Song for a Sunday

Dear Readers,

This is not the story I wanted to tell today.

Y’know, sometimes I really am a badass lady who dresses up, rocks up solo and dances passionately at an outrageous club on her last night in New York. Sometimes I really do sob on a Sunday night on my loungeroom floor as the Melbourne winter wind rattles the windows. I’m now reporting to you live from the latter situation.

A few Sundays ago I was feeling particularly sad and lonely. That morning I’d been on a fantastic blind date in the new café around the corner from my house with this great bloke, then later that night he’d finally replied to my text by telling me he was interested in friendship. That evening the bloke who I’d been seeing for a few weeks ambiguously (potentially platonically potentially romantically, it was unclear, such is the slow burn strategy) wanted to hang out so we did and I shared a piece of myself and he did not hold it well and I realised I would rather spend time with myself than with this person. So I cried in my room and wrote the below song that turned into a poem.

The next day I had to tell a story at the big Moth Grand Slam for 700 people in a proper fancy theatre and I was telling a story a decade old about how bold and brave I once was at a rodeo and I didn’t know how to tell it with integrity when I was feeling very unlike that younger woman.

Sometimes I am find being single and I am fine with the love that is in my life.

Sometimes it is really hard.

Sometimes it is strange telling cute little dating stories going for the lols when you feel like the sad react button.

So I will share that nightclub story someday. It’s a bloody good one, I swear it’ll be worth the wait! But right now here’s that poem I wrote a few weeks ago, when rejection happened and I felt justifiably a bit down. Nothing specifically occurred today, except I had a hard convo with a new friend and we cried and hugged and now I feel sad and lonely again even though the convo and the feelings now are seemingly unrelated. Maybe you get sad about one thing and all your other sad things just take it as an open invitation. Who knows.

Anyway. I am alright. I just feel things strongly sometimes. So here you go. Here I am. Here are these feelings. Maybe you have felt some too? Maybe not. Either way, thanks for being along for the ride.

x DD

2013-02-16-205

 

What do I do with this longing?

Where do I put this desire?

This yearning, sometimes it comes out in tears.

This wanting is not always driven by fears.

 

I can put it in pot plants, into baking trays and postcards,

into words with friends and family who all want for me too

but there is not much to do

or many things to say.

 

This hope after hope after hope it grows weary.

 

This weight is not easy to share

This longing sometimes it weighs heavy

It does not grow less when examined in light

It’s pretty simple,

 

it just

 

exists.

 

There are so many moments of joy, bliss and beauty

yet it still bides its time

until I notice it again.

 

Desirous attachment gets a bad Buddhist rap but surely connections root us in belonging?

Contentment and peace are worthy I’m sure

but doesn’t yearning drive us to act, to move forward?

How do I be still in all of this.

How do I find peace here

when I cannot quell my desire to be there?

 

Tomorrow I will tell a story to more people than I ever have before.

There will be no flowers waiting for me backstage with nicknames and in jokes.

There will be no soup on the stove waiting for me at home afterwards.

I will go home alone.

I will wake up alone.

I will go to the gym or I will hit snooze.

I will go to work and repeat.

 

There will be smiling faces in the crowd of those I love.

We will dine beforehand and hug afterwards.

They have seen me tell stories before.

 

There is love in my life.

 

I do love my own life.

 

I just yearn sometimes.

 

That’s all.

Advertisements

Back to the Drought

Dear Readers,

I’m sitting in a cafe trawling through old stories, trying to find inspiration for a story I could tell tonight at The Moth. This writing on a laptop at a cafe the day of the gig has become a really lovely routine that I look forward to on the first Monday of every month.

The only difference this time is that I’m not in Brunswick, Victoria, Australia. I’m in Brooklyn, NY, USA. YEAAAAAHHHHHH THAT’S RIGHT I’M IN AMERICA BABY!

I have much more to say about that, but right now I thought I’d share this little gem of a snippet into what my life was like 6 years ago. Probably no one else will spin out as much as I have reading this. My life now could not be more drastically different, but I’m still digging up these old desert yarns to retell to city folk, still rummaging through the suitcase full of stories from the past.

Anyway, soz for being so self indulgent but I hope you are all well wherever you find yourselves in this world, whatever chapter you’re currently writing of your hopefully strange and wonderful lives.

