Pre-emptive strikes

I had a lovely lunch with Lisa & Alison today. Lisa's just given birth to twins & Alison is pregnant with her second. We are the original 3 girl team from school & university. Over the years there's been many meals, bottles of wine & great conversations. Recently our monthly dinners have become essential to our sanity. There is a level of advice and comfort we've taken from each other ...and some of it is quite direct.

To tell them that my love life is still confusing is just tedious. Not because they aren't interested, but because we are all sick of it...it's a never-ending story. We all want a happy ending & it's taking longer than my mortgage commitments to eventuate.

They sense my frustration & although interested in my stories, because they are interesting after all, a theme is emerging. The men are all running away, not trying, making pre-emptive decisions about relationships before we've even had a chance to get past the nervous stage. I'm turning into a wreck. I question myself over every detail & quite honestly I'm tearing myself up over everything. Alison said I don't deserve to torture myself, as they know I'm not pushy or needy or anything...in fact I'm too nice & patient and friendly.

Quite literally I've been rejected for 10 years straight.... which is harsh on my self-esteem. Thank goodness for my little white pills (zoloft) keeping me from hitting rock bottom. As a naturally cheerful person, this is getting to me.

I don't want to sound depressed....just having a moment to take stock and just forget about boys for a while. The annoying thing is I can't even cry anymore, which I feel like doing.

(Stacey, does kickboxing really work for this type of frustration? )

Dear Reader, remember this blog is a good way to vent, so glad I have this outlet...my most reliable relationship this year.

continuing on

It's only been a week since my birthday party. We've rebuilt the kitchen island (like the 6million dollar man) it's better and stronger than before. There is some cake left in the fridge (with a knife on the plate next to it) Four bottles of French Champagne are proudly displayed along with all the cards & pressies. Having the party at home has extended the sense of the night. I see my home thru the good times of friends.

The past weekend was a continuation of my determination not to be bothered by MrBV & his lack of initiative. He cancelled our meet at the Art Gallery due to work. Maybe I should rename MrBV - The PartyPasher ?

Saturday night was two parties. The first, a wig party, although only a hour in attendance, I so enjoyed trying to dress the curly pink wig borrowed from Louise...you just pile on the make-up & go crazy with accessories. Afterwards I kept the wig on for Thierry's housewarming..."Didnt' you say this was a wig party? " as I greeted him in the costume. Not sure what his mostly French friends thought when I pulled out the iPod, and started dancing with a plastic chair. .... some nights you just dont' care. I'm not harming anyone...not misbehaving...just making people do things they really want to..secretly.

I really think my anti-depressive drugs are making me a hyperactive exhibitionist. Not the flesh baring type but 'lets all have fun' type.

Speaking of the depression. It's been about 6 weeks now. The drugs have definately kicked in & a cushion is protecting me from thinking badly of myself. My other worries: starting with finances, need to be sorted. Tomorrow I meet with my lovely doctor & we are putting in Medicare forms to help off-set the costs of professional help.

oh, and the most interesting person to contact me from RSVP is a 23yr old physio. Everyone else is too slack to organise a coffee meet.