I've had a rotten week.
It's involved major amounts of stress at work, an altercation between my car and a white van, not wanting to let people down so being involved in things I really wish I wasn't and various other irritants.
The thing that drives me most mad is my seemingly complete inability to stop with my most self-destructive behaviour. I've recently met a friend of BJM's who reportedly said to her 'Your friend Michelle seems really together and intelligent. Why the hell is she blahblahblah?' And do you know what? She's not the first person to say that. My close friends (and now very astute people I don't know that well) have been saying for ages that things need to change in the world of Michelle (see: Rant No 1) and yet, here I am repeating the same patterns of behaviour. Over. And. Over.
The upshot is, I think, that I am shockingly bad with men. This has been somewhat disguised by the fact that I've been in long-term relationships for pretty much all of my adult life. In fact, you could say that I struck it lucky. That I ended up in relationships with men who were, in the main, decent, honest people (not counting the latter behaviour of husband No 2 you understand.....Dickhead). Now I've been let out into the big, bad world of dating, I'm a danger to myself. I love male attention. Love it. (But hey, let's face it – who doesn't?) But this really does me no favours. I'm too easily sucked in. Too keen to find my next (oh god!) true love and maybe even my soul-mate (despite the fact that I don't believe that soul-mates exist, there is a tiny flicker of hope in my mind that refuses to be extinguished). I get hooked on the fact that there may well be that perfect man out there, just for me. That man who'll really, really want to be with me – and my children – and who'll I'll be deliriously happy with. Does he exist? God, I don't know. He hasn't shown his face round here so far that's for sure....!
(I will also confess to completing every 'Which SATC character are you?' quiz on Facebook (please don't judge me....) and every bloody time, I think, 'I'll come out as Carrie. She's sassy, she's independent and got it sorted'. But no. I get Charlotte. Every sodding time! There really is no hope :( )
I was out with friends and colleagues last night and got chatting to one girl, who at 38, reported that she absolutely loves being single. She wouldn't change it for the world. And do you know what? I believe her. And boy do I envy her. (See, she's Carrie...!) Me though (Charlotte - Boooooo), I hate it. I not only hate it, I loathe it and I detest it. I said as much to J last night. My other friends who were part of the conversation were a bit surprised to say the least. They knew, they said, that I was keen on 'the-one-that-would-never-happen' but they never realised that actually, I really wanted to be part of a couple. They thought that I was pretty together, that a man would be nice, but generally, I had a pretty full life. But the sad fact is that I only really put a value on myself if I'm wanted, desired and loved by a man. (Oh God! Does that sound awful when I see it in black and white?)
Recently someone used a cracking analogy in a bid to make me see sense. They said that part of me was starving for (male) attention and that 'if you were starving for food, Michelle, you'd eat from the bin. And that's what you're doing now, as far as men are concerned; eating from the metaphorical bin'.
And she's right.
That's never good is it?
Hmmmmmmm