Big love from the big apple,

-DD

desertdates

So now I’m back out west, where this week we moved office in 40 degree heat. I’ve experienced 47 degrees in Alice. When I was thinking of moving to Schmoebs someone helpfully sent me a news article that said a few years ago the temperature reached 52 on Christmas day. I remember picking up some new colleagues from the airport who were moving from Tasmania to Schmoebs to work on my project. The temperature gauge on the car said 51 degrees, which I didn’t really believe until we got a flat tyre and had to stand on the bitumen to change it. When we got to the office the air conditioner had broken, so we all just went home.

Yes, it’s back to the meat plus chips menu at the Beachville Tavern or the fluorescent lights of the Darcytown Mess Hall, where you can get all you can eat for…

View original post 306 more words

Conscious Speed Dating Part 2

Dear Readers,

Quick note to say that this is a two parter. So if ya haven’t already, maybe skip back to read Part 1 first otherwise this will seem even weirder than it already does. Also wanted to let you know that writing from the laundromat is a new and exciting thing for me, which is what I’m doing right now. It feels so inner-city of me. So southern-climate-rainy-winter-no-dryer-small-terrace-not-enough-room-indoors-to-dry-your-sheets of me. So Lisa Mitchell post Australian Idol of me. I hope you experience something that makes you think ‘hey this really typifies where I live and I kinda love it.’

Yours truly,

– DD

coin laundry with washing basket and laptop

 

My first pairing is with someone with whom I am not remotely attracted to, who has beads of sweat tripping down his neck and has terrible breath. I know these things because I have to look into his eyes and breath deeply for 3 minutes. I switch to mouth breathing and wait for the lights flick on and off. Three minutes seem to pass very slowly. We are not off to a good start here Readers.

But wait, what light through yonder window shines? It is the glistening silver hair on the head of a very handsome silver fox, with whom I am matched next! I have to do a move, pull a shape with my body, then in response, he does a move, then we keep going like that until the lights flick on and off. It’s supposed to be us collaboratively making up our own slow dance, and we do laugh a lot, but in an effort to play with proximity there ends up just being lots of hands and feet on the floor so we must look like we’re playing mime twister. The lights flick on and off. We discuss briefly ‘what that exercise was like for you, what did you experience, no random conversations please’. He says he’s been feeling a need to express himself lately, to dance. Turns out he’s no stranger to Five Rhythms – the free dancing thing that I’ve been a bit scared of, anticipating a room full of hippies energetically dancing out their various traumas or connecting with various spiritual forces at play. He is VERY handsome.

Next, I’m matched with the hipster with those dreamy eyes that simultaneously seem to communicate ‘I am listening to you’ and ‘You intrigue me’. One of us has to close our eyes and be led on a journey around the room by our partner who is holding our hand. I volunteer to be led first. I love running these kinds of trust exercises in workshops with kids. It thrills me to do this with a total babe.

Oh Readers.

This blind hand dance was just so wonderful and strange.

With my eyes closed I was led, I was twirled around, I smiled, I ran, I laughed. Holding hands is just so fucking lovely, as is trusting someone else and stepping and spinning into something unknown. When it was my turn to lead him around, I tried to make it as joyful as possible, and experimented with bringing his body closer to mine as we walked and turned. He knew when he was close to me, he would breath deeper or smile, even though he could only feel my hand holding his. I felt like Rose when she goes down to the third class Irish dance on the Titanic: it’s new, it’s weird, it’s playful, it’s hot. Sidenote: whenever I take a car on the Spirit of Tasmania I remember the steamy window scene in Titanic and bemoan the lack of romance in amongst the fluorescent lit Fold Falcons, concrete, caravans and dog kennels.

The lights switch on and off and it’s time to move on. During the next date we have to mirror each other’s hands. The dude has a cute smile but when he opens his mouth during the discussion afterward I can’t help but be immediately turned off by the broad accent. I don’t mind a slow country drawl but this is suburban bogan vocabulary and cadence for sure.

Next date, I have to pretend to be a parrot on a tree and then a tired monkey with the business man. He has a cute face, broad shoulders and such a lovely deep timbre to his voice, a good turn of phrase and he laughs at all my jokes.

Throughout the evening I had two simultaneous thoughts: 1) this is fucking weird and 2) this is fucking awesome.

Over hummus and corn chips afterwards I debrief with some of the gals, most of whom are Conscious Speed Dating first timers. I tell them about an activity I did last time I was here, where we had to stand 5 metres apart and look each other in the eye and the bloke had to maintain eye contact whilst gradually walking closer and closer until he could ‘feel’ that he was too close, or until I signalled with my hands that he was. Once he’d reached that spot, he had to say one word. He was one step away from me when he said “Close.” I had to do the same thing, walking slowly towards him maintaining eye contact. I got close enough that I could feel his breath on my forehead and it took all the restraint I had NOT to pash him right there. The sexual tension in the air was rather thick. Looking him square in the eye, I took a deep breath and said “Now.”

