Mirror , mirror…

Riley & Company Funny Bones Cling Mounted Stamp Deja Poo Definition

Some days are for comedy…Some are for tragedy…

They say opposites attract and, in most cases, it is true.

Fire and ice, oil and water, wind and earth, Linton and Earnshaw, strength and weakness, you and him. Paired items, whether they go together or not.

But, what happens when you are attracted to someone who is exactly the same as you are? Your mirror image? The carving out of the same stone? When the man you are staring at, talking to, reaching for, falling for, is the gender opposite version of you?

I met such a man (I mentioned in a previous post a man I sparked with, this was him). The chemistry was explosive, reactive and like nothing I have experienced in my life prior to my meeting him and he had a personality to match.

In his responses to life, I found my own; in his handling of people, I found my actions mirrored; and, for some time, this was a comfort and my attraction to him intensified and my emotions deepened.

Then I saw it…

The flight.

That moment when you look at the other person and know you are no longer theirs. That moment where the hold is released and, where you once stood on solid ground, you find yourself drowning.

You can’t belong to them, you won’t, because you can’t. In that moment, it’s not about the other person, it is about you. You, can’t commit; you, can’t be fair; you, can’t.

This time, the look was not my own. It belonged to him and I recognized it because it once belonged to me – the look of the flight.

I have given this look many a time, with the same reassuring smile and a distance unreachable in my eyes. I recognized this look. I had given this look and now I was receiving this look.

And, for the first time in my life, I hurt.

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Old fashioned dating and the modern breakup

Well, I’m back – not that I’m entirely sure that anyone but my best friend noticed but hey let me pretend for a moment longer that someone (I do not personally know) reads my little ramblings. So let me start:

SATC-breakup-post-it
At least Carrie got a note…

In many respects I find myself rather old-fashioned, I do not have wi-fi in my home, facebook nor do I subscribe to any television networks or dating websites/apps which render the dating world a whole lot more accessible (not that I write off the idea quite yet).

No, I am old-fashioned young(ish) human that enters the dating world first by meeting the person physically (bars, shopping malls, neighbours, gym, bumping into randomly), exchanging numbers (surprisingly a cellphone and not landline) and then pursuing conversations, meeting up a couple of times until we either end up dating (usually rather casually – hey that rhymed) or parting ways.

However, there is one aspect of modern dating that I cannot escape and, experience more often than I care to admit, and that is the modern break up. I find, on many an occasion, that when dating someone I believe everything to be going swimmingly and then no words, no texts, nothing –incognito. And the existence of your former flame seems like a foggy dream you once had yet struggle to hold onto or remember.

In my mind, I can’t help but wonder; do I not deserve the courtesy of being told I am no longer interesting, that you grew tired of catering to my company?

Hmmm I’m not sure I enjoy this modernity. Have we moved so forward in technology that courtesy, manners and respect have been out-programmed in our human nature.

Winter Wonderland 

  
While my Instagram fills up with images of the beach and tanned bodies, South Africa is enwrapped in the icy breath of winter. Sure, it hasn’t been THAT cold but when the evening comes and I’m wrapped in a blanket in front of the heater, I can tell you those instagram pics become even more desirable. 

 While summer is synonymous with summer flings and holiday romances, I am stuck in a winter cavern of boyfriends and cuddle buddies, with the often heard “sorry, I’m staying in with my boyfriend” line from most of your girlfriends. How was I not aware there was a seasonal transition from single to taken? All of a sudden people are holding hands and being exclusive whilst last week they were Yolo-ing the tequila shots at a bar full of singles.

Maybe if I got the memo before, I would have secretly attached myself to one of these winter wonderland boyfriends, whose sole purpose is to entertain in the winter months and probably be left in the summer for a more suitable seasonal transition- single. 

