First of all, let me confess that it still really, really bugs me to be sitting next to some (loudly) kissy couple who are somehow both sitting on the other's lap while waiting for the T in some underground station or other, where the sounds of smacking lips and giggles reverberate with a strange persistence unexplained by science.
Maybe that means I'm still bitter? Not sure.
BUT, I'm not bugged by Valentine's Day today. Not even a little. And let me tell you why:
1. There is not anyone I'm currently pining over. Somehow, I think being single on Valentine's Day becomes about ten times more difficult when there's someone you desperately want, who for some inexplicable reason doesn't want you. I am more than happy not to be in that state right now (and I hope never to be in it again), so the most angst I could muster up today would likely be in the form of a faint nebulous longing, or perhaps general irritation. Nothing big, like heart-wrenching, soul-tearing, cry-into-one's-pillow yearning. Nope. Not this year.
2. I have a brownie mix and two pints of Ben & Jerry's in the freezer. (Er, just the Ben & Jerry's is in the freezer. Not the brownie mix. That would be weird.) 'Nuff said.
3. I don't have to pretend to be social when I don't want to be. If I want to stay in to read a book or cross-stitch or watch Master and Commander or Superman Returns or Persuasion, (and I often do), I can. No one is pushing me to go out into the freezing cold wind (although 'freezing cold' doesn't quite seem to convey the lacerating nature of Boston's winter air currents) to go to a movie I didn't really want to see anyway. Although, I guess this could be a bad thing as well as a good thing. But right now, I'm seeing it as a good thing.
4. I get really tense in crowded situations. Which would make dining out tonight (usually pretty much a must on V-day for any couple in which the male part does not cook) an opportunity for jittery nerves which would slowly and irrevocably evolve into a full-blown panic attack.
5. I like me. I like me right now. Which means that I like me on Valentine's Day as well as on a day that isn't Valentine's Day. Which means that I'm not going to stop liking me and start being unhappy just because it is Valentine's Day. I like that I'm going to be a professional librarian (cross fingers, please!) within the next few months. I like that I like books and dogs and PBS and that I have brown eyes.
So frankly, Mr. St. Valentine's Day demon, you're going to try a heck of a lot harder to get me to feel bad today. Like maybe make my refrigerator break so my ice cream all melts and I can't consume it while reading a delightful novel after all. (Not that I want to give you any ideas or anything. So you can just ignore that last bit, okay?)
Showing posts with label singlehood angst. Show all posts
Showing posts with label singlehood angst. Show all posts
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Monday, August 18, 2008
I don't want to be bitter.
I realize that the last post is kind of bitter. Perhaps rather more bitter than I intended while writing it.
And I don't want to be bitter. I really don't. I want to be happy and have other people be happy to be around me and I don't want to get fed up with people. Really and truly.
Merhm.
Oh, well. I guess I'm just trying to figure out things by writing about them. And sometimes the writing is coherent and clear, and sometimes it's full of bitter ramblings. But maybe eventually I'll come to a better understanding. In the end.
And I don't want to be bitter. I really don't. I want to be happy and have other people be happy to be around me and I don't want to get fed up with people. Really and truly.
Merhm.
Oh, well. I guess I'm just trying to figure out things by writing about them. And sometimes the writing is coherent and clear, and sometimes it's full of bitter ramblings. But maybe eventually I'll come to a better understanding. In the end.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
So, why does this bother me so much?
Our lesson in Relief Society today was titled: "Establishing the Cause of Zion." Which, as interesting as it was, is important to this discussion only in a peripheral manner.
One of the sisters in my ward today had several family members who attended church with her, including her mom, and a couple of her sisters (at least one of whom is married).
You may think these two things may have nothing to do with each other, but they are, in fact, quite thoroughly connected. You see, during the course of the lesson, the teacher asked the class what we can do to help establish Zion. In response, this married sister talked about how she tried to help establish a Zion home with her children and husband, (which was all well and good), and then proceeded to gesture to her single sister (the sister in my ward) and said, "And, you know, even my sister [Gertrude] can establish Zion in her own home."
I felt my hackles raise, but it took me a bit of thinking to figure out why I was bothered so much by her comment. I kept asking myself, "Why is this hurtful?"
It was the 'even' that got me, I think. The 'even' implied superiority, as if she were saying that her own life was more valuable than the life of a single, that our lives were less meaningful, less important, and would never be as important until we were married and had children. As we are now, we could only achieve an 'even.'
I may be stating this too strongly. In fact, I'm quite certain I am; I seriously doubt that this sister had any idea that her comment could be taken in such a way. I am equally certain that she loves her single sister dearly and would never intentionally hurt her. And it's always, always too easy to judge from the outside. I also think that as singles, we can sometimes be hypersensitive to singlehood slights, eagerly taking offense where none was meant.
However, I really worry that there is an undercurrent in some of the thinking that goes on in the church, among both married and single members, that lends a subtle factual base to singles' defensiveness, and marrieds' (as perceived by the singles) smug superiority.
Maybe it's just that we're taught (at least as women; I kind of believe the men don't get this drummed into them) that being a spouse and parent really is the most important thing you can do with your life. The problem is that we all want to feel our lives our valuable, not just those who are lucky enough to have miraculously found someone with whom to reproduce. We all want to believe that we're making contributions, that we're not just treading water, or hanging out, or merely marking time until our Big Break. And for those of us who are single, (and I would guess for married, parent-ified folks too), we worry all the time that what we're doing just isn't important enough, that we'll be forgotten, that we're missing out on what our life calling is supposed to be.
And I ache for us.
And I don't have any kind of solution, either. I'm not sure if we could fix this by giving talks in church that read: "Every member is valuable. Singles, your lives are important. Married folks, your lives are important. And kids? Well, you can be important as long as you clean your rooms." Or maybe we should speak up when we hear comments that seem to invoke levels of worth. Or maybe we should just plunge our fists into our own hearts, root out the prejudice and fear, and drag them out into the open air to blow away, dissolved by their own insubstantiality.
One of the sisters in my ward today had several family members who attended church with her, including her mom, and a couple of her sisters (at least one of whom is married).
You may think these two things may have nothing to do with each other, but they are, in fact, quite thoroughly connected. You see, during the course of the lesson, the teacher asked the class what we can do to help establish Zion. In response, this married sister talked about how she tried to help establish a Zion home with her children and husband, (which was all well and good), and then proceeded to gesture to her single sister (the sister in my ward) and said, "And, you know, even my sister [Gertrude] can establish Zion in her own home."
I felt my hackles raise, but it took me a bit of thinking to figure out why I was bothered so much by her comment. I kept asking myself, "Why is this hurtful?"
It was the 'even' that got me, I think. The 'even' implied superiority, as if she were saying that her own life was more valuable than the life of a single, that our lives were less meaningful, less important, and would never be as important until we were married and had children. As we are now, we could only achieve an 'even.'
I may be stating this too strongly. In fact, I'm quite certain I am; I seriously doubt that this sister had any idea that her comment could be taken in such a way. I am equally certain that she loves her single sister dearly and would never intentionally hurt her. And it's always, always too easy to judge from the outside. I also think that as singles, we can sometimes be hypersensitive to singlehood slights, eagerly taking offense where none was meant.
