This week, I’ve finally had time to go to museums, work on briefs, read books, watch movies, draw, apologise profusely to the friends I’ve been ignoring, actually spend time with aforementioned friends, unsuccessfully confront my sister about her not-supposed-to-be-live-in boyfriend, sleep, cook, and discover Made in Chelsea.
It’s nice, but I’ve never been so bored. I never thought I would miss having deadlines and getting up before the sun. The past weeks have been so intense that no matter how much I try to fill my days or how many dots I collect, I don’t feel like I’ve actually achieved anything. Someone said it before, and I’m going to say it again. It’s all Marc’s fault.
I tried (and briefly succeeded) to forget all about picking partners until Tom the -ever helpful- Manning put his pint of Strongbow on the table, leaned back, raised his brow, and told me to sort my shit out already.
Marc’s advice was to see this as dating, not marriage. A good way to look at things. He wouldn’t have said that if he knew my dating history (read: fuck-ups).
Dating scares me because successful dating IS marriage. The only other outcome is failure, also a possible outcome of marriage.
And if some have a fear of commitment, I have a fear of thinking of commitment. So I block these things out until the likes of Manning come strolling about (when he’s not too busy telling people I keep him going all night).
Like the mentor who decided he was a plant when he moved to London, I’ve decided that picking partners is like a silly dance I used to do as a kid, you might know it. I think of it as ‘that silly cowboy dance’ but it might have nothing to do with cowboys. It’s usually danced on a fast-paced song. You’re supposed to find someone on the dance floor, cross your right arm with theirs so that you’re side by side but facing opposite directions, and run in a circle with your arms still locked together (the connected arms are the centre of the circle). You then unlock your arms, clap, and do the same with your left arms, running in the other direction, with the same or a different person.
Some dancers will be taken, others will be going to quickly or too slowly, some you’ll just accidentally bump into and get annoyed at. A few will make it to the left arm. Hopefully one will make it back to the right arm. It’s just a silly cowboy dance.