We women congratulated ourselves on getting out of the house and doing brave things, then checked our phones, realised the country had elected another conservative, coal loving government and hurried off to our homes to watch Antony Green get frustrated with his new technology and read articles posted by friends on Facebook that would try to explain how we got to where we are.

 

Look, I know my last story was about how zen I am about being single and how I’m into the slow burn strategy. But I honestly checked my email a good number of times on the Monday that followed, waiting for the email that would tell me if anyone I’d ticked yes to had also ticked yes to me.

On Tuesday morning the email arrived – one match.

Not with the dreamy eyed hipster.

Not with the silver fox.

But with the business man with the deep voice with whom I pretended to be a parrot.

People say ‘oh you must be so brave to go on these dates, to put yourself out there’.

But the brave thing is to find something good in a shit date, a thing to learn, a story to tell, then to hold on to your maybes.

To keep a staunch faith in your daydreams, in your op shop shirt wearing crossword puzzlers.

To keep a staunch curiosity and joy amongst the boredom and disappointment.

To keep a staunch hold of your maybe next times,

Your maybe this times,

Maybe tonights.

Conscious Speed Dating: Part 1

I rarely purchase lingerie. By lingerie I mean fancy undies. By fancy I mean anything that isn’t on special at Kmart when I really came in to buy gym leggings and a pot plant stand.

But when I do purchase lingerie, I’m always thinking ‘maybe’. If it’s that pricey that I’d bother to try it on in the change room, or if I’m just holding it up – I’m thinking ‘maybe someone will see these on me, see me in these, in only these and maybe by then the deal will already be pretty much sealed but maybe this piece of flimsy fabric will be some kind of delicious icing on what I’ve been told is not a bad cake. Maybe at various points in that evening I’ll remember I’m wearing them and smile to myself.’ On more than one occasion I’ve had a particular man in mind when I purchase lingerie – been on a few dates that have been clearly defined as dates, maybe we’ve pashed, or maybe that will happen soon, maybe tonight.

That’s what I’m thinking when I purchase lingerie.

Sometimes it’s what I think about when I shave my legs, or brush my hair, or even when I clean my room.

I also have other much more wholesome thoughts of course – like, when I’m at the op shop and I see nice shirt on the male mannequin and think ‘maybe one day there’ll be someone to buy men’s shirts from the op shop for.’ Or when I’m reading a novel in the sun in the gardens and think ‘maybe one day there’ll be someone sprawled out beside me, asking me questions about inane crossword clues that he knows I’m not super into but that’s his thing and my thing is noticing really well crafted sentences and reading them to him completely out of context to see if their beauty is only contextual.’

These maybes give me joyful hope as I strut along in time to the music on my headphones, hair bouncing on my shoulders, heading in to meet a date, or multiple dates, if I’m going speed dating.

Let me just paint you a picture of how much of a sexpot I was feeling as I drove the 9 minutes up the road to the ‘Conscious Speed Dating’ event I was already 2 minutes late for.

From amongst the piles of debris in my bombsite of a bedroom I fished out an outfit that had previously been peer reviewed and approved by my housemate as effectively accentuating my assets and drawing attention away from the female equivalent of the dad bod. You know the female dad bod. You look at it and think ‘yep, used to be hot in high school and probably in her early twenties, then let herself go a bit around the middle, but still TOTALLY bangable.’ I left on the same undies I’d worn all day – probably the plain black bonds hipsters from DFO where I went to get sensible work shoes. I spent longer than I should shoving bobby pins in my hair so that it would fall just right, then yanked up stockings to cover the dense winter forest I’d been cultivating on my legs. Put some last minute acne cream on the corker that had been cultivating in the centre of my forehead and slapped a functionally pointless but shame reducing bandaid over the wart that had begun cultivating on my hand. Considered popping another one over the massive blood blister on my thumb that I’d planted there that morning with a hammer when replacing the rotting wooden gate fence palings that happened to disintegrate in my hand. Decided the blood blister could pass as a mole, and who’d be looking at my hands anyway? I’ve done this before, back when it was called ‘Silent Speed Dating’, so I have a pretty good feeling that Conscious Speed Dating will be all about the eye fucking.