However, I really worry that there is an undercurrent in some of the thinking that goes on in the church, among both married and single members, that lends a subtle factual base to singles' defensiveness, and marrieds' (as perceived by the singles) smug superiority.
Maybe it's just that we're taught (at least as women; I kind of believe the men don't get this drummed into them) that being a spouse and parent really is the most important thing you can do with your life. The problem is that we all want to feel our lives our valuable, not just those who are lucky enough to have miraculously found someone with whom to reproduce. We all want to believe that we're making contributions, that we're not just treading water, or hanging out, or merely marking time until our Big Break. And for those of us who are single, (and I would guess for married, parent-ified folks too), we worry all the time that what we're doing just isn't important enough, that we'll be forgotten, that we're missing out on what our life calling is supposed to be.
And I ache for us.
And I don't have any kind of solution, either. I'm not sure if we could fix this by giving talks in church that read: "Every member is valuable. Singles, your lives are important. Married folks, your lives are important. And kids? Well, you can be important as long as you clean your rooms." Or maybe we should speak up when we hear comments that seem to invoke levels of worth. Or maybe we should just plunge our fists into our own hearts, root out the prejudice and fear, and drag them out into the open air to blow away, dissolved by their own insubstantiality.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Is it okay to just give up?
Lately I've read a lot of excellent blog posts about the whole LDS singlehood dating situation. Along with attendant comments, these posts offer a lot of insight into the problems, pains, hopes and frustrations all tied up in LDS dating life.
And let me tell you: it ain't pretty.
The other night, my roommate and I had a member of our ward over and the three of us talked together for hours about the things that are wrong (like really, deeply wrong) with LDS dating culture. I realized during the discussion just how much pain young single adults feel about this. I mean, I know I've felt pain about this before, and I'm sure I'll feel pained again, but this talk made me realize that pretty much all of us are really dealing with some really wrenching feelings, here. There's a lot, a LOT, of deep-rooted unhappiness. Or rather... It's not really unhappiness, just... Just pain. That's the only word that really fits well.
And, I don't know; I keep reading these posts and comments about trying hard and pursuing happiness and working on life plans while still at the same time retaining hope that your someone is still out there, that somehow with all the things that are messed up about the whole dating culture, you'll find each other, get to know each other well enough to have a friendship and fall in love and you'll get married and at last move out of the single state (into the, in some ways, way more complicated and difficult (but also wonderful) marriage state). These people who are writing really haven't given up hope that it will still happen for them.
Sometimes, I feel so old. Not old like a senior citizen; not by any means. I'm turning 30 this year, but it doesn't mean I'm getting into retirement age. But honestly, the thought of starting a marriage and family at this time in my life, with me being who I am: shy and reluctant to talk to people and awkward and too too flawed and really not remarkably attractive, I just...
Guys, I just don't see it happening.
I just don't.
And the thing is, I don't feel too sad or bitter about it or anything, so I don't want you to think I'm typing this while at the same time sobbing into my keyboard.
The way I'm approaching it now is this: It's just easier now to not hope for a marriage in this life. It means that I don't have to deal with the pain of fiercely expecting something that hasn't happened yet and doesn't show a real strong likelihood of happening at all. I think that's where a lot of the pain comes in: when your expectations of how life should be and how life really is are really disparate.
I actually feel pretty calm about this, like I'm taking a step forward. And I want to feel that it's okay to feel this way, that I don't have to keep up the pretense of hoping just so I can feel like I'm being a righteous person.
I love what I'm doing; I love it with an unanticipated strength. I feel that I've found my calling in life, or at least a calling. And if I never do get to have children of my own, at least I can help encourage the ones I meet to feel a love for learning about the world around them, to help them want to explore unfamiliar worlds, to get behind the eyes of people who live in books, to reach out and become part of a community of individuals who are interested in making the world better for everyone in it.
And I want that to be okay. And I want that to be enough. And I want to be able to say, "If these blessings come, I will gladly accept them. But if not, I will still trust in the Lord."
I'm not saying that every young single adult should give up any hope of marriage--that they'll be happier that way. I still hope that the majority of them will go on to marry and have children and experience those unique joys.
But not everyone gets the chance to marry.
And for those of us who never do, I want to be able to say that our lives are still okay. And it's still okay for us to be perfectly happy with them.
*********************************************************
P.S. Please, please, please don't be sad if you read this post. I'm not. Really and truly. And that's why I wanted to write it.
And let me tell you: it ain't pretty.
The other night, my roommate and I had a member of our ward over and the three of us talked together for hours about the things that are wrong (like really, deeply wrong) with LDS dating culture. I realized during the discussion just how much pain young single adults feel about this. I mean, I know I've felt pain about this before, and I'm sure I'll feel pained again, but this talk made me realize that pretty much all of us are really dealing with some really wrenching feelings, here. There's a lot, a LOT, of deep-rooted unhappiness. Or rather... It's not really unhappiness, just... Just pain. That's the only word that really fits well.
And, I don't know; I keep reading these posts and comments about trying hard and pursuing happiness and working on life plans while still at the same time retaining hope that your someone is still out there, that somehow with all the things that are messed up about the whole dating culture, you'll find each other, get to know each other well enough to have a friendship and fall in love and you'll get married and at last move out of the single state (into the, in some ways, way more complicated and difficult (but also wonderful) marriage state). These people who are writing really haven't given up hope that it will still happen for them.
Sometimes, I feel so old. Not old like a senior citizen; not by any means. I'm turning 30 this year, but it doesn't mean I'm getting into retirement age. But honestly, the thought of starting a marriage and family at this time in my life, with me being who I am: shy and reluctant to talk to people and awkward and too too flawed and really not remarkably attractive, I just...
Guys, I just don't see it happening.
I just don't.
And the thing is, I don't feel too sad or bitter about it or anything, so I don't want you to think I'm typing this while at the same time sobbing into my keyboard.
The way I'm approaching it now is this: It's just easier now to not hope for a marriage in this life. It means that I don't have to deal with the pain of fiercely expecting something that hasn't happened yet and doesn't show a real strong likelihood of happening at all. I think that's where a lot of the pain comes in: when your expectations of how life should be and how life really is are really disparate.
I actually feel pretty calm about this, like I'm taking a step forward. And I want to feel that it's okay to feel this way, that I don't have to keep up the pretense of hoping just so I can feel like I'm being a righteous person.
I love what I'm doing; I love it with an unanticipated strength. I feel that I've found my calling in life, or at least a calling. And if I never do get to have children of my own, at least I can help encourage the ones I meet to feel a love for learning about the world around them, to help them want to explore unfamiliar worlds, to get behind the eyes of people who live in books, to reach out and become part of a community of individuals who are interested in making the world better for everyone in it.
And I want that to be okay. And I want that to be enough. And I want to be able to say, "If these blessings come, I will gladly accept them. But if not, I will still trust in the Lord."
I'm not saying that every young single adult should give up any hope of marriage--that they'll be happier that way. I still hope that the majority of them will go on to marry and have children and experience those unique joys.
But not everyone gets the chance to marry.
And for those of us who never do, I want to be able to say that our lives are still okay. And it's still okay for us to be perfectly happy with them.
*********************************************************
P.S. Please, please, please don't be sad if you read this post. I'm not. Really and truly. And that's why I wanted to write it.