Who would have thought dating is as seasonal as fashion trends (now, there’s something I could relate to) 

Technology: the villain 

  
I’m a great fan of technology, the way in which it connects people from one dimension to another and its allowance to be in constant contact with anyone in the world without tedious efforts or extensive procedures.
However, technology has a dark side, like someone in batman once said ” you either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become a villain.” Such was the case when I was casually scrolling through my various platforms of media ( I admit, I have far too many apps and social media pages ) and while checking LinkedIn (out of all pages) I mistakenly (honestly, this time) touched my exes page (damn touch screens! Damn iPads! And damn super sensitivity!). All of which is fine, except LinkedIn has a super awesome (dripping with sarcasm right here) feature that sends every person a notification as to who looked at their page… I died! 
I’m afraid to say I’ve seen technology become the villain, why had I not given it up sooner and allowed It to bask in the glorious-ness of being an all-connecting hero, why???? …but no! Instead I click just anything.

You’re welcome ex of mine, now spend your day thinking that I was thinking of you. My pleasure (I won’t lie, I am finding it funny as well) 

Attempts to avoid awkwardness…

Redland Rapscallion

I am usually the most ridiculously honest person ever. I have no secrets. People always joke that I’d make a bad spy and or murderer because straight away I’d crack and be like “Ooooh do you want to know how I did it? I have photos!” Ready for instagram, #guilty.

And yet I have told very few people about the most embarrassing story in my life. A story I am not about to share on a blog where it could be used against me in the future. But basically it involves a wheelchair user, a dancefloor and me setting the fire alarm off… Horrific. It makes me shudder just thinking about it.

I am not the most socially awkward person I know (that award goes to a lovely fellow housemate, she knows who she is) but I certainly seem to get into more than my fair share of awkward situations.

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The curse of the bad kiss

Is there anything worse than a bad kiss? Now I’m well aware that this topic is not new nor is it particularly unheard of, in fact I’m sure if I googled bad kissing an endless queue of blogs, articles and pictures are bound to come up. The list of bad kisses is endless; from the over-enthusiastic tongues resembling washing machines, to the lizard like movements of another and then the gaping hole where nothing happens but the lips do not stop moving ?! All of which confuse me to endless bounds, how is it that some men just do not know how?!?! But the worst kiss of all must be the one you wish would work. Let me elaborate;

There was a man who I was completely in lust with, his features resembled those of a Greek statue brought to life by perfection itself. His thoughts were so intriguing that I was almost was completely hypnotized by his every syllable and while I thought I stood no chance ( I do believe he is way out of my league) he asked me to come away with him and I did. Tension built between the two of us and thoughts of unsure nature soon took over. An hour into our trip and the kiss was done… But something was off; his kiss.
Oh how I willed Our kiss to be that of the most romantic films, of stories untold and passions unfolded…instead it was average, completely and irreversibly average…and I found myself unsure how to feel. Although he still intrigues me and I think of him often I have decided That for me is the worst kind of kiss; the wishful one, the one that was meant to be electric that passerbys would feel it just as intensely

And it just isn’t.

The middle

Having been in a relationship for 4 years with a man who had spent more time at my place than he did his own, certain habits were picked up, that, once broken up, i found kind of hard to shake.

Last night was the first time I managed to shake off one of these habits. Trivial in nature, but it somehow broke some chain within my spirit that kept me held to a former flame. What habit you may ask? Which side of the bed I slept on.

Having spent years getting cosy and comfortable with the right hand side of the bed, to the point where I’m sure my mattress took the shape of my body, I decided to try something new; I slept in the middle of my big bed…by myself.

Now I’m aware that I am slightly strange and my ‘quirks’ (as my kind friends have aptly named my little habits) are of a peculiar nature but, this small action meant so much to me. In a way I felt that if I could break the habits that the relationship had created (you will find, I’m a rather restless soul who does not cope well with habits within the realms of relationships) I could move on. reclaimed the space in which he lay, my space, and got rid of the habitual nature that had become our relationship.

Finally, I was ready to invite a new person into bed without feeling like the old one was still there .

And then… I bought a new bed.

P.S. Best I start off fresh again