I love your music Sia, but that I have to break up with you. I’ll also be changing my ringtone. This can no longer be the soundtrack to my life. I don’t want to have an elastic heart anymore…
The game has changed. I’m sure if I had maintained a constant presence, I wouldn’t feel it this acutely. It’s like that time when I started watching Game of Thrones and had 4 seasons to catch up on (I was a late adopter who’s since reformed). I’ve been hibernating for a while so dating feels like getting hit by plot twists every 45 minutes, then being left without answers to life’s most important questions for a few months. Is Jon Snow alive? Where is Khaleesi? Is it a date of you don’t leave the house? Does calling me bae mean I’m your girlfriend? Etcetera etcetera…
So here I am, navigating this cesspool with an outdated playbook. I’ve read the literature. I took to dating like a Masters student to a research thesis. He’s just not that into you; It’s just a f***ing date; It’s called a breakup coz it’s broken; Maybe he’s just an a**hole; He texted; Act like a man, think like a woman; Why men love bitches. Yup. Read em all. Some were surprisingly good reads, but here I am still feeling my way in the dark. Don’t get me wrong, there was a moment there when I thought I was winning. When asked how many post-apocalyptic relationships I had, I would quite confidently say two… but that was before my software was updated, and a new term “situationship” was uploaded.
My playbook is still clearly circa 2003 when there were fewer shades of grey. In truth, I don’t care to update it too much – I like being cautiously optimistic. Much like an orchid, I thrive with a little structure. This new age “awkward meandering through something that feels like something that leads to sex that may or may not be something that continues for a time until one party wants to make it an official something” isn’t for me. Tried it. I like my sanity, thanks.
I know somewhere in this world there is another unicorn holding out for the something meaningful. But whilst I continue to walk around all doe-eyed and optimistic like Bambi, I’ll be working on improving my radar to better detect situationship-bringing-a**holes. From a distance. A long one.
And so I’ve learnt: no, it’s not a date if we don’t leave the house. That worked in Varsity when there was limited pocket money so a great night in was pizza, box wine and a bootleg movie. And the only time being called bae means anything is if it’s put on your social media timeline. More than once. With your face tagged.
Oh well, you live and learn. Aluta continua!
I’ve also changed my ringtone to something more fitting
…all eyes on me when I walk in, no question that this girl’s a ten, don’t hate me coz I’m beautiful …. now do the pretty girl rock rock rock…
Categories: Dear Diary