Friday, February 22, 2008
On Settling
I found this article both strangely compelling and rather disturbing. My roommate Pinto and I had a long discussion about it and came to the conclusion that there's settling and then there's Settling. (Obviously, the capitalized, italicized version is the one not to be done.)
The lower-case (non-italicized) settling is basically just another word for humility, for realizing that we are just as flawed as the people we're evaluating in our dating relationships. This kind of settling allows us to be realistic enough to accept the flaws of an individual, and humble enough to realize we have plenty of flaws on our own. It may also, my roommate mentioned, involve getting away from the BYU mentality of dating (in which it's easy to give up on any given relationship (sometimes for really tiny reasons) because there are just so many young, single, and dateable people out there).
Now Settling is different: it's when a person begins to compromise on things that are really important, when settling is not just saying, "It's okay that he isn't as witty and romantic as I'd like," but, "It's okay that he occasionally puts me down in front of my friends," or, "I can accept that he ignores my kids."
So. I'm curious. To you, what are things that indicate settling and Settling? In what ways do you thing you settled? (Lowercase! I hope none of you Settled.) And do you think it was a wise move or not?
The lower-case (non-italicized) settling is basically just another word for humility, for realizing that we are just as flawed as the people we're evaluating in our dating relationships. This kind of settling allows us to be realistic enough to accept the flaws of an individual, and humble enough to realize we have plenty of flaws on our own. It may also, my roommate mentioned, involve getting away from the BYU mentality of dating (in which it's easy to give up on any given relationship (sometimes for really tiny reasons) because there are just so many young, single, and dateable people out there).
Now Settling is different: it's when a person begins to compromise on things that are really important, when settling is not just saying, "It's okay that he isn't as witty and romantic as I'd like," but, "It's okay that he occasionally puts me down in front of my friends," or, "I can accept that he ignores my kids."
So. I'm curious. To you, what are things that indicate settling and Settling? In what ways do you thing you settled? (Lowercase! I hope none of you Settled.) And do you think it was a wise move or not?
Sunday, September 30, 2007
On Giving Up (Or: My Own Take on Mini-epiphany #2)
My thoughts on this keep changing so rapidly that writing this down will serve rather to bookmark where I am right now than provide a glimpse into some unalterable state of mind I may posess.
As of this moment, I have moved (again) beyond the giving-up state. I spent this entire last week (and perhaps some few days before it) 'knowing' in my core that I would never marry and that it was just time to accept it. I even convinced myself that I was content, even happy, because I didn't have to worry about all these troublesome feelings of attraction to men anymore; I could just set them aside because they were things I would never be able to act on. I could interact with men on a completely platonic level, not bothering them with my feelings of attraction, not being bothered by their lack thereof.
Then, sitting next to a young man at church, (no, not this one; someone else), I kept having these niggling sensations of just this...awareness of his maleness...and I realized that I couldn't maintain this self-imposed indifference. I could keep it up for maybe a week (and had) but eventually my cycling hormones would come round again and break down all the barriers I'd built with my determination never to have these feelings ever ever again.
Sitting here in my room tonight, reading over a thought-provoking post (and accompanying comments) on Blog Segullah wherein the author describes living a celibate life as a faithful, fully acknowledged homosexual LDS man, I (after reading one particular comment) came rather face-to-face again with my own set of what attracts me.
And far from making me despair again, this acknowledgement of my own sexual desires freed me to admit to myself just how much I really did want to have a marriage relationship. If I may be frank, (and please forgive me if I cause offense, but I really hope that I can speak as an adult, here), I admitted to myself just how much I want to have the joys of a physical, conjugal relationship with a man. I want to experience the joys and frustrations of tying myself emotionally to one single human being, of trying to make our two lives fit together, of raising a family together. And as part of that, (a big part of it), I want the supernal joy of a sexual relationship with a husband.
Please understand; I know that this is not all there is to marriage. (Good grief--if it were, we wouldn't have time for doing anything else!) I know that marriages are more complicated and difficult than this, that the uniting of two different individuals in every possible way takes time, effort, and continual sacrifice as well as continuous patience.
But I also know (or rather, strongly suspect, since my actual experience is necessarily limited) that marriage can be fulfilling and almost indescribably joyous. That's why I (and almost every other single adult I know) longs for it, prays for it, gives up hope of it and picks up that same dropped and tattered hope almost hopelessly because one can't simply seem to toss it away after all.
I don't know if sheer wanting-him-ness will eventually help me to find the marriage partner who has, thus far, proven remarkably (almost intractably) elusive, but I do know that I can no longer (at least right now) deny that I do want him, and that I must thus (because I believe in a God who knows our deepest wants and needs and tries to grant them, if possible) still hope for him.
Because a life by myself, while satisfying in some ways, ultimately feels as if it would be really quite grey and sloggish.
And my bed here is beginning to seem rather large and cold, with just me alone.
As of this moment, I have moved (again) beyond the giving-up state. I spent this entire last week (and perhaps some few days before it) 'knowing' in my core that I would never marry and that it was just time to accept it. I even convinced myself that I was content, even happy, because I didn't have to worry about all these troublesome feelings of attraction to men anymore; I could just set them aside because they were things I would never be able to act on. I could interact with men on a completely platonic level, not bothering them with my feelings of attraction, not being bothered by their lack thereof.
Then, sitting next to a young man at church, (no, not this one; someone else), I kept having these niggling sensations of just this...awareness of his maleness...and I realized that I couldn't maintain this self-imposed indifference. I could keep it up for maybe a week (and had) but eventually my cycling hormones would come round again and break down all the barriers I'd built with my determination never to have these feelings ever ever again.
Sitting here in my room tonight, reading over a thought-provoking post (and accompanying comments) on Blog Segullah wherein the author describes living a celibate life as a faithful, fully acknowledged homosexual LDS man, I (after reading one particular comment) came rather face-to-face again with my own set of what attracts me.
And far from making me despair again, this acknowledgement of my own sexual desires freed me to admit to myself just how much I really did want to have a marriage relationship. If I may be frank, (and please forgive me if I cause offense, but I really hope that I can speak as an adult, here), I admitted to myself just how much I want to have the joys of a physical, conjugal relationship with a man. I want to experience the joys and frustrations of tying myself emotionally to one single human being, of trying to make our two lives fit together, of raising a family together. And as part of that, (a big part of it), I want the supernal joy of a sexual relationship with a husband.
Please understand; I know that this is not all there is to marriage. (Good grief--if it were, we wouldn't have time for doing anything else!) I know that marriages are more complicated and difficult than this, that the uniting of two different individuals in every possible way takes time, effort, and continual sacrifice as well as continuous patience.
But I also know (or rather, strongly suspect, since my actual experience is necessarily limited) that marriage can be fulfilling and almost indescribably joyous. That's why I (and almost every other single adult I know) longs for it, prays for it, gives up hope of it and picks up that same dropped and tattered hope almost hopelessly because one can't simply seem to toss it away after all.
I don't know if sheer wanting-him-ness will eventually help me to find the marriage partner who has, thus far, proven remarkably (almost intractably) elusive, but I do know that I can no longer (at least right now) deny that I do want him, and that I must thus (because I believe in a God who knows our deepest wants and needs and tries to grant them, if possible) still hope for him.
Because a life by myself, while satisfying in some ways, ultimately feels as if it would be really quite grey and sloggish.