It’s explained to us a mix of low level tantra exercises and low level high school drama improv games. Which is either your worst nightmare or if you’re a high school drama teacher, the best thing ever.

Everyone is sitting on cushions on the cork floor. They’ve got the same scorecards and name tags as regular speed dating, minus the usual awkward milling about at the start drinking the ‘complimentary’ wine that comes with the ticket price. It’s also standard to spend 3-5 minutes with each ‘date’, then rotate around at the sound of a whistle, a cowbell, or in this case, the lights being switched off an on. Standard speed dating banter includes what do you, what do you do for fun and what are your hobbies. Scintillating.

Before we start I scan the room at the maybes, the probably nots and the hopefully sos.

A tall silver fox, a guy who stands out because he’s dressed like a lost business man and a short hipster with dreamy eyes. Maybe I’ll get paired up first with one of them and maybe it’ll be sweet and maybe we’ll both tick yes after each others names and maybe we’ll go on an actual date?

 

IMG_1185

 

Dear Readers,

Yes, maybe someday some lucky bloke will be greeted with this lovely sight of my carefully curated doorstep pot plants! Maybe we’ll laugh at my penchant for stealing succulent cuttings from suburban streets! Maybe he’ll ask if I purchased the planter from the environmental park and market and nursery thing in our neighbourhood! Which I did! 

I hope you’re having delightful Saturday evenings. Curled up on the couch waiting for the footy to come on TV, or reading a book in bed, or eating something delicious. All of these things are fine Saturday night plans. Myself, I am about to pop on a tram to meet a friend for dinner and a show. An open mic night style thing full of babes, in front of whom I might read a poem. Maybe that one Alice Springs poem I was secretly and publicly v proud of. Maybe not. Maybe I’ll eat ice cream on the way home. 

Anyway, the point of this post script was to inform you that Part 2 is scheduled to arrive in your inboxes tomorrow morning. 

Kind Regards,

-DD

 

 

Interview with Desert Dates on Unleashing the Cougar!

Dearest Readers,

One of you has their own blog! About dating! In Australia! And it’s a bloody good one too! Full of all the things I like to read – an honest voice and a good yarn! After reading each others writing for a few years she’s now gone an interviewed little old me! What a thrill! 

So curl up with a cuppa and settle in for what was a lovely conversation for me to have and what I hope will be lovely for you to read. Click on the green text or the image below. Pretend it’s like reading a transcript of an episode of Oprah, or Parkinson, or On Being, or any interview show you secretly wished you’d end up on as a child writing angry poetry. 

I’m about to spend several hours on a train through the Victorian countryside. By the time I get home I hope to have a few stories up my sleeve to share with you on this here site, one of which I’ve tentatively titled ‘Conscious Speed Dating: Warts and All.’ 

I wish you very happy Saturday mornings Readers Dear, 

Yours truly,

– DD

 

An interview with the blogger Desert Dates about why she writes and the experiences behind the stories she shares.

via Interview with Desert Dates – Ridiculous Relations in Remote Locations — Unleashing the Cougar!

Utes, maths and a rooftop pash

Dear Readers,

I’m sitting in the mezzanine/loft/second level of the North Fitzroy Library. The sun is occasionally poking it’s head through the clouds and through the metal grill outside the window that artfully designed to keep some of it out. Trams and cars and bikes go by below. A girl in high waisted orange corduroy pants and an oversized rainbow striped tshirt is doing her maths homework next to me. An assortment of hipster babes of various genders and ages fill every Scandi/Kmart designed chair, all writing things in notebooks or typing or scrolling. A grey haired man with a tweed peaked cap slowly types something into one of the library computers behind me. I’m sitting here listening to a recording of myself telling a story.

This is an old story for me, but it’s new for you! In 2017 I hardly posted at all. I had just moved to Melbourne from Tassie – which meant moving interstate, moving in with new housemates, stopping full time work and starting my teaching studies. I didn’t make much time for dating, until summer came and December saw me making up for ‘lost time’ by ambitiously dating maybe 14 men in 12 days. That year I did have a brief fling around the middle of the year, around the same time as that ute story from a few years ago reared it’s ugly mug again for round two, and I had a maths test. Serendipitous! I did make time for telling stories live, which is where most of my writing and creative energy went. The creative challenge of having to write to constraints (5 mins, no notes, on theme), to a monthly deadline and for a live audience (the sheer thrill of getting a laugh!) was new and exciting. 

