Perhaps because the past few days at work have been exceptionally quiet - "dead", even - a lot of strange little quibbles and quarrels seem to be happening, mostly regarding whose responsibility it is to do A, B or C. Most of this maelstrom has been occurring around me, while I sit stoically at the front desk, in the eye of the storm, placidly sipping a cup of tea. I remind myself on days such as this, a combination of mind-numbing boredom and annoying nattering, that I am constantly collecting prime fodder for my TV pilot.
I'm not sure why, but I seem to be feeling better in the past few days. I am relieved that I seem to have managed to weather this latest dysthemic, chemical brain storm without completely plummeting into a pit and losing the ability to function, as has been the case several times in the past. It may be because I am older, now, and have been through this cycle so many times that I am able to objectively observe this episode and predict, with the accuracy of a meteorological forecast, its manifestations and processes. It seems that now, I can mindfully sit with the unpleasant sensations caused by my overactive brain, instead of engaging with them and thus, launching into a full panic.
The past week has also seen me finally able to begin to let go of my latest disastrous attempt at a relationship. Now, I'm not claiming to be completely rid of the ghosts of it - They still hang about in the corners of my mind like dusty old cobwebs. There are things about this person, and our interaction, that I still miss greatly: when I hear certain songs, or want to share certain stories with him, or text him during the day just to say hi, etc. The many long, late-night hours that we spent talking seemed at the time to imply some sense of true camaraderie and emotional connection.
However, as I recover from my latest disappointment, I also come to the realization that I take everything far too seriously when it comes to dating. I see "emotional connections" and "romance" only because I want to see them, and the majority of disappointments that I feel are caused by my own unrealistic expectations. As my ex boyfriend-turned-best-friend-in-the-whole-world, GVS, often reminds me, men will engage in any sort of dialogue, or adopt any type of flowery rhetoric, in order to get it in. A lot of what I have perceived in the past as "romance" has been nothing more than calculated, goal-oriented dialogue that I have not been able to properly decipher from behind the extreme rose tint of the glasses that I don when I consider the intricacies of human interaction.
I don't even feel angry about this fact, anymore. I realize that, for the most part, the need to penetrate vaginas is such a strong, primordial urge in heterosexual men that they themselves don't even realize the lengths to which they will go, or the ridiculous yarns and fables they will spin, simply to achieve that precious moment of penetration. I used to think, bitterly, "But he said he LOVED me! We were planning a trip! We talked all the time about going to [insert exotic destination here]! He used to call me his little [insert nauseating name here]. He LIED TO ME!" I know now that, in 99% of situations, things like this weren't said with the explicit intention to deceive. It's really just that, in the incredibly basic and predictable wiring of the male brain lies a surprisingly-agile mechanism that immediately assesses and responds to the style of conversation that is most likely to lead to the final, coveted prize.
Now that I know this, the whole thing is laughable. I have basically expected far too much from creatures incapable of providing it. You can't very well hand a monkey a copy of "Twelfth Night", then get upset when he fails to recognize the subtle nuances of the dialogue, and instead merely flings some shit in your direction.
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