A 6% kind of day

So if I had to guess, I would say 94% of the time I am perfectly happy being single. I like setting my own rules, charting my own path, that kind of thing. It’s cool. It definitely beats being with the wrong guy – I know my mom worries sometimes that I’m quick to walk away from things (hi, Mama!), but really it’s just that since I haven’t legally committed to anybody, I can look at the life I’d lead with the guys I date and think, “Mmmmm….better not.”

But on those 6% days? On 6% days, I’m not really totally okay with being single. On 6% days, I just want somebody to come home to who will pour me a glass of wine and listen to my day and then cuddle on the couch with me and watch stupid TV shows.

If you couldn’t tell, today is a 6% day.

It’s not even like anything is wrong. Things are going well. I have a job and I have a roof over my head and I have food in my cupboard and I’m writing. I’m doing the vast amount of emotional work I haven’t realised I needed to do and I’m feeling better about the choices I’m making every day. I see where my life is headed and I’m excited, and (for once) “where my life is headed” is not tied up with “the guy I’m dating wants to be here”. Not dating is an excellent way to make your own choices. Two thumbs up.

But doing all that is exhausting sometimes. New jobs and new living situations and new countries and new everything mean I generally want one familiar thing, and right now that familiar thing is to cuddle with a dude who thinks I’m cool.

That was the hardest part about a long distance relationship for me. That whole “staying faithful” thing was a piece of cake – if I want you, I only want you. Blinders are on, everybody else is invisible, done. But going without being able to hug the person I loved? That was hard.

Because when you’ve had a bad day at work or somebody has called you stupid and told you that you’re lacking integrity (thanks for that, random dude on the phone today), even when it’s dumb, you want to tell somebody. You want to tell them and roll your eyes and know that you’re seen and cared for and that tiny flicker that almost-for-a-second thought maaaaaaaaaaaybe this angry dude isn’t wrong? That shuts up faster. And when you’re having a 6% day and you get a stupid call and you don’t have the budget for a glass of wine and what good is it anyways if it’s just you alone at the bar talking to yet another bartender you don’t know that well? Then it’s no fun. Then it sucks, actually.

And tomorrow will be better and this weekend will be better, but for today? For today I’m going to sit in my room and blast my heater (being warm always makes me happier) and finish my chocolate.

Take that, world.


Not a whole lot to report, to be honest

It’s been a slow few weeks. I’m not doing much, trying to save money, and I finally moved into a place where I have my own room. I still don’t have heat (which, let’s be honest – WTF), but I have my own room and that’s a step up.

The last few days have been kind of insane. I started my new job and I really like the people and I’ve been asked to help figure out how to improve things which is basically my favourite thing, but…I dunno. I think I came out here wanting a certain thing and it turns out I’m just living a similar life to the one I left behind but with fewer friends. Once I get a few paycheques under my belt and can plan some travel (Sydney! Dunedin! Queenstown!) I will feel a little better. The past few days, though? The past few days I wanted to pack it in and go home.

I rarely have homesickness like this, but man…I’ve got it bad. Normally when I get homesick I miss food or places or tiny little things. Not this time. This time it’s more like, “Well, this was dumb, Gundle.”

Because it turns out, that’s the weird thing about realising you have a home. You miss it. You miss the people and the comfort and all of it. I thought that if I couldn’t have Scotland, I could at least have adventure. But really, I think it’s more along the lines of “If I can’t have Scotland, I can still have home.” I keep hedging my bets, saying I’m 97% sure I’m coming home at the end of this, but actually? I’m 100% sure. Maybe 110%. Doing this shit on my own is exhausting and boring and lonely.

So yeah. I guess the decision is made. Charlotte…I think you’re home (at least for now).