still the same old story.
I spent a large part of yesterday following the US election results. From as early as 4am in the morning, I was up rolling around in bed quite unable to sleep, so I started tracking newsfeed on facebook. In my heart of hearts, I knew Trump was going to win. The same feeling I had before Brexit happened, the same feeling before I reversed into the second car for the month. Yet, ever the optimist, I still held on to the glimmer of hope.
As the day passed, as the reality of Trumpdom became inescapable, conversations on this topic regressed into exclamations and then sighs and then a resignation as my soul deflated and asphyxiated.
But that is rather melodramatic.
I dragged myself a painful jog in the evening. Breathing was alright. Energy level was there. My body felt like lead, my spirit just couldn’t get through it. If not for the fact that J insisted we do the jog, I’d have flung myself on the couch and binge on articles on the world’s journey to shitsville.
The despair from the day lingered and in true Trump fashion, transformed into a self-centered dream about FMW and his girlfriend. In that dream, I felt a longing for a relationship that was the stuff of my imagination.
I woke up with much unease and had to physically shake myself from the discomfort that cloyed. I reminded myself of the reasons why things ended, why things just. did not work out. It disturbs me that 2.5 years in, I still get reminded of those 4.5 years. I reflect on my actions now and wonder if I had responded then the way I do now, would things have been okay? Had I not been so affected by the perceived sneer that I felt was perpetually on his face or the contempt he held for me, would things have been okay? I see shards of FMW and I, even in FMW’s traits in myself in my interactions with J, and I hold myself back, wondering if I'm becoming just as spoilt as FMW was with me. I wonder if I’m the only one who bring habits of my past into my present subconsciously.
Had I not pulled the plug in April 2014, would I still be suffocated by the same desolation that most non-Trump supporters must feel right now?
That is all moot, of course. I have a good thing going with J now. He understands me, indulges me but only just to the point before I becoming absolutely spoilt. I hardly if ever, feel embarrassed to do anything in front of him. Sure, it isn’t all rosy but despite seeing each other almost daily, I never quite tire of spending time with him. We went on a date last Friday where we both made an effort to dress up a little. It was just dinner and drinks after, which ended around 1030 or so. Nothing fancy. Yet, it felt like the early days of dating all over again with great conversation and a lot of laughs.
I felt a bit sad that I didn’t have anything nice or pretty that I could dress up in. The fact that my mom, who usually compliments my outfits, has begun to comment on the deplorable state of my wardrobe and outfits. I can’t help that I don’t enjoy shopping or think there’s anything worth buying.
I’m losing the plot with this post, as with all my other posts that are haphazardly written over the course of the day. So here’s a two or three week old picture of J carrying Snowy out of the car because the old puppy’s bones no longer allow him to leap off the car boot.
This picture always makes me feel a little fuzzy inside. I mean, anyone who lovingly carries my 35kg dog who’s ridden with skin problems up and down my car just so he could get a change of scenery for his short walks is a winner in my books. :)
As the day passed, as the reality of Trumpdom became inescapable, conversations on this topic regressed into exclamations and then sighs and then a resignation as my soul deflated and asphyxiated.
But that is rather melodramatic.
I dragged myself a painful jog in the evening. Breathing was alright. Energy level was there. My body felt like lead, my spirit just couldn’t get through it. If not for the fact that J insisted we do the jog, I’d have flung myself on the couch and binge on articles on the world’s journey to shitsville.
The despair from the day lingered and in true Trump fashion, transformed into a self-centered dream about FMW and his girlfriend. In that dream, I felt a longing for a relationship that was the stuff of my imagination.
I woke up with much unease and had to physically shake myself from the discomfort that cloyed. I reminded myself of the reasons why things ended, why things just. did not work out. It disturbs me that 2.5 years in, I still get reminded of those 4.5 years. I reflect on my actions now and wonder if I had responded then the way I do now, would things have been okay? Had I not been so affected by the perceived sneer that I felt was perpetually on his face or the contempt he held for me, would things have been okay? I see shards of FMW and I, even in FMW’s traits in myself in my interactions with J, and I hold myself back, wondering if I'm becoming just as spoilt as FMW was with me. I wonder if I’m the only one who bring habits of my past into my present subconsciously.
Had I not pulled the plug in April 2014, would I still be suffocated by the same desolation that most non-Trump supporters must feel right now?
That is all moot, of course. I have a good thing going with J now. He understands me, indulges me but only just to the point before I becoming absolutely spoilt. I hardly if ever, feel embarrassed to do anything in front of him. Sure, it isn’t all rosy but despite seeing each other almost daily, I never quite tire of spending time with him. We went on a date last Friday where we both made an effort to dress up a little. It was just dinner and drinks after, which ended around 1030 or so. Nothing fancy. Yet, it felt like the early days of dating all over again with great conversation and a lot of laughs.
I felt a bit sad that I didn’t have anything nice or pretty that I could dress up in. The fact that my mom, who usually compliments my outfits, has begun to comment on the deplorable state of my wardrobe and outfits. I can’t help that I don’t enjoy shopping or think there’s anything worth buying.
I’m losing the plot with this post, as with all my other posts that are haphazardly written over the course of the day. So here’s a two or three week old picture of J carrying Snowy out of the car because the old puppy’s bones no longer allow him to leap off the car boot.
This picture always makes me feel a little fuzzy inside. I mean, anyone who lovingly carries my 35kg dog who’s ridden with skin problems up and down my car just so he could get a change of scenery for his short walks is a winner in my books. :)