And my bed here is beginning to seem rather large and cold, with just me alone.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Well, this would have been mini-epiphany #2...
One thing I love about blogging is how people can sometimes totally scoop you.
Because this is me too!
Yes. I, too, have recently just given up. Period.
And while being scooped makes me feel angsty in some ways, it also makes me feel befriended in a friendless world.
Or at least not the only single who's given up in a married world.
Something like that.
Because this is me too!
Yes. I, too, have recently just given up. Period.
And while being scooped makes me feel angsty in some ways, it also makes me feel befriended in a friendless world.
Or at least not the only single who's given up in a married world.
Something like that.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
You really ought to give singlehood a try.
It's really not so bad.
No, really.
Once you get past the point where you want someone to hold hands with, someone who thinks you're beautiful (even when you're not wearing makeup), someone who somehow shares all your hopes and aspirations and is so like you and yet so marvelously different, and once you decide that being an aunt is so much easier than being a mom so why not just stick with it, you're pretty much set.
Because really, there are all these things about being single that are great! For instance, you don't have to work on a difficult and perplexing marital relationship. You don't have to try to form a family unit with someone who has differing (and sometimes opposing) views of what it means to be the heads of a family and raise children. You don't have to put up with someone else stealing the covers or wanting to turn the air conditioner in the bedroom up or down. You don't have to try to sleep next to someone who snores. Or grinds his teeth. Or has chilly feet.
And all the heaps and scads of money you're making right now? Yeah. It's all yours! You don't have to spend it on diapers and formula and multiple car payments (well...not usually). And, if you're pretty careful, you may manage to save just enough to travel a bit to those places you've always wanted to visit. Like England. Or South Dakota.
So really, in the face of all these great things about being single, wouldn't it be the most intelligent thing to just kind of let go of any desire to get out of the singlehood state? To interact with young men in a friendly but unconcerned fashion? Because you don't really care whether they'll like you or not, since you're perfectly happy with staying single for the rest of your life?
I keep wondering when exactly it's going to sink in, when I'll finally say to myself, "Okay, I guess it's never going to happen for me," so I can finally get rid of this 20% hopeful 80% despairing feeling every time I meet and/or interact with young men? Will it be after I turn 30 (in a week and one year)? 35? 40? 50? How long will I wait before I give up all my internal hope of marriage?
I search all these blogs of single women, looking for some sort of answer about how to be content right now, even when I'm alone, but I haven't found it yet.
Maybe there isn't really an answer for it. Maybe it's one of those things in life that you just have to bear, the way some people have highly allergic reactions to nuts, or children with congenital health problems, or really bad relationships with family members. It's just something that will always give you a small ache, no matter what else you may do with your life. And that's okay. Everyone has small aches they live with, and as mentioned previously, there are a lot of really great aspects to being single: even just the ability to retreat into my room and shut the door so that I can have complete peaceful solitude, something that would be impossible if I had children.
I just wish I could feel more actual contentment with this state, wouldn't feel lonely or long for someone to rub my shoulders after a difficult day or someone to kiss me in the early hours of the morning when the as-yet unseen sun is just starting to lighten the sky, wouldn't long for children who are my own, my very own, for the incomparable joy of being a mother. But I do have these feelings. And while part of me wishes I could just turn them off, another part tells me that doing so would somehow lessen me.
So with that, I will take the sorrow and loneliness that are part of being single in a married culture and I will continue to hope for a chance to marry if possible. And in the midst of the sorrow and loneliness I will enjoy the freedom to go where I please when I please, to spend all day reading if I like and to make a peanut butter sandwich without a husband carelessly asking me to make him one too.
No, really.
Once you get past the point where you want someone to hold hands with, someone who thinks you're beautiful (even when you're not wearing makeup), someone who somehow shares all your hopes and aspirations and is so like you and yet so marvelously different, and once you decide that being an aunt is so much easier than being a mom so why not just stick with it, you're pretty much set.
Because really, there are all these things about being single that are great! For instance, you don't have to work on a difficult and perplexing marital relationship. You don't have to try to form a family unit with someone who has differing (and sometimes opposing) views of what it means to be the heads of a family and raise children. You don't have to put up with someone else stealing the covers or wanting to turn the air conditioner in the bedroom up or down. You don't have to try to sleep next to someone who snores. Or grinds his teeth. Or has chilly feet.
And all the heaps and scads of money you're making right now? Yeah. It's all yours! You don't have to spend it on diapers and formula and multiple car payments (well...not usually). And, if you're pretty careful, you may manage to save just enough to travel a bit to those places you've always wanted to visit. Like England. Or South Dakota.
So really, in the face of all these great things about being single, wouldn't it be the most intelligent thing to just kind of let go of any desire to get out of the singlehood state? To interact with young men in a friendly but unconcerned fashion? Because you don't really care whether they'll like you or not, since you're perfectly happy with staying single for the rest of your life?
I keep wondering when exactly it's going to sink in, when I'll finally say to myself, "Okay, I guess it's never going to happen for me," so I can finally get rid of this 20% hopeful 80% despairing feeling every time I meet and/or interact with young men? Will it be after I turn 30 (in a week and one year)? 35? 40? 50? How long will I wait before I give up all my internal hope of marriage?
I search all these blogs of single women, looking for some sort of answer about how to be content right now, even when I'm alone, but I haven't found it yet.
Maybe there isn't really an answer for it. Maybe it's one of those things in life that you just have to bear, the way some people have highly allergic reactions to nuts, or children with congenital health problems, or really bad relationships with family members. It's just something that will always give you a small ache, no matter what else you may do with your life. And that's okay. Everyone has small aches they live with, and as mentioned previously, there are a lot of really great aspects to being single: even just the ability to retreat into my room and shut the door so that I can have complete peaceful solitude, something that would be impossible if I had children.
I just wish I could feel more actual contentment with this state, wouldn't feel lonely or long for someone to rub my shoulders after a difficult day or someone to kiss me in the early hours of the morning when the as-yet unseen sun is just starting to lighten the sky, wouldn't long for children who are my own, my very own, for the incomparable joy of being a mother. But I do have these feelings. And while part of me wishes I could just turn them off, another part tells me that doing so would somehow lessen me.
So with that, I will take the sorrow and loneliness that are part of being single in a married culture and I will continue to hope for a chance to marry if possible. And in the midst of the sorrow and loneliness I will enjoy the freedom to go where I please when I please, to spend all day reading if I like and to make a peanut butter sandwich without a husband carelessly asking me to make him one too.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Friday, August 10, 2007
A little about me:
In the past 24 hours, I've learned two significant things about myself: I use this blog as an emotional outlet and I tend to fall for the wrong sort of person.
These realizations came about because of visiting teaching, or rather because of the way a visiting teaching appointment turned into a sitting-around-singing, personality-test-taking visit. (It was good times, my friends. Good times.)
The gal we (my roommate and I) were visiting just adores the Myers-Briggs personality test and asked if either of us had taken it. I had recently taken the test myself, so my roommate answered a questionnaire online (based on said test) and we pored over her score and personality profile.
Then, oddly enough, the focus turned to me. I explained that I'd recently been classified as an ISFJ personality type so my companion and our visiting teachee read over the profile and would occasionally burst out with exclamations such as, "That's so you!"
