Typical Thursday.

Okay mental diarrhea time. Don't quite know what to do with all this stuff so it has to come out. Woke up this AM, around 9am when I finally got my ass out of bed. First half decent night's sleep I've had in about six nights. By that I mean more than 4 hours of shut-eye. Still don't manage to get out of the house until 10:45, what with the distractions of email, Jerry Springer UK (my opinion? sterilise them all) and cleaning out the cat's poo box etc.

While I am doing all this stuff I find myself thinking about -C- a lot. In fact, I find myself thinking about -C- a lot, a lot. If you know what I mean. Why? What am I thinking? Well of course it's not possible to transcribe the non-lateral, non-logic processes of the female mind (cough), but the best I can do to explain is to say it runs the gamut of what you might expect : everything from sex to moving in together and living happily ever after. The first shouldn't surprise me, or you, but the latter... well, I mean, WHAT THE FUCK? Where, exactly, is that shit coming from? Lest you, or I forget, I am resolutely and happily single and I am not looking to get involved with anyone. Obviously this is news to my somewhat rebellious brain. What's more, I have of course been subjected to the third degree by my friends every time I so much as mention a man I might be interested in, or had coffee with, or passed on the street. So of course there have been lengthy deliberations on -C-, and I have even cheerfully entered into the spirit of the debate, but always concluded that he is not right for me in a 'relationship' sense. Sooooo.... why is my brain persisting with this think think thinking about him all the time?  Does this mean that my rebellious brain is trying to tell me that I actually do want some kind of committed relationship? And why is the rebel brain making me think about -C- in this way, when previous lengthy, drawn-out, drunken group debate has rejected him as "partner material"? Flipping heck.

Well the only conclusion that I can logically come to is that, recently, -C- has been more, err, attentive?  Interested?  Kind? Flirtatious? Or something along those lines anyway, and that I am actually that fucking pathetic and needy underneath it all, that when someone, anyone*, shows me the slightest bit of affection or interest, my pathetic rebellious brain starts to go all goopy and idiotic and starts imagining that the possibility exists for someone like me to find real love and companionship in the modern world. And well, that conclusion doesn't make me like myself very much, no sireee.  (*And I don't mean to say that -C- is just anyone in a negative way... because I clearly am very fond of him. And my rebellious brain even more so.)

Then on the bus into work I run into -N-, a lovely chap on whom I had quite a schoolgirl crush on for awhile. It went absolutely NO WHERE, other than a drink or two and a brief frisson of flirting. And me breaking into a sweat of stupidity every time I spoke to him in person. So he's moving out of the UK, new life in another country, exotic foreign girlfriend of course... but the point being that (a) I still broke into the same sweat and (b) once we parted ways, me on the train this way, him that... I sat there beating myself up (and a bit of tourettic swearing at myself to try and stop the mental thrashing) about ever even being interested in -N- in the first place... how could I possibly have been so stupid to think that he might reciprocate...why did I act like such a sweaty idiot, why did I do (x) when I should have done (y) and why am I such an idiot?

Why am I such an idiot?  This, really, is the big question that needs addressing. All of the above, every last word of it, every feeling or emotion it represents, all the self-doubt, every bit of it, is just simply adolescent bullshit, isn't it? I mean I am a grown woman. No, make that an OLD grown woman. Logically, without the interference of actual real-life situations, I know exactly what I want. I've had plenty of bad and good experiences in life and I've learned a lot, about myself and about the world at large. But somehow, that damn rebellious brain just takes over and the apple cart of logic gets overturned. And the result is... yep, mental diarrhea.   Kill me now, please.