Bono’s classic hits just the right note for my thoughts tonight. Whilst I may not have run through the fields or scaled these city walls to be with a guy, travelling on the tube to Outer Mongolia (or Zone 6, whichever you prefer) is an indication that I am willing to put in some effort to achieving what I want.
I’m not the kind of girl to sit still and wait for something to come to me; I never have been. I have worked hard my whole life to be and do what I desired, to rise above it all and be better. Hence the moniker Phoenix. I have failed at many things, and I have regretted doing and not doing things, but I can say that when I set my mind to it, I bloody well do my best. But I am also smart enough to know when to say, enough. We’re taught to work hard to achieve our goals. So why does popular consensus tell us to stop looking, and that love cannot be ‘found’? “Be patient”. “You have to give these things time”. “You never know what’s around the corner”. These romantic clichés are espoused by women and gay men (I have never heard a straight man utter these lines). Well, I’m not too good with patience. And I certainly have no desire to waste time on the wrong guy. That is time which cannot be recovered, time which cannot be undone. I know what I want, and whilst I am not being too picky, I am unwilling to entertain the idea of repeated dates with a guy who is just not right for me.
Yes, I’ll confess I am somewhat frustrated. Having searched for 3 months now I’m still not there. Admittedly I have not thrown myself into it, but then I have a life, a career, friends, family, and a bitch of a commute to contend with. Add to this I have a place to stay at my brother’s whenever I want, and the motivation to move past the fun and into the sexing and sleepovers is somewhat diminished. Running around in my joggers today, I was struck with the thought that I want a relationship where I can wear my trackies in front of him and be completely comfortable. No make up, hair tousled (albeit with shaved legs and tweezed eyebrows; not too much of a scuzz) and truly me, who I am, on a Sunday morning. But as soon as I realised that, I began dwelling on it.
The times in previous relationships when I have felt comfortable enough to do that, are when the sex has started to decline and things have begun going downhill. I want my future Mr to desire me, see me as a beauty and a sexual being, at all times. He may not always want to shag me (that’s somewhat realistic; boners cannot last forever or men would suffer brain problems from lack of oxygen and blood) but he can still always see me as beautiful. My exes did. That is, until I stopped making an effort and ran around in trackies. See it’s not the trackies which are the problem – if you make an effort the rest of the time and do it as a casual chill out style it’s good (so I am told). The problem is when you wear them all the time, stop shaving your legs and permanently lose your hairbrush. I guess I’d like a guy who gets me for me, who understands me and we click. Having had this before, I feel sure it will happen again. But it would be nice to find what I am looking for. Seven million people in London – surely one of them is right for me?!