One part of the conversation struck me particularly: in reading over the profile, our visiting teachee asked, "Do you use anything as an emotional outlet?" and my roommate explained about this blog. I'd never really thought of my blog as an emotional outlet, but I could suddenly see it as such. My blog is a way for me to express emotions that I would otherwise normally keep hidden. In fact, when events of emotional import happen to me, I find that I usually want to post about it. I've wondered since then why that is.
I wonder if it's partly that you, my blog readers, are mostly people to whom I'd feel okay about opening up emotionally. I know most of you pretty well, and even those of you I've never met are somehow so similar that I could see myself confiding in you without much concern.
I wonder too if it's that a blog is a way of expressing one's emotions in a slightly detached way. I tell you about all these feelings and frustrations that I have, but I do it in such a way that I'm able to sit down and think about the manner I want to express things before I actually interact with any of you. I've always found it easier to express my emotions in writing; it just seems safer somehow. And I have doubts that the habit is entirely healthy.
Anyway.
Naturally, being girls, we then decided to explore which personalities would be the best matches for each of us. To my surprise, I would apparently be best paired with either ESTP or ESFP, both extroverted personality types. Now, personally, I have a tendency to fall for introverted men; the high social energy levels of extroverted individuals have always left me feeling baffled and (frankly) inadequate. To be honest, I've always discounted such people in the past, mainly because I felt they could not possibly find me interesting. I always liked getting to know the quieter individuals, believing that they would at least understand me and not automatically assume I was boring if I didn't speak up much.
I was actually rather resistant to the idea of either one of these personality types until the visiting teachee told me that I needed someone who would be vitally interested in me; that he would find me fascinating enough to try to draw me out.
And I realized in this flash of insight with myself that I really did have that need, and that it was something that was lacking in all of the previous relationships I'd had with guys. Not that the guys I've known (or even dated) have been boorish; I don't want to give that impression. But I never felt that sense of real, genuine interest in me. I've never felt that they've tried to really delve down into the deepest inmost parts of me. Or rather, I guess I may have felt that intellectually, but never emotionally.
I'm such a private person, really. I don't feel comfortable talking about myself and if I feel the slightest decline of interest in what I'm saying I will immediately stop talking about me and try to focus the conversation on the other person. I'm always in terror that the person I'm with will become bored. And I'm always convinced that I am boring.
So. Long story short: I think that the only way I will ever fully open up to someone is if I have someone who is open and warm with me and who persistently finds me fascinating. And who persistently tries to draw me out. And is good at it.
Unfortunately, I kind of can't help thinking that I'm kind of unlikely to find that.
These realizations came about because of visiting teaching, or rather because of the way a visiting teaching appointment turned into a sitting-around-singing, personality-test-taking visit. (It was good times, my friends. Good times.)
The gal we (my roommate and I) were visiting just adores the Myers-Briggs personality test and asked if either of us had taken it. I had recently taken the test myself, so my roommate answered a questionnaire online (based on said test) and we pored over her score and personality profile.
Then, oddly enough, the focus turned to me. I explained that I'd recently been classified as an ISFJ personality type so my companion and our visiting teachee read over the profile and would occasionally burst out with exclamations such as, "That's so you!"
One part of the conversation struck me particularly: in reading over the profile, our visiting teachee asked, "Do you use anything as an emotional outlet?" and my roommate explained about this blog. I'd never really thought of my blog as an emotional outlet, but I could suddenly see it as such. My blog is a way for me to express emotions that I would otherwise normally keep hidden. In fact, when events of emotional import happen to me, I find that I usually want to post about it. I've wondered since then why that is.
I wonder if it's partly that you, my blog readers, are mostly people to whom I'd feel okay about opening up emotionally. I know most of you pretty well, and even those of you I've never met are somehow so similar that I could see myself confiding in you without much concern.
I wonder too if it's that a blog is a way of expressing one's emotions in a slightly detached way. I tell you about all these feelings and frustrations that I have, but I do it in such a way that I'm able to sit down and think about the manner I want to express things before I actually interact with any of you. I've always found it easier to express my emotions in writing; it just seems safer somehow. And I have doubts that the habit is entirely healthy.
Anyway.
Naturally, being girls, we then decided to explore which personalities would be the best matches for each of us. To my surprise, I would apparently be best paired with either ESTP or ESFP, both extroverted personality types. Now, personally, I have a tendency to fall for introverted men; the high social energy levels of extroverted individuals have always left me feeling baffled and (frankly) inadequate. To be honest, I've always discounted such people in the past, mainly because I felt they could not possibly find me interesting. I always liked getting to know the quieter individuals, believing that they would at least understand me and not automatically assume I was boring if I didn't speak up much.
I was actually rather resistant to the idea of either one of these personality types until the visiting teachee told me that I needed someone who would be vitally interested in me; that he would find me fascinating enough to try to draw me out.
And I realized in this flash of insight with myself that I really did have that need, and that it was something that was lacking in all of the previous relationships I'd had with guys. Not that the guys I've known (or even dated) have been boorish; I don't want to give that impression. But I never felt that sense of real, genuine interest in me. I've never felt that they've tried to really delve down into the deepest inmost parts of me. Or rather, I guess I may have felt that intellectually, but never emotionally.
I'm such a private person, really. I don't feel comfortable talking about myself and if I feel the slightest decline of interest in what I'm saying I will immediately stop talking about me and try to focus the conversation on the other person. I'm always in terror that the person I'm with will become bored. And I'm always convinced that I am boring.
So. Long story short: I think that the only way I will ever fully open up to someone is if I have someone who is open and warm with me and who persistently finds me fascinating. And who persistently tries to draw me out. And is good at it.
Unfortunately, I kind of can't help thinking that I'm kind of unlikely to find that.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
'Cheetos' is the code word.
So.
I totally got chatted up by a guy at institute tonight.
The only problem is that I think he needs to be on some kind of medication. And isn't.
And I feel a strange mixture of guilt and relief at telling you about this. Because I feel terrible talking about him like this. But I also want to share with you this experience of almost being asked out by a guy who really. Really. Is out there. And how I tried to get away after about a fifteen-minute conversation by indicating that I needed to talk to my roommate. But it didn't work. Because he just kept on going.
And then how this tall, dark-haired guy with an awesome accent asked me to open the gym door for him so he could roll a round table into the little storage closet. And how this new nice (and not-crazy) guy started asking me questions about myself. And how I wanted to talk to him more. Because he seemed awesome. And nice. And good-looking. And not crazy. But how my encounter with not-all-there boy had kind of made me want to retreat very quickly into the kitchen and away from any possibility of encountering said not-all-there boy so I kind of had to cut the conversation with nice non-crazy boy short.
Which just makes me grit my teeth.
So. While discussing above experience with my roommate, we realized that we had no plan in place to help one another out of situations like this. My roommate, in her wisdom, decided on A Plan.
And The Plan is that 'Cheetos' is the code word for: 'Get me out of here now because there is no way I can gracefully extricate myself from this situation and I need to be extricated so desperately that my toes are about to curl into my ankles.'
So now we know. And will be prepared.
And let me tell you: I think being prepared is more than half the battle.
I totally got chatted up by a guy at institute tonight.
The only problem is that I think he needs to be on some kind of medication. And isn't.
