Broken Bella Donna











{April 6, 2012}   Douchebaggery

This post is bought to you today from The Big Building Project. Sitting here in my future office chair (check – comfy), at a collapsible table (not check – daggy) blogging away, ready to cut and paste when I get back to a PC that has internet coverage.

Until my battery runs out, at least.

Had a weird dream last night… don’t remember most of it now – at this fine hour of 11am –  but at least I remember the pertinent bits, the bits that stand out in my head as blogworthy. Had I been prepared to ruin my entire nights sleep by hopping out of bed and grabbing my laptop in the wee hours, this whole dream may have A) made more sense in context and B) been more telling, but fuck that, I like my sleep.

It was almost like two dreams, unrelated but somehow connected by small references made by the main characters. Upon re-reading this I feel anyone else who isn’t me is going to wonder why I bothered typing it down, but it makes more sense when you get to the end, in a very introspective way, so bear with me.

Firstly – and most memorably – I seemed to be hanging out with a guy I semi know who lives in my town, but keeps largely to himself. I think he’s about my age, I have helped him with a job in the past so got to know him to a certain point, about as much as I’d like to anyway. In this dream we were just hanging out at a function (that incidentally wasn’t placed around where we live, but some random dream-scape place that pops up from time to time in my dreams but I don’t believe I’ve ever actually been to in real life) and I was kinda getting a vibe from him that he was chasing after me in a romantic sense. (Don’t think he is in real life and I’m certainly not interested in him.) We end up back at someones house (I think it may have been his family, whom I’ve never met) and I was staying there, sleeping on the couch. He was fussing about and somewhere along the line everyone came into the room and we were watching a DVD, but I started dozing off because I was tired and hello, I’m meant to be SLEEPING in this room. I realised as I dozed off that as I relaxed I basically tipped face first off of the corner of the lounge, so I crawled up, turned around and lie facing the other direction, where it turned out he was. As I dozed off I became aware that he had started stroking me, down my side, from my cheekbone down my ribcage to my hip, in the same manner you would absent-mindedly stroke a cat you were fond of, but somewhat lavishly. WTF? I think I also weighed a few kilos less in this dream, ha ha!

However somewhere between the function and the napping, my ex came into the dream, somewhat snappily asking this guy what his intentions were with me. (This ex is the one I’ve been having issues with previously in the blog, hitting on me even though he’s married.) We also – in the dream and I have no recollection about the context of this bit, I just remember it as a snapshot that occurred at some stage – found ourselves in a similar position as the lounge napping scenario, me lying down napping, him there as well, only he was sitting beside me with a warm, heavy hand lying palm down on my ribcage, in a very possessive “She is mine” fashion.

Now, the next bit brings me to ask “What does this say about me?”

I was much more comfortable with being ‘owned’ than ‘appreciated’.

Perhaps it was because one of these men (in the waking world) represents the unknown vs one representing the known, perhaps it’s because one of them I’m actually drawn to and the other is more of a personality I’m repelled from. They couldn’t be two different characters and I suspect that’s why my brain sought them out. One is outgoing, social, open-minded, sexual and not afraid to tell you what he wants. The other is withdrawn, quiet, close minded and quite a bit different to most people. Honestly, barring the fact they’re both male they really couldn’t GET less alike.

And when presented with a man who was polite, quiet, respectful of my space vs a man who wanted me know that I was ‘his’… for some reason I preferred the latter.

Of my last three boyfriends have been two quiet, meek, shy guys who were willing to let me pace the relationship and flutter around looking after my every whim, lest they offend me and I run away. The other – and last – was the aforementioned guy who took control, told me exactly what he wanted (though in his defence it wasn’t a one way street – he wanted me to know what I wanted too, so he could provide it) and was willing to ‘wear the pants’ in the relationship.

I’ll give you one guess which is the one who is still on my mind.

Then I’ll give you a guess which one of the relationships lasted SIGNIFICANTLY less time than the other two. ANd we’re talking 4 years vs 2 years vs 3 months.

I cannot work out what that says about me. I know I’m a relationship dud – life experiences have caused that – and I think that a guy who can take the lead is a good thing, as one of us has to and it can’t be me. However that sort of attitude comes with the personality that isn’t willing to nurse me through. ANd people wonder why I’ve been single for so long now, I just can’t be bothered with the whole bullshit that comes with it!

On that note, I’m sitting here in My Big Building Project, mere meters from where my (now married) ex groped me up only a few months ago. Since I growled at him over it (via text, I’m SUCH A BRAVE GIRL!) his hands have been kept to himself but it hasn’t stopped the lingering eye contact, the smiles, the odd text message and little comments… some of those things from both of us. Urgh. He’s just so fucking charming. He isn’t ‘my type’ (though these days I’m unsure exactly what my type even is) but I can’t help but stare at his profile when no one is looking, or his hands, and remember what was.

The other day he stopped in and I found myself propping my head on my hand, just watching him and chatting, and he kept turning to me to talk and when he did this, the other people there couldn’t see his face. And he looked at me with that expression that said lots of things, none of them you would repeat in front of grandma and now he’s back in my head.

He isn’t traditionally attractive. He isn’t spectacular at anything that chicks like, like music or sports. He is a crap husband and he’s a player. He doesn’t write me poetry or sonnets, or bring me flowers or chocolates and he’s married to someone else. He isn’t super smart or the funniest guy around. He isn’t rolling in cash and he has a kid.

He is the last guy who made me feel special, sexy, desirable and like someone who means something.

Is that it? Am I such a sadarse that the way to my heart is by accepting me?

I blame my parents, and the fact that since I hit puberty, neither of them have actually liked me. I’m like a less bleached Marilyn Monroe, but with more hang ups.

It’s so very peaceful here in My Big Building Project. But so very very cold. What am I going to do, when all I have to do is think? This could get very dangerous indeed.

Ha. If I had this sort of privacy when I was with the aforementioned bloke, I reckon I’d be married and tooting out kids by now.

I need a haircut.

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