am pensieve, reflective, sometimes sad and other times not. I refuse to let myself be miserable because I have nothing to be miserable for. Misery is for people with regrets, I have none. I know that I gave my all.

Yesterday morning I was singing to myself. As I flung open the curtains I couldn’t help when LeAnn Rimes “Life Goes On” came to mind. In some many ways then it was the perfect song because it was exactly how I feel now; it wasn’t a back-at-you song exactly, it’s just facts. I’m not going to be excessively angry and sour, I’ve just come to realise that some people aren’t worth my time anymore.

And now that I’m moving on without them I’m better able to surround myself with the people who support me, accept me and love me unconditionally. It feels good, that I can just be me around some people and they love me anyway. Some of my readers and my friends, there’s just a whole new level of warmths and happiness when people don’t care what you look like or what you do, they just love you for you. It’s so wholesome and it makes me grateful.

“Where did we go wrong?” I mutter to myself. It’s almost thinking aloud and it’s in a moment of sadness. It’s hard to believe that two people who could start off so happy could end in something so toxic and bitter, but it happened. I remembered his overt willingness to go for STI screening before we became intimate and it made me question my own judgement. Perhaps he wasn’t so bad?

But that’s just part of the problem you see? The world isn’t divided into ‘all-good’ and ‘all-bad’ people, there is no such binary. Even I’m not all good, I do roll my eyes sometimes, though I do only roll my eyes when people are rude or obtrusive to me. I can come across as a bit of a sassypants too, though again usually only in response to people who are trying to assert authority over me.

I’m a firm believer in karma: If you’re kind to me, I’ll be kind to you. If you help me, I’ll help you. If you’re rude to me, I’ll be rude to you.

You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. Treat others how you wish to be treated, etc.

Last night we settled down to some Googlebox and I learned something from Planet Sex With Cara Delevingne. When we orgasm, the human brain releases endocanninoids – essentially the brains own natural high. For me that’s like cannabis without the parts of cannabis that I so hate: the taste and the smell.

“Holy shit, no wonder I’m always a happy girl” I giggle. I do love me a good orgasm. My mother and brother are potheads and “shroomies” and me? I’m something of a nymphomaniac.

Fortunately, unlike possession of a Class A or Class B drug, wanking myself into eternal happiness is not illegal.

Also last night we watched the first Zombieland, which I later learned is already thirteen years old. Matt didn’t think I’d enjoy it and I didn’t think I would either, though I actually found it quite entertaining. It was graphic enough to be a bit “squicky”, but not graphic enough to leave me feeling really, really horrified. In fact, I think Hot Fuzz is probably more graphic, and even that I can handle.

But what become glaringly obvious to me was the typical movie trope; Dweeby, hopeless romantic guy, cute, jittery girl, he’s totally not her cup of tea until he saves her ass and then they fall hopelessly in love. Drop curtain, roll the credits.

So then it’s not hard to see how, when the (real life) girl neither wants nor needs saving or doesn’t fall in love with the guy when he saves her, it cau really cause some upset. I mean, didn’t he just save her? And didn’t the movies all promise that this ended with kisses and wedding bells?

Well, yeah, about that. Sorry guys, but it’s really just a marketing ploy and that’s not usually how it goes.

I’m reminded of a line from a song that I’ve found myself listening to lately, Ava Max’s “Kings & Queens”

No damsel in distress don’t need to save me… ,,, you might think I’m weak without a sword, but if I had one it’d be bigger than yours.

In truth, then if the movie showed a guy and a girl heading around town, treating one another with respect and taking it in turns to pop off a zombie here and there until all of the zombies were dead and then realising that they couldn’t have done it wothout the other, it probably wouldn’t make a very cool zombie movie. Sorry.

If you want a good movie that shows how a relationship should be, you need Knight & Day. He saves her, she saves him. It’s perfection!

I may also be irritating enough to do the whole “with me, without me” thing sometimes. Well a guy’s gotta know that he’d be lost without me, too!

There were bits of the movie that had me screaming at the TV as well, like the scene in which they literally walk right past a tank and don’t think to take it or learn how to drive it. Guys! You’re living in a zombie apocalypse and that thing could pop zombies like grapes, but sure, opt for your bright-yellow, zombie-attracting Hummer instead. You do you, boo.

This morning I heard from my mother. She said it’d been a few days, though really I’d spoken to her on Facebook last Thursday, been responded to with an “oh right” and decided against carrying on with a probably pointless conversation.

You don’t want a conversation with me? That’s okay. I’ve got plenty of other things to be doing, too.

This morning though she’s in a more chatty mood – most notably because she’s clean out of Christmas ideas for Matt and wondered if I had any suggestions. If you know me, you’ll know that I’m a firm believer in the 6 P’s and so I already have a suggestion for her, I just don’t drop said suggestion until she asks for it , heaven forbid she might actually be organised this year.

True to form for us Brits, talk turns to weather and how cold it has been as of late. Talk also turns to how, when it is cold, then we ache a little bit more.

“I’m not being funny love, but if you could lose a bit of weight then it probably would help” Mum says. I want to roll my eyes.

She is ‘being funny’. She’s hilarious, in fact.

The woman who criticised me for my weight is – probably on a PSI basis – probably as fat as I am, she’s just 7 inches shorter than me. I appreciate the concern, though as much is genuine care and concern as is projection. She’s not only projecting her concerns onto me, she’s projecting her insecurities, too.

A part of me wishes now that I’d told her I don’t want to continue with the conversation and I’d hung up there and then.

Alas, that isn’t how it went.

“I know, I am aware” I reply, my tone is probably far more flippant than I really wanted to convey.

“The thing is, I might have been externally healthy before but I wasn’t internally healthy, mentally” I say, “so whatever I do now, I want to do it right.”

Externally healthy but internally destroyed – anorexia nervosa by any other name. I’d reached my ideal BMI, sure, but I’d made myself phobic of sugar, salt and fat in the process In my anorexic eyes, anything creamy or cheesy was a heart attack on a plate.

“Well I suppose the two are linked, aren’t they?” she concedes.

We get talking about Christmas, and Mum mentions the hampers that she is making. The competitive air in me rises and I quell it.

Hampers were my idea, last Christmas and for environmental reasons (because they don’t use gift wrap, which usually contains plastic), but now she’s claiming that it was her idea from March. My mother and brother are foragers, and they’re sure that they can forrage good things to give as gifts. It’s going to be interesting to see how that turns out in a few weeks time.

I’m fighting myself now not to make hampers to give with only days to spare, kind of a last-minute thing: Palm-oil free, Rainforest Alliance stuff like I’m into now. Hmm-hmm…

I’ve got some meaningful gifts this year, things for which I am proud of. I bought a warm printed “letter to Dad” fleece blanket for my fatherin-law (who is struggling to keep warm with the Cost Of Living crisis) and a “mother & child” lamp for my mother, who has two dodgy ceiling lights in her living room. I’ve included two smart LED bulbs so she can dim, brighten and change the colour to her heart’s content. The irony isn’t lost on me either that I, my mther’s daughter, have bought a mother and child lamp, unknowingly, to give to my mother. The very meaning of my name is “light”.

Fate has a funny way sometimes.

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