And I feel a strange mixture of guilt and relief at telling you about this. Because I feel terrible talking about him like this. But I also want to share with you this experience of almost being asked out by a guy who really. Really. Is out there. And how I tried to get away after about a fifteen-minute conversation by indicating that I needed to talk to my roommate. But it didn't work. Because he just kept on going.
And then how this tall, dark-haired guy with an awesome accent asked me to open the gym door for him so he could roll a round table into the little storage closet. And how this new nice (and not-crazy) guy started asking me questions about myself. And how I wanted to talk to him more. Because he seemed awesome. And nice. And good-looking. And not crazy. But how my encounter with not-all-there boy had kind of made me want to retreat very quickly into the kitchen and away from any possibility of encountering said not-all-there boy so I kind of had to cut the conversation with nice non-crazy boy short.
Which just makes me grit my teeth.
So. While discussing above experience with my roommate, we realized that we had no plan in place to help one another out of situations like this. My roommate, in her wisdom, decided on A Plan.
And The Plan is that 'Cheetos' is the code word for: 'Get me out of here now because there is no way I can gracefully extricate myself from this situation and I need to be extricated so desperately that my toes are about to curl into my ankles.'
So now we know. And will be prepared.
And let me tell you: I think being prepared is more than half the battle.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
ReadingReadingReading
You may have noticed that my reading list off to the right side of my blog is outdated. It is, in fact, exactly 12 books behind now, although, to be fair, I still haven't finished Nicholas Nickleby. (I just keep getting sidetracked by all that delicious YA lit in my local library.)
Since last updating the list, I have read the following books:
The Gift, Peter Dickinson
Tears of the Salamander, Peter Dickinson
Time of the Ghost, Diana Wynne Jones
Aunt Maria, Diana Wynne Jones
Hero’s Song, Edith Pattou
The Lion Tamer’s Daughter and Other Stories, Peter Dickinson
Waifs and Strays, Charles de Lint
Fire Arrow, Edith Pattou
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, J. K. Rowling
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, J. K. Rowling
Austenland, Shannon Hale
The Blue Hawk, Peter Dickinson
I've also just started The Golden Compass, by Philip Pullman, which I have already read but which I thought it wise to reread since a rather intriguing-looking film version is coming out in December (made particularly intriguing because they've used Mars: Bringer of War from Gustav Holst's The Planets in the teaser trailer).
The truth is, I've realized over the past few weeks that I need to stop checking books out from the library. Really. I currently own several dozen books that I have never read, so checking stuff out from the library, particularly things I've read before, seems about as sensible as eating out every night when your fridge at home is completely stuffed.
But I also can't seem to help myself.
Every time I go there, I just have to browse around, lifting a volume or two or ten from the shelves, convinced that unless I check these darn books out right now I'll never have the chance to read them. And I know the books at home will still be waiting for me once I've finished the ones from the library. So really, where's the problem?
In other Lizardbreath-reading news, I've discovered a few more blogs that are slowly becoming daily reads. For some reason (shouldn't be too hard to figure out) I find myself drawn to the blogs of mid-to-late twenty-somethings who are LDS and single. And also female.
And gradually I am beginning to realize that I am not alone, that there are scads of women like me out there, settling down into careers or further schooling, trying to convince ourselves that being single isn't so bad and that a career can actually be pretty fun and that you can also travel and do all sorts of fun single stuff, and then we run across things like this and remember (yet again, like smacking your head into that same tetherball pole) that--wait--yes, it is that bad.
And that guys are just dumb. Because they have no excuse. Because there are hundreds upon hundreds of the most excellent, intelligent, kind, caring and downright foxy women out there just ripe for the picking. (Not me, necessarily, but there are plenty of them out there!)
Seriously. What the heck is wrong with these fellows? Alas, I'm sure, somehow, they would ask the same thing about us.
Edit: Of course, all of you young single guys who read this blog are excepted. Because you are the ones who are Really Trying. (But even still. Look around your ward! Sit next to the girl you've had your eye on for the past two months and ask her out already!)
Since last updating the list, I have read the following books:
The Gift, Peter Dickinson
Tears of the Salamander, Peter Dickinson
Time of the Ghost, Diana Wynne Jones
Aunt Maria, Diana Wynne Jones
Hero’s Song, Edith Pattou
The Lion Tamer’s Daughter and Other Stories, Peter Dickinson
Waifs and Strays, Charles de Lint
Fire Arrow, Edith Pattou
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, J. K. Rowling
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, J. K. Rowling
Austenland, Shannon Hale
The Blue Hawk, Peter Dickinson
I've also just started The Golden Compass, by Philip Pullman, which I have already read but which I thought it wise to reread since a rather intriguing-looking film version is coming out in December (made particularly intriguing because they've used Mars: Bringer of War from Gustav Holst's The Planets in the teaser trailer).
The truth is, I've realized over the past few weeks that I need to stop checking books out from the library. Really. I currently own several dozen books that I have never read, so checking stuff out from the library, particularly things I've read before, seems about as sensible as eating out every night when your fridge at home is completely stuffed.
But I also can't seem to help myself.
Every time I go there, I just have to browse around, lifting a volume or two or ten from the shelves, convinced that unless I check these darn books out right now I'll never have the chance to read them. And I know the books at home will still be waiting for me once I've finished the ones from the library. So really, where's the problem?
In other Lizardbreath-reading news, I've discovered a few more blogs that are slowly becoming daily reads. For some reason (shouldn't be too hard to figure out) I find myself drawn to the blogs of mid-to-late twenty-somethings who are LDS and single. And also female.
And gradually I am beginning to realize that I am not alone, that there are scads of women like me out there, settling down into careers or further schooling, trying to convince ourselves that being single isn't so bad and that a career can actually be pretty fun and that you can also travel and do all sorts of fun single stuff, and then we run across things like this and remember (yet again, like smacking your head into that same tetherball pole) that--wait--yes, it is that bad.
And that guys are just dumb. Because they have no excuse. Because there are hundreds upon hundreds of the most excellent, intelligent, kind, caring and downright foxy women out there just ripe for the picking. (Not me, necessarily, but there are plenty of them out there!)
Seriously. What the heck is wrong with these fellows? Alas, I'm sure, somehow, they would ask the same thing about us.
Edit: Of course, all of you young single guys who read this blog are excepted. Because you are the ones who are Really Trying. (But even still. Look around your ward! Sit next to the girl you've had your eye on for the past two months and ask her out already!)
Monday, July 23, 2007
Wait, wait! I'm clever...
It was a disappointing weekend.
I had high hopes of sitting beatificially in one of the church pews, one leg crossed over the other, smiling with warm and accepting (and lovely) radiance at all young men who happened to glance my way, who would, naturally, then swerve in for a closer look.
And they would not be displeased.
Alas. Why can life not follow these little scripts we lay out for ourselves?
Firstly, I felt cross on Sunday, mostly because I had banged my knee pretty darn hard on the steps leading up from the subway station on Saturday. By Sunday morning, it was all bruised and swollen and crossing it didn't really help.
Also, I was just not feeling perky. In fact, I was feeling anti-perky. If perky and I had met (which we didn't, thank goodness) we would have created between ourselves an explosion that would have demolished the greater portion of the church building and any surrounding structures within a radius of roughly 200 miles.
