consisted of watching some A grade telly. Bridezillas on Arena reminded me I would rather be single than marry a red neck named Wayde who calls me a peasant and demands I arrive on a pony to our ceremony, with a gun tucked down my cleavage (I am not making this up, people like this actually exist and are willing to let cameras film their ignorant slurs).
Flicking over to Animal Planet, I was then treated to an informing doco about wild sex. Once again I realised I'd much rather be single than run the risk of being eaten after I make sweet, sweet love to a tarantula, yikes.
After watching animals mate then kill one another, 20 Acts of Love Gone Wrong on E! finally confirmed that my hiatus from the dating world could be a wise choice. Love can make the smartest of people do crazy things. Take NASA astronaut Lisa Nowak for example, who wore an adult sized nappy to save time while she frantically drove hundreds of kilometers across America to confront the other woman.
But then I snuggled up in bed and read the most poignant article in my favourite magazine, Frankie, on why being single sometimes sucks. It was absolutely spot on and so beautifully written it gave me goose bumps.
"How can we meet new people? Us loners. Us washed-up lovers. How can we tune into the frequencies of those who would hold our arms as we picked out videos? Who would add a 'kiss me' to our things to do lists and watch the ground for us as we text-walked? What combination of words and actions could unlock the vault of chance that would lead us to a universe of warmth beneath covers and the body lock of sweetheart sweat - the autumn-fall of thoughts leading to the timeless utterance, 'I'm so glad I found you.' How can we find those we'd be so glad we'd found?
We go to gigs, parties, we flick about on Facebook. Everyone looks occupied and unattainable. The beautiful people have their friends, their drinks in hand, they don't need us and our over-thought desperation. We over-thought it already. Our sentences are like high-school clay, all fingerprints and lumpy joints. What could we possibly offer? We are on the outside of the painting looking in. Colours are creamy and expressions are effortless. It's a dream in there. How could we approach? We are covered in shadows.
Within a typical day the average single person will create over 186 conflicting thoughts about love. They may tell themselves things like, 'This is a good time to be single' within the same stanza as, 'I'm horny, everything's fucked.' This is normal, and is reflective of the human experience. We are wise-cracking muddles all wrapped up tight in string, like Kris Kringles waiting to be given to the right person. We are store-bought bundles of poetic observations, clever humour and kisses. Oh dear god we are good kissers. Did we mention this? Upon the well-timed mouth we'll make you forget every insult you've ever been given. We'll take you up in a hot-air balloon and land you in a forest of flowers, make you biscuits of the ripest honey and read you the funniest and saddest story, in voices soft as rain.
You just have to find us. We just have to find you." (Excerpt from Hopeless and Romantic, by Justin Heazlewood in Frankie Magazine, March - April issue 2010)
So maybe I don't want to be with a red-neck, or a stabby tarantula, or a diaper wearing maniac. But I'd definitely like to have a little piece of what Justin laments over.... Wouldn't anyone?