Fact of the matter is, I barely blog any more. I started this 2 or 3 years ago when I was happy, full of optimism, the future was bright, it looked like dreams I had would be fulfilled in the company of a woman I considered beautiful and I loved dearly. That all changed on 24th April 2014 when she left me, moved in with another guy 6 months later and had a baby by him exactly 9 months after she walked out. It’s been tough.
But in past 15/16 months my mind has never been so active, so fertile, so bursting with thoughts and opinion just dying to be released and put into writing. All the sadness, all the grief, all the bitterness, the humiliation, the drinking, the anger, the drinking followed by anger. The on-line dating websites. The messages, the money spent on subscriptions, the replies, the non-replies, the dates. How many now…10, maybe 12. First base, past first base, fears, concerns, thoughts…what if she comes back?! Money, lack of money, loss of benefits I was previously entitled to, no more savings, DIY, yoga. Elephant Journal (thank you).
A few attempts last year helped me get a bit off my chest and I discovered there were others out there just like me, mostly women it seems. Aren’t men supposed to be pigs?
Where am I? Where am I today in the ongoing process that above all motivates me to pursue, at the age of 52, love? The internet is full of men and women just like me. The lonely, the rejected, the spurned, the sad, the singles by choice, the serial players. Slags, sluts, whores. Players, gigolos and misogynists. Wankers. I’m in there amongst them, somewhere. Honest, caring thoughtful. Me and my on-line profile. Log on to match.com and it proudly boasts 65,703 currently on-line. All of us, after just one thing, trying to find one in 65,703. It should be easy, shouldn’t it? No, it isn’t. It’s a conveyor belt, a meat market, a ‘shit against the wall’ scattergun approach. I’m a glass half full person. I love to travel. I’m bubbly with a zest for like. Looking for my knight in shining armour. Players and married men need not apply. I go to the gym twice a week. I love walking my little dog. Fuck off!! Fuck off the lot of you. No don’t. I’m here. I need love, I’m lonely but I won’t admit it. I like getting pissed now and again but I won’t tell you. I like to be a little edgy but that might put you off. I’m lazy around the house but hey, I’m loyal.
I don’t know. Really, I don’t. I may have another date soon. It’s on the cards. But I know it will probably lead to nothing but I’m optimistic. No-one is perfect. No-one. I’ve learned tons, loads. More in the past year than in my previous 51 about life, love, friendship, people, men and women. It’s all in my head and in my heart and has been processed incessantly day and night but not expressed on here but in me. The way I am, not via a medium but through me. As it should or what’s the point? One day I’ll die and then I probably will think what’s the point. Frankly there isn’t a point. Or is there? Another question. My last for now.
Bill On The Fylde 