Also, I was not a hit in Sunday school. I was, in fact, a remarkably irritating individual, making inane comments at inappropriate moments. Or, perhaps not that bad. Maybe just making inane comments. Which those around me scorned. (I could tell.) No, not really. But we did role-playing, which...was okay, I guess, but really--not one of my favorite activities.
And then, during sacrament meeting, I just sat there, looking at people, feeling vaguely alone and kind of sorry for myself.
Choir practice was a little better: I got to see that one guy again, and I could swear the choir director smiled at me, but then it was over. And I was back in my apartment, secluding myself and watching DVDs alone on my bed.
I've kind of realized that I'm not a sparkly person; I'm not one of those people who immediately grab the attention of everyone in the room. Which is really starting to get old. Because I've noticed that the girls who guys tend to talk to are the ones who are sparkly, who hold the awareness of others like threads in their hands, tugging and pulling eyes to them no matter where they are in the room.
Which means that in order to get attention, I need to be like that.
Which is not really part of my nature. Really.
So do I try to change myself for the sake of meeting people? Or do I sit back in the corners of social interaction and hope that, somehow, the right person will notice me sitting there and somehow be interested?
How the heck do introverts meet their soulmates anyway? Can someone please just explain this to me?
I'll sit and listen. Promise. I'm kind of good at that.
I had high hopes of sitting beatificially in one of the church pews, one leg crossed over the other, smiling with warm and accepting (and lovely) radiance at all young men who happened to glance my way, who would, naturally, then swerve in for a closer look.
And they would not be displeased.
Alas. Why can life not follow these little scripts we lay out for ourselves?
Firstly, I felt cross on Sunday, mostly because I had banged my knee pretty darn hard on the steps leading up from the subway station on Saturday. By Sunday morning, it was all bruised and swollen and crossing it didn't really help.
Also, I was just not feeling perky. In fact, I was feeling anti-perky. If perky and I had met (which we didn't, thank goodness) we would have created between ourselves an explosion that would have demolished the greater portion of the church building and any surrounding structures within a radius of roughly 200 miles.
Also, I was not a hit in Sunday school. I was, in fact, a remarkably irritating individual, making inane comments at inappropriate moments. Or, perhaps not that bad. Maybe just making inane comments. Which those around me scorned. (I could tell.) No, not really. But we did role-playing, which...was okay, I guess, but really--not one of my favorite activities.
And then, during sacrament meeting, I just sat there, looking at people, feeling vaguely alone and kind of sorry for myself.
Choir practice was a little better: I got to see that one guy again, and I could swear the choir director smiled at me, but then it was over. And I was back in my apartment, secluding myself and watching DVDs alone on my bed.
I've kind of realized that I'm not a sparkly person; I'm not one of those people who immediately grab the attention of everyone in the room. Which is really starting to get old. Because I've noticed that the girls who guys tend to talk to are the ones who are sparkly, who hold the awareness of others like threads in their hands, tugging and pulling eyes to them no matter where they are in the room.
Which means that in order to get attention, I need to be like that.
Which is not really part of my nature. Really.
So do I try to change myself for the sake of meeting people? Or do I sit back in the corners of social interaction and hope that, somehow, the right person will notice me sitting there and somehow be interested?
How the heck do introverts meet their soulmates anyway? Can someone please just explain this to me?
I'll sit and listen. Promise. I'm kind of good at that.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Oh, hooray!
I think I may have found someone in my ward to get a crush on!
Seriously. I was just sitting there and I realized that I was pretty dang attracted to this guy.
So hooray! And huzzah! And. Like. General celebratory noises.
'Cause it's about darn time.
And now I will go cross-stitch. Bye!
Seriously. I was just sitting there and I realized that I was pretty dang attracted to this guy.
So hooray! And huzzah! And. Like. General celebratory noises.
'Cause it's about darn time.
And now I will go cross-stitch. Bye!
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Aargh!
Okay. And just once can I please have some guy who thinks I am just this super foxy chick? Please?
(Don't know why. I just had to add that.)
(Don't know why. I just had to add that.)
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Slim rays of hope are still rays of hope.
A boy spoke to me at church today.
I was so nervous!
And so giggly and happy!
Aaaah. Yeah. Not really. I promise.
But a boy did speak to me today, which really beats all the days boys haven't spoken to me, which pretty much have made up the majority of my life. And he was even nice. And he thought we were the same age! (Which was really cute. Because he looked about 23.)
As it turns out, he's one of the Pest Control Summer Guys (PCSGs we call them (no really, we don't)) so it doesn't really matter if he spoke to me out of hey-she's-pretty-I-wanna-talk-to-her-edness, or I'm-just-standing-here-kind-of-bored-and-look-there's-a-person-I-don't-know-so-I'll-strike-up-a-conversation-edness.
It just kind of made me feel a bit happier, regardless of the reason. Because, hey. Males are males and, while interacting with females can be really good times, some moments just require some infusion of the opposite gender. 'Cause those times are even better.
I was so nervous!
And so giggly and happy!
Aaaah. Yeah. Not really. I promise.
But a boy did speak to me today, which really beats all the days boys haven't spoken to me, which pretty much have made up the majority of my life. And he was even nice. And he thought we were the same age! (Which was really cute. Because he looked about 23.)
As it turns out, he's one of the Pest Control Summer Guys (PCSGs we call them (no really, we don't)) so it doesn't really matter if he spoke to me out of hey-she's-pretty-I-wanna-talk-to-her-edness, or I'm-just-standing-here-kind-of-bored-and-look-there's-a-person-I-don't-know-so-I'll-strike-up-a-conversation-edness.
It just kind of made me feel a bit happier, regardless of the reason. Because, hey. Males are males and, while interacting with females can be really good times, some moments just require some infusion of the opposite gender. 'Cause those times are even better.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Cry me a river
Oh, how sad, how sad am I.
I'm single.
I don't have babies.
In short, as a young(ish) LDS woman I am pretty much a washout.
Which seriously makes me start to wonder here, folks...what does this mean? Do I have to find unconventional ways to feel like I'm fulfilling my mission here on earth? Am I destined for singlehood forever? Am I just that repulsive?
Maybe I'll meet a nice young returned missionary tomorrow in fast & testimony meeting. Maybe that new white skirt I bought (yeah--that swishy one) and that one necklace and that brown shirt will be just what it takes to catch someone's eye and he'll say to himself, "My, what an interesting gal! How I'd love to marry her and make all her dreams come true! But first we must go on plenty of enjoyable dates. And also I think I'll kiss her on that one bridge over the Charles River. Because I'm just that romantic."
Or perhaps I will sit through the meeting, talk to my roommates and try not to think too much about the way I'm still bulgy around the middle and have crooked glasses and a sometimes vacant expression and pretty much no ability to speak to people I don't know for any considerable length of time.
I'll leave it to you to guess which it will be.
I'm single.
I don't have babies.
In short, as a young(ish) LDS woman I am pretty much a washout.
Which seriously makes me start to wonder here, folks...what does this mean? Do I have to find unconventional ways to feel like I'm fulfilling my mission here on earth? Am I destined for singlehood forever? Am I just that repulsive?
Maybe I'll meet a nice young returned missionary tomorrow in fast & testimony meeting. Maybe that new white skirt I bought (yeah--that swishy one) and that one necklace and that brown shirt will be just what it takes to catch someone's eye and he'll say to himself, "My, what an interesting gal! How I'd love to marry her and make all her dreams come true! But first we must go on plenty of enjoyable dates. And also I think I'll kiss her on that one bridge over the Charles River. Because I'm just that romantic."
