Einstein said the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.
Of course, Gary Player also said “Practise makes perfect”. Ok, I’ll just sit here while the intelligent make their minds up. Wtf.
In this wonderful warzone of love paradoxes I felt lost. I really should have left a trail of breadcrumbs...
The GPRS says one thing: I am a serial monogamist. Hmm. Let me re-phrase that. I am a serial-insta-fairytale-ending-before-its-begun-addict-“ist”.
I won’t lie. I have realised one thing: relationships and I are not friends. Not right now, anyway. I tried welcoming them back for tea, but alas, twas not meant to be.
After my last, I don’t know, one month tryst with The Most Apathetic Man on Earth (with my fiery nature? Doomed!), I sat and commiserated for a while, wondering if I should try batting for the other team (ooh, think I just vomited a little in my mouth) and then common sense prevailed: do I really want a relationship? Like, really REALLY? I was exhibiting some sheep-mentality by flashing my most fabulous self to a few potential candidates. But why? I should be saving my energy for someone who’s worth it, Tantra Warrior style.
So, it takes 28 days to break a habit.
In the meanwhile, I have thrown myself head-first into the relationships that will never disappear fast, and who are never fickle: my girlfriends. The relationships that really matter, the people who will pick you up off the ground when you’ve slipped in your Choo’s in someone’s daiquiri at HQ. The people who tell you they love you despite the fact that you stole their boyfriend in high school, told them their bum looks big in that, crashed on their couch for 8 days straight, never ask if you really need that 3rd cookie, empathise with your PMS and who don’t judge you when you bunk a day off work to be on the beach. My poor girlfs have listened to me moan about several exes ad nauseam and never told me to shut up. God bless their cotton socks.
So, for them and their collective sanity, I am swearing off men. (Ok, besides that one guy who is a rrreally really good kisser who comes in handy every now and again. I can’t tell my girls about him because he dresses like Erkle.) Well, let me clarify: I’m weaning myself off the same old familiar brand of man I have been addicted to: the man who looks like he needs a hot meal and an even hotter bath. 28 days people, I wonder if I can do it. *I think I can, I think I can*…
It’s funny how when you chase something it runs away, and when you really aren’t looking, something rises up to greet you.
Here’s looking at you, Einstein.
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