So my Dear Readers, I hope you’ll become Dear Listeners temporarily! For your listening pleasure – please enjoy this story on the theme of ‘Tests’. Don’t worry there’s a pash in there. On the roof! A view of which you can see in the picture! Oh, I kept in the awkward bit at the start where I forgot how the story starts so this recording should feel JUST LIKE YOU’RE REALLY THERE! If you don’t press anything afterwards it should automatically play the other story up there, about that ambitious summer dating spree...

Lemme know what ya reckon, and a very happy Sunday to all of you in this timezone! 

Fond Regards,

-DD

10 Things I Know About Dating

Dear Readers,

I’m sitting out the front of the terrace in the inner-northern Melbourne suburb where I’ve lived for more than two years now. Daylight savings has just ended and the sun is hanging lower in the sky a little earlier every day. The blue into orange like the gradient tool in Photoshop, or for those of a similar vintage to me – Microsoft WordArt. More on WordArt later, but for now let me just say: I am living a fabulous Melbourne life. I don’t always notice just how bloody great it is, but right here and right now, with my feet up and a peanut butter and chocolate ice cream I got in a box from Coles, with my cup of very expensive social enterprise eucalyptus tea, with many moments of contentment and joy behind me and with many things to look forward to in front of me, I can categorically state for the record, in the words of the brilliant Kurt Vonnegut, “Well if this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.” 

It’s been a long time between drinks Dear Readers – I will be very grateful if any of you are still around and reading. I hope you have all been well. I’ve been finishing my masters, working, grieving, telling stories on stages, changing career, travelling, changing lifestyle and as a result most things now seem less urgent. I am in a good place, and sometimes, I know it. 

I pressed snooze on my phone alarm three times this morning, imagining what it would be like to wake up and snuggle and snooze with someone else. I had a few different men I was imagining doing this delightfully lazy daydream with. None of whom I’ve pashed or even dated, but men I have actually met, had chats with (potentially flirted with but it’s so hard to tell when that’s actually happening innit?) and will see again in the near future. My very Dearest Readers – welcome to my brave new world of the Slow Burn Strategy (SBS).  Of all the things I’ve learnt about dating, SBS is so far working the best. More on that later. 

I’ve got a few other stories in the pipeline for y’all. For now, please enjoy this story I told last night, to a room that may or may not have included a few delightful gentlemen. Well, it was supposed to be a ten minute story on the theme of ‘teaching’, but I turned it into ten x one minute stories with an accompanying powerpoint presentation that would teach people something. So meta! Such semi-ironic use of WordArt for the viewing pleasure of woke hipsters seemingly obsessed with anything 90s! I am poking fun of them because I am one of them, or I want to be anyway!

Some of these you’ve read before, but the ending is different this time.  

It’s good to be back. 

With much love

-DD

IMG_1157

 

TEN THINGS I KNOW ABOUT DATING

Lesson 1: Be picky

When I first tried online dating I was being open minded. Caring about grammar was too uptight! Caring about spelling was classist! I didn’t want to be too elitist by judging people on their careers! My first date was therefore with a prison warden who’s first words to me were ‘So what do you do for work, just art n shit!’ After denigrating my entire career and passion with ‘n shit’ he proceeded to monologue about dirt bikes and beer for 25 minutes! No second date.

Lesson 2: Distance + gender ≠ a match

In Tassie my main search criteria included males within a certain kilometre radius. I therefore would only find matches if I happened to be in Hobart and thus ended up regularly driving four hours down south for dirty weekends with a bloke with whom I shared two common interests – one of which was hiking, the other will go unmentioned in case one of my current students stumbles upon this here blog and joins a few dots. But join the dots. It also ends in ‘king’. One weekend this Hobart fella and I walked around Lake St Clair. It was beautiful weather and scenery and the chats were both deep and hilarious. That evening in the spa cottage we’d splashed out, reclining in the spa drinking cheap whisky, I revealed I’d never actually taken any recreational drugs. He revealed that he used to sell drugs, but now he does people to do that for him. No more dates.

Lesson 3: Be quick

In Melbourne I tried out the Happn app, where you match people who frequent the same locations you do. I was so sick of online ‘banter’ that eventually lead nowhere that after matching with this babe and talking a bit about the Akubra I was sporting in my profile pic we arranged to meet up for a whisky that night – in only an hour’s time! At the bar I was met by a babe in a mullet wig and cowboy boots, who joked that he thought we were dressing up. I matched that spontaneity by heading back to his house – where he was very attentive and very complimentary. Three more dates then he stood me up, made a mediocre attempt to make up for it and then I called it off.

