Different Heights of Brows

And I Lived Happily Ever After

Before I you start reading this post, I just wanted to make excuses for the poor writing skills displayed below and apologize to you for having to read it. I wrote the majority of this post while experiencing a massive sinus headache (I have a head cold) so if my thoughts are all over the place that is why. Today I feel much better, but am too lazy to edit. So here it goes:

This past Friday night, I was grilled about "my story" which I never finished and still do not intend to do so. For those of you moaning for more, first off I'd like to say "Thanks". Thanks for supporting my endeavor by reading the installments, and more importantly, thanks for seeming to receive real enjoyment through the reading and real loss for not having any to read any more.
But one of those revelations I had over the last 6 months was that those fanciful romantic ideals I spend a lot of my day dreaming about are more harmful than I might have once believed. Sure it was okay when I was still in grade school and used to indulge my innocent fantasy by reading silly little teen romance novels about a girl and her first kiss, first boyfriend, first love, sigh, but, serously?, I probably should have put an end to it when i graduated high school.

In fact I pretty much had. That is until I met a girl who was working at the same company as I in university. She was doing a co-op term and I was working part-time and summers. My first impression of her was not the most favourable and I used to mock her for reading those trashy adult romance novels with all their sometimes ridiculously described sex scenes. Heaving busoms here, thobbing manhoods there. But, despite her petite build, she was no wilting flower. She challenged me to read one of her books, in full, and then if I still thought they were trash, I could continue trashing them. Well, worthy adversary that she was, she choose a very good book by still one of my favourite authors ("Born in Fire" by Nora Roberts) which also happens to be the first in a trilogy, sneaky bitch! I was converted. And she is now one of my closest friends. So I blame this enabler for continuing my fanciful romantic ideals into adulthood.

I don't think any of you realize just how these daydreams emcompass my existance. Any free mental moment I get I float back to where I was in the current "story" (like flipping back to the page in a book where you left off) and continue. I don't know where this story is going except that it'll end "happily ever after". Sometimes I will even backtrack and "re-write" a section if I've thought of a better plotline. The basic principals are always the same: I am the heroine and there's a man who I meet at the beginning, to which I can describe that meeting in full detail down to the accessories I am wearing, there's a conflict or misunderstanding, and then we will fall hopelessly in love by story's end. It's pretty formulaic, however the details are always different. I get so engrossed in my own imagination that should I be composing on the subway the emotions that "I" (my character) feels is running all over my face. Heck, sometimes I'll include a funny anecdote and literally chuckle out loud. People look at me like I'm crazy! It's taking over my life!!

That in it of itself is not the reason I feel I should stop. It's the deeper emotional ramifications that I'm worried about. There are a few, which include the fact that my expectations for a mate are probably higher than they should be. Aka: I'm too picky because no man will ever be as great as the ones I make up in my head. Also, and here's the kicker, I believe the stories keep alive in me a childlike hope for the societal implied necessity for the whole husband & family deal in order to be a whole person myself. But having turned 30, with none of that even remotely in site, maybe it's best if I finally shed those expectations and come to terms with the fact that maybe I'm not meant to be one of those people. Maybe it's not in the cards for me to get married and have kids. Maybe, if soulmates exist, I don't have one. And just maybe, I need to be okay with that prospect. And the only way I can be okay with it is if I stop hoping for it.

Last night I watched my first PVR recorded show, "Emily's Reasons Why Not" and something she says at the end really struck a cord with me:
"As much as I want to find my other half; I need to consider the possibility that maybe I'm already whole."

Who knows, maybe this will be the key to finding my mate? "They say" you fall in love when you least expect it. Oh dear! If the only way I can be happy with being single is to push those romantic thoughts out, that is a very dangerous thought to have floating in the back of my mind....

Happily Ever,
Highbrow

posted by highbrow @ 10:39 AM