Oh holy crap, this is embarrassing.
You know when you’ve been staying at a friend’s house, and you say your goodbyes, and it’s all very dignified and decorous, and you sail off into the sunset with a swelling sense of closure as the end credits roll? And then, you realise you’ve forgotten your toothbrush and you have to pop back with an awkward ‘hi again’?
Yep. I’m afraid that’s me. All you lovely people I said goodbye and good luck and best regards to – well, a week sans blog and I’m back. Like a hastily recommissioned docu-soap the network controller had just scrapped.
The fact is, I miss this thing. After a week of moping and pining and rediscovering my love of tragic recording artists whose music forebodes the fact they went on to kill themselves, I have concluded that my malaise has nothing to do with men. Men come and go. Men are like sun in the British summer – great while they last, and a good excuse to take off your cardigan, but don’t assume it won’t be raining by 4pm.
Nope, what I’ve been lamenting is a relationship far more enduring – a relationship which, meteorologically speaking, has had more in common with a cloud.
It has been constant and dependable. Every time I’ve needed to procrastinate; every time I’ve had work to do and no drive to do it, I’ve found myself opening WordPress and bashing out another 400 words. No planning needed. No carefully-wrought journalistic research, or illegible shorthand scribbles to transcribe. Simply the bewilderment born of another key procrastinatory device.
A blog about OkCupid. It’s like biting your nails into the shape of a viral YouTube cat. Never have I achieved such a synthesis of pointless and unproductive, and there’s a certain majesty in that.
I’m afraid that my own enjoyment of this blog is trumping my desire to save face. The downside of restarting it? I suppose I’ll have to – *crosses self* – reactivate my OkCupid account…