Lesson 4: Be bold

At the Emerging Writers Festival I spied a head of babin’ wavy black hair sitting on top of broad shoulders in a brown leather jacket sitting on his own watching a panel session. I sat next to him, chatted to him afterwards and was swept along to drinks with a bunch of other writers afterwards. Everyone dwindled away and we headed to a rooftop bar, a novelty for him as a Townsvillian. We held hands in the elevator. “Look,” I said, “we could go to this bar and have a few more drinks and then pash, or we could just pash right here right now. That’s what I want to do, what about you?” We pashed. Several more dates. An interstate week away together then he licked a plate once at a restaurant and revealed he was probably a mens rights activist.

Lesson 5: Peter Piper Picked A Public Place 

Back in Alice Springs when I was being non judgemental I matched with a truckie. HAV U EVA BIN 2 THE ROCK? He typed. IM GOIN NEXT WEEKEND WANNA COME CUD BE GOOD WAY 2 GET 2 NO EACH OTHER BUT UD HAV 2 GET UR OWN WAY BACK. Maaaaaate. I’m not gunna come to work with you! On a 5 hour date! In a truck! With a stranger! Then hitchhike back! No date.

Lesson 6: Be Equidistant 

In the Pilbara I arranged a date with an Italian Engineer. Unlike other miners I’d met online he had a car so didn’t have to rely on the Rio Tinto bus schedule. But the very fact that he drove 40 minutes to meet me, meant I felt the date should go for at least 40 minutes. Which is a really long time. When it’s a lunch date and he’s already eaten so he just watches me eat and gives short answers to my excellent prompting conversational questions. For example: what would you do with a million dollars. “Nothing,” he said. “You can’t do anything for that much. Ask me what I’d do with a hundred million then I’d have to think.” No second date.

Lesson 7: No dinner dates. 

Self explanatory. Insert your own horrifically boring story about how you were stuck directly across from someone, making forced eye contact for as long as it takes to order, receive, eat and pay for a meal. Oh and inevitably spill food on yourself or eat too loudly.

 

Screen Shot 2019-04-25 at 5.18.15 pm

Lesson 8: Be real and break up

Some of my best writing and most honest communication has been in break up texts. See examples below and please get in touch if this is a service that may be of use to you.

Exhibit A:                                                              Exhibit B:

IMG_1151IMG_1152

Lesson 9: Date yourself

Go camping in the Grampians with whisky and a campfire and a full moon. Take a paperback to a cosy restaurant. Go see a show on your own. Watch Netflix and chill with fancy ice cream or pseudo-healthy treats you made with organic nuts and dates from the health food shop you smug legend you!

Lesson 10: Slow Burn Strategy

I haven’t been on any dating apps this year. This whole year! A personal best. Instead of seeking quick sparks in short dates and finding flames online, I’ve started going to things I like doing in the hope that I will meet people with similar values and have something that brings us together gradually instead of our distance, gender and profile pictures. My psychologist and my mum have both been suggesting this slow burn strategy for years. But to start a slow burning fire you need time and you need air. You need space in your head and a lightness in your heart. Not a naive weightlessness – we all carry things, but not to let those things weigh heavily upon you. I’m labouring this metaphor, but you need more than kindling. You more solid stuff that’ll take longer to catch, but will burn brighter for longer, eventually settling into softly glowing goals, still good for toasting marshmallows and for keeping you warm while you look at the stars.

I just give less of a shit you guys. In a good way. About dumb shit. About what I wear. About my work. About romantic love needing to happen in my life in the ways I expected it to. I’m not giving up on it happening, I just no longer feel this need for it to happen NOW. I trust that it will. I trust that I’m not missing out on anything by patiently letting things unfold while still proactively trying to meet and get to know people in a less contrived and less urgent way.

I went to a cooking class. Didn’t meet anyone but now I know how to make some kick ass salad dressings. I’ve been on some bloody great hikes I’d never have done on my own. I’ve seen a few comedy shows with a bloke I met at a philosophical discussion group (!). I sung at an open mic night and the babe sitting next to me called me a ‘badass lady’.

If I see a babe at a storytelling night (which btw I totally did) (there were a few and I made sure to make eye contact as I said the next bit) maybe they’ll be bold and buy me a drink (which they totally did), maybe we’ll talk about the stories we both just told or ones we want to tell. Or maybe we won’t talk at all this time, which is totally fine, because I know I’ll probably see them next time.

(I can hardly bloody wait!)

 

IMG_1158