I went out this evening, with a fashionable cap jammed over my decidedly unfashionable hair, and walked 10 miles, because I am determined and because exercise is good for my mood and my waistline. And my back. The only time it doesn’t hurt is when I am actively moving around.
While I was walking, I did some thinking about my predicament.
- I need to stop stressing about my hair, it will eventually grow back. In the meantime, it is short, which is what I asked for, and therefore it will do the required job which is to not put any unnecessary drag or tension on my hair and help it to be on my head and not on the floor. So. It could be worse. I don’t like the way it looks but it is functionally OK. I can wear a hat most of the time outdoors. It will also look better if I lose some weight, because that makes everything look better, and this is definitely not a curvy girl hair cut. If I drop ten pounds, this hair cut will instantly look better. I have some clothes like that. I will just have to slim myself into this hair cut, the way that I (attempt to) slim into swimwear.
- Calling the dentist was a good idea, as well as brave. This is really going to force me to reform bad habits of yore which I allowed myself to lapse into, such as coffee and smoking. I don’t know when or why I allowed those things back in my life, but the dentist will soon shoo them away.
- My back is hurting me and that’s not making me cheerful, however, in just the same way that my hair cut is at least functionally successful with regard to helping my hair to stay on, this back pain is going to be functionally successful in getting me moving. Yanno? I could have stayed indoors this evening, saying a romantic goodbye to smoking and coffee but going out for a three-hour walk was actually a lot more physically comfortable. So that is good. There’s nothing stopping me from going out for a long march or going for a swim every day, is there, and now I have a very good reason to want to do it, so I shall go a lot, until I weigh 130 pounds or until my back pain has disappeared, or both.
Now we get to the more difficult things.
I love the Honcho a lot, but this most definitely says more about me than it does about him, as he is not the most pleasant man I have ever met. I love the Honcho, partly because there are things about him that I admire and find sexy, but mostly because I let myself love him and I don’t let myself have those kinds of feelings about other people. This is because I am very commitment-phobic and keen to avoid getting into another serious, real-life relationship, yet at the same time I still want intimacy and romance and all that jazz, just like everybody else does. In this context, the Honcho succeeds in two ways.
- Although I continue to be interesting to him, three years down the line, for reasons which are personal to him, he doesn’t actually care about me. He doesn’t give a shit. He is a completely safe bet if you are me. He is never going to say “I love you too, this is everything I’ve ever wanted, let’s get married, why don’t you come and live in my semi-detached so we can argue about gas bills and go on family holidays”. I think you can see how super important this is, he comes with this built-in insurance policy, it’s like the relationship has been inoculated against certain outcomes.
- Again, for his own personal reasons, as interesting as I may be, we are not physically present in each other’s lives. Maybe that is an extension of point 1.
Anyway. I am kind of relieved that he has taken the initiative of indicating that we should stop talking now, because we just plain don’t get along. He has his own methods of delivering sudden ecstasy, but when you take into account the amount of bickering, the signal-to-noise ratio is unbearable. I am going to have to get these needs met somewhere else. This is a bit scary. I don’t like relationships. But if I want to meet someone different who can deliver the things I want, hopefully a bit better, then what I should do is let the Honcho go ahead and cut off the supply. He is a cranky, malfunctioning emotional life support system and my security blanket, and what I need to do is turn it off and put it down. He doesn’t like being a blanket. It doesn’t suit him.
I go back and back to him because he is familiar. I need to stop now, I’m glad he has indicated ‘stop’. It is just a bit scary because I feel like I don’t know where my next meal is coming from, and I don’t trust anyone else to feed me. You’ll notice I didn’t fall in love with Nurse Moody, and he was living in my house, tending my injuries and cooking actual food.
The Life You Want
Right, so for various reasons, only some of which I’ve blogged about, my life over the last 6 months has been a huge motorway pile-up of stressful life events and unusually massive fuck-ups. This of course being the reason why I am depressed and my hair is falling out and why I need the Honcho and give him more attention than I ought. So as I was on my big walk this evening, contemplating my situation, I imagined myself some time next year, describing and summarising 2014. I imagined myself saying “the first half of the year was a catalogue of disasters but then the second half of the year was absolutely amazing and fabulous and I did all these things that were long-awaited ambitions”. I would like it if this came true, I would like to be able to say this next year, it would be good. There’s nothing stopping me but a dodgy haircut. I am single, my life is my own, I can do what I want.
The second half of 2014 is almost here so I’d better get thinking and then moving. If I am not happy then it is my responsibility to do something about that, to make things happen. It is not anyone else’s responsibility.
Blah blah blah. Thanks for enduring this long post. 1 Health point.