When faced with my demons I clothe them and feed them…

Hope Springs Eternal

Hi. Well, eyeing my last post I have to say I AM a romantic – much to my surprise, as I thought I was way beyond all of that.

Yet another of my weaknesses that M exploited, alas. I’ve kicked him out for good this time. He’s a nasty piece of work. Not worth my sympathy or even my pity. He certainly has none for me.

Yet, I’m OK. Life is most definitely going on. I feel remarkably positive in the circumstances.

Yesterday I decided to treat myself and spent about a hundred quid in one day. A nice meal in the Hare Krishna restaurant in Soho Street, new clothes from H and M, some beautiful, no expense spared face creams from The Body Shop (we mature ladies need to look after our skin) and going to see ‘On the Road’ at the Curzon Soho. I recommend it.

Got a funny story to tell you. I’ve continued to peruse Match.com with very little success so far. I look in vain for someone who loves to write and doesn’t want to walk hand in hand into the bloody sunset as soon as possible. As if. But my ‘profile’ and photo are on another site as well, called OKCupid. I joined it accidentally, only realising afterward that it is for 18-22 year olds! Bit of a howler really. Then I find I’m being viewed and even ‘chosen’ by several young guys. One was particularly adorable and ‘rated’ me four or five stars. He is 19!

Only way I can explain it is that the photo I posted was a nice, soft-focus one taken at my graduation when I was 45! Well as you can imagine, this made my day. The irony of it all. Meanwhile the men of my own age continue to bore and repel me equally. I especially love the ones who struggle with even writing a few words to describe themselves. Is this really modesty? Or is it a chronic lack of self-reflection in their lives? Not to mention the ones who can barely string a sentence together. Then there are all the ‘sporty’, outdoorsy photos. Look, I swim, I hike, I ride bikes. You’ve gotta like me! All sporty means to me is that you’re boring, blokey, predictable and not my type.

I know. I’m being a bitch and a snob. Can I really afford to be so particular?

The ones that look ‘sorta’ OK invariably want slimmer and younger than what I can offer. Then there’s the forbidding obstacle of how to disclose to them that I don’t work because I have a mental illness etc.

But mostly I am not inspired by what I see dear reader.

Still I’m not sorry I signed up. It’s a nice distraction, looking to see who’s viewed my profile, sent me a message or whatnot. And I’ve got two months and two weeks left to find my soulmate!

Wish me luck, darlings. I’ll surely need it.

 

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Comments on: "Hope Springs Eternal" (1)

  1. Bristol Michael said:

    I’d say mental illness is hard enough work (“I don’t work”) in itself. Have you considered that sensitive soul known as Boris Johnson? 😉

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