Just the Good Bits please!

You know what I write besides this blog.  And you also know that I am incredibly and long-term single. Which means the content of what I write is pure fictional fantasy.  I have had criticism that my stories are too long before they get to the good bits but I am still and always will be a character builder.  I like the build up, the motivation, the anticipation and the waiting for the good stuff to happen.  And here is where I am in trouble.  I think spending so much of my time writing about fictional people trying to get laid has thwarted any or all of my own plans to get laid.  I’ve got these ridicuolous scenarios playing in my head around random men, some unrandom ones and even ones I’ve never seen before.  They all end up the same way – naked and compromised in a way that’s specifically going to get me what I want.  

While it makes trips to the shops highly entertaining and every new meeting filled with infinte possibilities it is to be honest, exhausting.  I should be able to just turn it off.  Just write the idea down on the appropriate notes page in my phone and move on.  But my brain won’t stop.  There are times when I want to write when I can’t think of a thing.  Not a character, a setting – nothing.  But even lately I am finding it difficult to move past the build up.  Just like in real life, things are not moving past the first meetings, the text messages or the promise that things could be… well… hot.  So in both my, let’s call it literary even though it’s not, literary world and my real world, I am stuck.  Stuck at the promise of good things and without any follow through.

I can hear my married and long term coupled friends laughing.  I can also hear them ringing in my ears with “Oh enjoy it you stupid woman, that feeling doesn’t last very long.”  I know – but unless you can close the deal, that giddy feeling you all love so much starts to get nauseating.  Like too many dagwood dogs on a neverending Ferris wheel – nauseating.  So I’ve decided to fix things.  In my literary world – there will be no more writing about characters.  No more build up.  No more long, anticipated wanting.  Just the good bits.  I am going to keep writing good bits until it doesn’t matter what their faces look like anymore.  (If I did that in the real world, I’d make a name for myself, but here on paper I can call it ‘art’ and that doesn’t even rhyme with slut.)  That should kill any romanticism from visits to Coles and the good looking man behind the Deli counter can take his name badge off, because in my iPad he doesn’t need it.

In the real world I am going to deactivate.  No more resting and waiting for contact, no more letting things ride slowly.  I am not getting any younger and having a love life stalled in first gear has become Ferris wheel nauseating.  So I am going out.  The 8 week challenge is over and some semblance of a single social life needs to be seen.  Exercise is not a way to meet men that can close the deal.  You want to be sweaty, red-faced and exhausted at the end of the story not at the beginning.  So maybe that’s the plan.  I had an 8 week challenge for my body – maybe I need one for my mind.  8 weeks to turn things around with the other half of me.  To do things that will not allow me to lay in wait for one or any of the men around me to realise how amazing I am or for me to realise the same thing.   

Aw fuck.  I just read that last paragraph again.  I just challenged myself to do something else and I wrote it down.  Which means I have to follow through. Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it.  But you don’t get out of it that easily.  I had the idea, you have to come up with the plan. I’ll think about it for a bit but you let me know if you’ve got a better idea.  Until then, I’ll put down the dagwood dog and tell the carnie at the bottom to slow the fucking wheel down, because I am getting off.  (the Ferris wheel, not… well, you know… it’s a metaphor thing)