If I stripped away my writing, I’m not sure what I’d be.
If I stopped focusing on writing my book, I do not know what I would do.
Then if I lost my camera and my job I’d be unclear how I’d fit in to this community.
There is this dating site I tried out the other day. Plentyoffish. And it asked me to put in a headline about myself. And I didn’t know what to put down. I didn’t know how to sell myself.
Sure. I knew what I was. I knew what I liked being. I was a writer and a journalist and I liked photography and taking pictures of people and reading. But there’s nothing that makes me sexually desirable. More importantly, no hobbies I can share with someone else.
I’ve learned to be myself by being by myself.
But I can’t just put down ‘lonely’ as an attractive quality.
I told one of my friends about the headline and she offered to list a few of my virtues for me. Didn’t want to take her up on it but she did it anyway.
“Good looking, gentle, and smart.” She said. “Gentle and warm are tied so take your pick on that. You have the ability to make people feel you like them from the first moment you meet, so I would call that warm.”
Soon on Facebook she asked everyone how much money you needed to become a sugar mumma. I said “only a doughnut” and then she gave me one. But it was in emoji form.
So I’m not sure how much I’m to take her at her word. But anyway, long story short, I’m committed to having a sugar mumma. It’s not even that weird. It’s like having a Member of Parliament. You have one. But you don’t have to do anything. Well, except voting I guess.
How do I tie this up into some pensive conclusion? I don’t know really. Just like in real life I flow into tangents, which you could probably tell by my talk about my sugar mumma.
I suppose this is another tangent. It’s 11pm and I just had to go to work because I forgot to take back the work vehicle. And walking back home I passed the pub. And often I hang out there on a Friday or Saturday night. I always walk in alone in the hope I meet friends (who don’t ask me out to join them to begin with) or a girl I can build a conversation with.
And it struck me as I walked past how sad this really was.
If this is what I had to do to try and make friends and get people to talk to me, meeting them drunk on the off-chance I don’t feel alone, then how horrible.
Whatever I am now, whatever I’m doing. It’s not working for me.