Or perhaps I will sit through the meeting, talk to my roommates and try not to think too much about the way I'm still bulgy around the middle and have crooked glasses and a sometimes vacant expression and pretty much no ability to speak to people I don't know for any considerable length of time.
I'll leave it to you to guess which it will be.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Going Green
I'm a little concerned.
You see, my weightloss is kind of stalling. I'm not sure if this is because I'm building muscle mass, in which case I'll see the actual poundage come off later, or if it's because I'm not eating as many vegetables as I should, or some other unknown cause, such as the planets being out of alignment or something.
For some reason, I can't seem to quite get to that 80lb loss mark, although I'm pretty close. (Right now I'm hovering around 76, which is pretty good, but it means that I'm still more than 50 lbs away from my goal. Bleh.)
What I'm really hoping is that all this will change once I get to Boston and start walking everywhere and using public transportation and such.
Because, as you know, not only is public transportation good for the environment, it also helps you lose weight!
And makes you more attractive to the opposite gender!
It's just like that line from that one movie, where the male lead says, "I just love a girl who uses public transportation."
Well.
Okay.
I made that up.
But I'm sure the sentiment exists somewhere with someone. So I'll get all pretty and stuff and that someone will say, "Wow! You're all public transportation savvy and you've obviously lost a great deal of weight within the past 8 or 9 months. So. You wanna get hitched?"
And then, of course, I'll have to turn him down because at that point I'll be all career-oriented and won't want to have anything to do with men for at least the next twenty or so years.
But it'll be nice even still.
You see, my weightloss is kind of stalling. I'm not sure if this is because I'm building muscle mass, in which case I'll see the actual poundage come off later, or if it's because I'm not eating as many vegetables as I should, or some other unknown cause, such as the planets being out of alignment or something.
For some reason, I can't seem to quite get to that 80lb loss mark, although I'm pretty close. (Right now I'm hovering around 76, which is pretty good, but it means that I'm still more than 50 lbs away from my goal. Bleh.)
What I'm really hoping is that all this will change once I get to Boston and start walking everywhere and using public transportation and such.
Because, as you know, not only is public transportation good for the environment, it also helps you lose weight!
And makes you more attractive to the opposite gender!
It's just like that line from that one movie, where the male lead says, "I just love a girl who uses public transportation."
Well.
Okay.
I made that up.
But I'm sure the sentiment exists somewhere with someone. So I'll get all pretty and stuff and that someone will say, "Wow! You're all public transportation savvy and you've obviously lost a great deal of weight within the past 8 or 9 months. So. You wanna get hitched?"
And then, of course, I'll have to turn him down because at that point I'll be all career-oriented and won't want to have anything to do with men for at least the next twenty or so years.
But it'll be nice even still.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
April is the month d'amour?
So, what's up with this whole love thing anyway?
I see things like this: (many thanks to KMA for the image)
and I start feeling vaguely sick to my stomach. Honestly, people.
Am I a hardhearted individual because I've never felt the need to sidle upto a special someone and whisper the words 'forever yours' into his ear? *Gets sudden attack of the jibblies.* Or to write "XOXO" on post-its for him, or ask if we could cuddle?
Frankly, all of the above seems just slightly creepy to me.
(Well, maybe not the 'cuddle' thing. If couched in different terms.)
And yet...
And yet there's still a part of me that longs for that deep companionship that comes from a long, strong romantic attachment.
I guess when I finally do get to love someone, I don't want it to be cheesy. I want it to be deep and real and so much a part of me that it's inextractable. I want that deep immovable affection to run through me like veins of gold through rock, softening me and making what was once a lump of stone into something beautiful and valuable.
So I guess I'm just not a 'SWAK' type of girl. But then who would be, if you could have the REAL alternative?
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
A Note of Explanation
Here's another vacation blog entry, except it doesn't really deal with my vacation at all. I just felt the need to explain, in some small way, my major obsession with Jane Eyre. Seriously. Read on.
Perhaps I had better explain something. I've talked enough about Jane Eyre (both the novel and the recent Masterpiece Theatre Production) to make anyone believe (with good reason) that I am obsessed.
Which, actually, I probably am. A little.
So, lest you all suffer under the misapprehension that I love the story because Toby Stephens plays Rochester in the film (although, admittedly, he does a delightful job) please know that I loved Jane Eyre long before I saw the most recent film adaptation of it.
I love Jane Eyre for the same reason I love (and have also obsessed over) the story of "Beauty and the Beast." (I'm talking about the original story here, not the well-known animated version.)
I love these stories because, in some ways, they are stories about me.
For most of my adult life, I have felt wretchedly ugly like the Beast, or at least unremarkable and plain like Jane. (And I know some of you will spring up and say, "But you're not ugly!" Thank you for that. But please realize that never prevented anyone from feeling ugly.) Being able to read about these two characters and seeing them gain first admiration then love from those they loved has always made me feel (rather foolishly) hopeful that someone will one day see something inside me worth loving.
Because, you know, my inner self is really very good-looking. She has dimples and awesome non-frizzy hair and wears contact lenses. She is also blessed with dainty ankles. (I've always longed for dainty ankles.) Oh, yes, and she has, like, NO high forehead. Her forehead is completely and wonderfully normal.
So. Yes. Someday someone will walk up to me and say, "Lizardbreath, I see the inner be-dimpled, be-normal-foreheaded you, and I just love that about you."
And then I will be as content as Jane with her Rochester (sans mad wife) or the Beast with his Beauty (apres transformation, unless of course you're a Rose Daughter fan).
Perhaps I had better explain something. I've talked enough about Jane Eyre (both the novel and the recent Masterpiece Theatre Production) to make anyone believe (with good reason) that I am obsessed.
Which, actually, I probably am. A little.
So, lest you all suffer under the misapprehension that I love the story because Toby Stephens plays Rochester in the film (although, admittedly, he does a delightful job) please know that I loved Jane Eyre long before I saw the most recent film adaptation of it.
I love Jane Eyre for the same reason I love (and have also obsessed over) the story of "Beauty and the Beast." (I'm talking about the original story here, not the well-known animated version.)
I love these stories because, in some ways, they are stories about me.
For most of my adult life, I have felt wretchedly ugly like the Beast, or at least unremarkable and plain like Jane. (And I know some of you will spring up and say, "But you're not ugly!" Thank you for that. But please realize that never prevented anyone from feeling ugly.) Being able to read about these two characters and seeing them gain first admiration then love from those they loved has always made me feel (rather foolishly) hopeful that someone will one day see something inside me worth loving.
Because, you know, my inner self is really very good-looking. She has dimples and awesome non-frizzy hair and wears contact lenses. She is also blessed with dainty ankles. (I've always longed for dainty ankles.) Oh, yes, and she has, like, NO high forehead. Her forehead is completely and wonderfully normal.
So. Yes. Someday someone will walk up to me and say, "Lizardbreath, I see the inner be-dimpled, be-normal-foreheaded you, and I just love that about you."
And then I will be as content as Jane with her Rochester (sans mad wife) or the Beast with his Beauty (apres transformation, unless of course you're a Rose Daughter fan).
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