relationships. another non sequitur.

So I'm nowhere near as irritable as I was a few posts ago. The stress has vanished so I should take advantage of the temporary release from the psychological hell that it frequently unleashes. It seems I am only at ease around Janice and Wonderwoman these days, the two people who have somehow managed to adapt to my antisocial idiosyncrasies. No one else in London knows quite what to say (or rather, not say) or how to behave without arousing my disdain or total boredom. Though my grand-uncle, freakishly similar to my father, is getting close...

Of late, men are buzzing around like flies on a carcass. Yes, the imagery is intended to be so distasteful. Is it simply a question of timing? Or do I just really not want a relationship? Or is it one of those strange laws, whereby the more attention I'm given, the less I desire it? Or is it London, a city not so conducive to monogamy? They say, get a boyfriend or enjoy yourself, a euphemism for fucking around. These are the socially acceptable options, each one's appeal dependent on the time of the month. Whatever. Last weekend, I woke up, resting my hand on the other pillow. I smiled, grateful of my own unfettered space. Am I weird? And if so, by whose standards?

These days, I regret not appreciating enough my male friends from the uni days, when it was still possible to be friends with someone of the opposite sex because there were other factors - study, extracurriculars, single campus - that pushed you together. To that end, I hope all is well in Austin, Pittsburgh, Cameroon, Marseille, and Bombay.