My Singledom

Hey any and everyone who finds themselves reading this story. I don’t write often, but about three minutes ago while I was scrubbing myself down in the bathtub a thought clawed its way to the surface of my mind and like the constant annoyance that it is, it decided to chill there for a minute. That thought, of course, was the dreaded topic of my dear old singlehood. I had no choice but to blow the dust off my old Medium account and chat about it. So strap in kids, because I’m about to break down exactly why I’m so damn single.
But before I jump into it, let me tell yáll a lil bit about myself. I am a 22 year old female living in sunny Cape Town South Africa who, like many others of my kind, lives in between the four walls known as my momma house. I’m in the early stages of what could be a blossoming career, I have some friends scattered here and there (I hope), okay’ish looks, an alright’ish figure, good friendly outgoing personality, an inclination to music and poetry and other could-be-seen-as-hipster interests, I dress like a person, I smell nice, I’m a good dancer, blah blah blah . My point being, I’m okay. I‘ve always seen myself as someone who has never done too bad for herself, but even so, I’ve always found myself as a member (maybe a chairperson) of SingleTown. Now my friends have told me this is because I’m not approachable, I have an invisible ‘Eff off you hopeless pathetic loser’ sign tacked to my forehead, I don't make myself available enough (whatever that means), I don’t look people in the eye, I like my Jack Russellmore than anyone whose name could possibly be Jack or Ressell and so many other of those usual suspects. And be some of that truth, I never felt like any of those were the heart of my problem. But on the flip side of that belief, I’ve never actually inspected what my “problem” actually could be. So I think I owe it to myself to try and flesh this baby out and maybe, in the process of doing so, take the first steps to find myself a man.
So without further ado, here is a three-point list highlighting why I think I’m a single pringle.
Number One — I’ve never pictured myself as one half of an actual couple. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve pictured myself with a man, you know, your Chris Hemsworths, your Chris Evans, your Chris Pines, ya know, the general Chris’s of the world. But never with an actual obtainable touchable kissable (wink wink) man. Now I’ve had many hopefuls drift in and out of my life who I’m sure was good decent guys, but I’ve never latched on to any them in a way that allowed me to explore the possibility of ever having something real with them. I just brushed them off and or, if the slightest bit of interest peeked its tiny cupid struck head, directed all my energy to find any negative attribute in them that made them the wrong fit, proceeded to magnify that tiny blemish until it eventually rendered them undateable.
Number Two — I know too much about everyone else’s relationships. Remember that sprinkle of friends that I mentioned earlier in my less than helpful introduction to myself? Now all of them have dated someone at some point in their lives and almost all of them have, at another point, been hurt by their other halves. And for some inexpressible reason, when this happens, they scurry their little behinds over to me and spill da-sour-juices of the troubled paradise over into my oh so willing cup. And hell, I’m always there to listen, and not just because I’m single and love a good juicing, but because I genuinely care about my friends’ issues and want to lend any hand I can. And damnit, at risk of blowing my own horn, I have to say I give damn good advice for a single chic. That’s why they come running, I serve the tea hot and with a slice of lemon hun. But without me knowing, my years of being a good listener, a good friend, and a sponge for their issues have made me too wise (lol), too insightful, and all-round too damn expectant of the negatives of relationships. It's easy to see why I can‘ trust a single interested dude that somehow floats into my atmosphere. It’s not going to end well for us sir, trust me, you best turn your cute ass back around and walk away from this bar side table.
Number Three — I’m under constant construction to self. Change is as good as a holiday they say, but in my case, the holiday would be finally settling on a thread of being and flowing with it. What I mean is that I’m always looking at areas to self-improve, and that's not a bad thing in my books. I don’t see anything wrong with finding a leak in myself and patching that baby up. The problem starts when there are no more visible leaks to stick a patch over, so I go leak hunting. Because Jah forbid I have no problems at all and can be fit to be in a healthy relationship with another living breathing human man. This point feeds a bit into my previous one, I know that that ship is gonna sink eventually, but maybe my future relationships can have a fighting chance if I have no problems, because then all we have to do is deal with his shite. Sounds simple enough right? Wrong! (sorry for screaming) Because I’ll never be perfect, and I’ll never be fit to be a couple member, and I’ll feel like it's not fair to bring anyone onto this unfurnished, unfinished, concrete construction site that is my emotions. (Damn that got a tad real for a second)
Anywho, whether I am a lonely drifter because of the above-listed reasons, whether my friends were right about me, or whether all of that means that I’m simply not ready for a relash is unclear. But one thing’s for sure, this girl just got a whole lot more to think about in her nightly bubble baths. There's still so much for me to unpack about the way I handle the topic of love and relationships and icky sticky boys and I’m in no hurry to get all of that mess out in the open. So instead of hassling on about this, I’ll close by saying matters of the heart are best left to the heart to fondle with.
Thank you all for reading and if you have anything to add to this story, feel free to drop a comment, I love hearing different points of view.
