3. January 2017 by swissfitchick
I got this comment on one of my latest posts:
‘I love the way you live your life. You are probably the most free person I know. You do things and take risks most people will never even consider attempting. It’s amazing to watch. I’m so glad to call you my friend. xoxo’
So. Words like this definitely mean the world to me, especially coming from one of my best, smartest, toughest, funniest and gorgeous friend. My friends are my family, true fact and I can’t imagine life without them.
Also, my goal for 2017 is to do whatever the fuck I please as usual. Right. My obsession for New Year resolutions knows no bounds.
So much for the intro which I am always extremely passionate about.
Now. Can I just fly off the tangent quickly and talk about an old known subject – our relationship status. So, being single is all fun and game and all until you have to celebrate the holiday season in aforementioned status and get to take pictures of kissing couples at midnight. I was thinking of forcing myself to pass out before midnight, pretending I don’t have emotions. I then opted for the busy version and took the nightshift at work with the teens. Because thug life, bro.
Throughout the night, while waiting for the partypeople to come home and watching the fireworks on the rooftop with the younger kids, one of them asked me:’ Luce, who is your man?’ I almost choked on my virgin champagne while I was trying to figure out as to how on earth I could get out of this predicament. Thinking longingly of an alcoholic beverage too. Well played, kid, well played.
Well, I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to say out loud to this little human what I was actually thinking about this subject – I then decided to shut down my eager urge to yell my thoughts at everyone’s face for once. Then my heart melted a little before it exploded and I wanted to hug this little man, promising him that no one receives my giant amount of love but them – these kids.
Later that night I started pondering and wondering – in a world where love at first sight is taunted, where ‘we met online’ is becoming a frequent sentence in love story conversations and where the ambition to show off as the coolest, funniest, smartest, most beautiful and most relaxed couple is set as a top goal – are we all mentally fucked up as the mid-thirties in 2017? Does the innocent emotion called LOVE fall short of our high expectations? When it comes to carefree living, dating and kissing – did we miss the boat? When did relationships become so analysis-friendly? And when, please when, did fuckin’ ghosting become a thing? I know I used this term before, but I figure it deserves a repeat proclamation – I hate ghosting with a passion. Fucking cowards, wtf. Or when did the voice-message-spamming-hype start? At least, the overload of creepy voice messages on my phone provided priceless entertainment at dinner parties with my peeps. So, what to reply to the questioning look of a little child who has no idea about today’s transcendental lovelife? That ghosts, in fact, exist? Pun intended, go figure.
For the time being, we have two sorts of choices. Binding disordered weirdos (I might be one of them, just sayin’) or clingy limpets who want to inhale you like a juicy steak after seeing one blurry picture online. Suffice to say – meeting a guy who isn’t mentally fucked up is basically the equivalent to a unicorn sighting. I fear that this isn’t even gender segmentation. There seems to be a bloody collective agreement in these shady female and male mindsets. Also, society? I’m 38.5 and not married. 90% of the time I own this fact happily. But then again I get the impression I’m supposed to feel like an alien to the system. I’m single, people. Not sick. Or disordered. Ok, maybe a little. But in a good way, I swear.
So, being single is all fine and dandy until you reach the point of having to deal with all this fuckedupness. I leave you with a cutout of a single mind to end this post:
- I want a relationship, relationships seem fun and safe. Insert smirk here.
- Fuck it, I want sex. Now. (Scrolling through my contacts. Rolling eyes. Irritatingly coughing. Capitulating and throwing phone into the corner, switch on ‘Californication’.)
- Only assholes in this world. Seriously, what the actual fuck. Insert homicidal verbal excesses here.
- (After noticing and remembering that no relationship is only rainbows, cakes and unicorns): I prefer being single. Bring on the next trip, the carefree party crashing , the fun casual affairs, the wild sex and all the freedom.
- Should I try Tinder again? Insert weeping here.
- Leave.me.the.fuck.alone. If I say I haven’t got time, I’m just not in to you. What exactly is so difficult to understand here.
- I want to take couple pictures. Of me and my significant other. Insert weeping.
- Swipes through 10 Tinder pictures. Weeps. Disables App.
- Texts with four different optional dates. Makes up codenames in order to have a clearly arranged overview for conversations with girlfriends. Travels in highs for a couple of days.
- I’m scared of a relationship. Give me a ‘relationship-for-dummies’ or I won’t try this project no more.
- Fuck off I throw in the towel and become a princess. Hang on, I need a prince to dance that tango. Insert weeping here.
Being single is all fun and game BECAUSE it gives me space to escalate in my sarcasm, cycnicism and analysing the irony of a single life in today’s mental world. As much as I wish for Love, I enjoy this part of being single – amongst other bonuses – to the max.