I just bought a yoga mat in desperation.
$21.99 at Target isn’t the worst impulse purchase I’ve ever made (one could argue that my entire postgraduate education was an impulse purchase), but it was for sure a cry for help, even if I know that the only person who can help me is me.
I’m lonely, y’all. And I’ve come to realize that this is not, as I previously thought, because I don’t have enough close girl friends here in LA — I do have close friends here! It’s just, ever since this non-breakup occurred, I’ve felt increasingly melancholy. The pain of losing a relationship in its infancy, the possibility of happiness together suddenly gone, is a lot more painful than I expected. And while I’m proud of myself for knowing what I want and not making compromises that I know would make me miserable, I feel overwhelmed by the unknown road that lies ahead of me.
Dating sucks. It’s not my favorite prospect, the idea of doing this over and over again until I find someone I connect with enough to actually date. I’m not super jazzed about going on dates with strange men, making so much effort to get to know them, the pain of ending it — because let’s face it, this is going to happen again. I’m gonna meet someone I like, and then it won’t work for whatever reason, again and again until someone sticks.
Goddamn it, I am fucking pissed off about this. I wish I still wanted to be single forever; it was easier to just shut myself off than it is to open myself up emotionally for an incoming slew of random men.
The realization that I’d have to truly enter the dating pool in LA sent me on a sadness spiral, I don’t mind telling you. I spent most of this weekend feeling sorry for myself, gorging on carbs, and binge watching sitcoms in bed. But that is over now! At least, I’m hoping it’s over.
Regardless, starting this week, I’m gonna put myself out there.
I mean, I bought a fucking yoga mat. Not only do I need to get off my ass and move my body for once in my life, but I need to meet people and do things and stop living my entire life inside my room with my dog. It’s incredibly unlikely that I’ll meet anyone I wanna date at a yoga class, but it’s a first step in the right direction. And who fucking knows!! Maybe the man of my dreams will be there at the studio, taking a break from his video games and hockey, thinking it’s time to make a change and move his atrophied limbs after years of disuse.
At least yoga will get me out of the house, expand my comfort zone, and all of those other dumb things people tell you to do when you’re lonely and sad. I considered looking into writing groups in LA, but I think I’d probably rather die than date another writer. We’re the worst, truly, and based on previous writer’s group experiences, these events are not typically brimming with eligible bachelors. Maybe a D&D group? A cooking class? Guys, I don’t know. I have no idea where people meet other people! You got me, okay?? All of my friends are from the internet! HELP.
Why don’t I use a dating site or app if I’m so into Online, you ask? I’ve fucking tried, and it is impossible. If a guy posts even one unflattering pic, I swipe left. If he says he likes one stupid thing I don’t like, I swipe left. If he misspells a word, swipe left. If he’s too hot, swipe left. Not hot, swipe left. Links to his Instagram, LEFT. Featured pic is of him shirtless? LEFT SWIPE. No hikers, surfers, partiers, adventurers, or models. No actors. Not funny? Left swipe. Trying too hard to be funny? Left swipe. Actually funny? Probably also rolling in pussy already, LEFT. SWIPE.
GUYS!! This is why I’m single! I want to hate literally every man I meet before I’ve even met him! Every possible partner is at a massive disadvantage from the get go. It’s a rigged system.
I’m fucking doomed.
Ugh. My blog has become a goddamn wasteland of complaining and oversharing, and I’m so sorry about that. But I’ll tell you right now, I’m not that sorry, because this is not the end of my pathetic ramblings. It’s only just begun, assholes.
Please stay tuned for upcoming humiliating yoga and probably not dating experiences.
But until then, I’ma just go ahead and finish my binge watch of New Girl.
meg smitherman 