Weeks. Months have passed since I parted ways with my ex and I think I might, just might be out the other side and on the road to recovery and renewal. But during this process I dyed my hair three times, gained weight, lost weight, took up a new career, began dating, stopped dating, drank a lot of red wine, white wine and anything I could lay my hands on and I then finally just stopped. Stopped, the entire normal post break up blues.
In the initial first few days the ‘why and what is wrong me’, repeated spun round my head and out of my mouth to just about anyone who asked me how I was. Questioning myself, my looks, my wit, charm, intelligence, and ability in bed. Endlessly searching for the key issue so I could work on a.s.a.p. I began working my through the changes, step by step.
Maybe dip dye will give me a whole new dynamic, I thought. I search for ‘How to’ video’s and grab two hair dyes from Boots at Waterloo. Gingerly applying dark brown hair dye to my blonde roots, I pray this isn’t going to have an adverse effect and send me in to cardiac arrest from ruining my hair.
I wait 45 minutes.
I wash. Then dry.
I am impressed with my first home dye attempt and enjoying the not quite blonde, not quite brunette thing that is going on. Blondes have more fun but brunettes do it better…does this mean I’m going to have better fun?
After 45 minutes at various make-up counters I walk away with a small bag of goodies that have cost nearly a weeks wages, all to go with my new do. The improve looks aspect is a well and truly completed tick.
Intelligence. This could be a tricky one. As you can’t really improve ones intelligence, but more improve my knowledge then if they think I’m a dumb bitch after that they clearly didn’t get my dry sarcastic sense of humor. Searching for courses that will not only give me something to focus on and push through the blues but also keep me entertained and that I can use in everyday life. As a keen keep fit “gym bunny” (hate that term and don’t really get it, is it like the gym version of a Playboy magazine) I thought Personal Trainer course would be perfect. With the coursework and reading material online and some evening classes, what a perfect way to distract me and further my knowledge in a predominately male world. Win win.
After 8 weeks of hours spent in the gym using every machine, weight, stability ball, BOSU ball, resistance band possible to design workouts, and further my gun show knowledge, I walk away with a 96% pass rate Level 3 Personal Trainer qualification. Knowledge, boom, tick.
Ability in bed. Now this too is a hard one. I need feedback from the ex’s. The ones I was with for a decent amount of time so would know the sexual me. Right, well, eerrrmm. One I’ve just left, the other came out last year and the other had an erectile dysfunction. Maybe I can skip this one? I mean the came so that’s a good sign right. Though there was that one time where new ex said he was too tired so the sex that night faded out as he passed out from a long day. That’s all right though? Surely. Oh god, I think I’m crap in bed.
[Tweet “Am I that single girl with the post relationship blues?”]
Two days later a random message from someone I dated a few times. He sent over a blatant booty call. Good sign, can’t be that bad. Now to reply and gain extra post-sex information without getting tangled up in booty callbacks.
‘So you’ve been thinking of our fun times together then?’
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
‘I can’t get them out of my head. I just want to touch your body and feel your lips on my body. Here’s what misses you…’ Photo of his erect penis.
Tick. I am not crap in bed. I contemplate the trek to East Dulwich, turn off the light, roll over and open the top draw. Same orgasm, no travel time, no awkward goodbyes or having to stay over night in a dodgy bedsit.
Evaluation time on the new improved me. The one person who can actual evaluate this is of course my best friend. Cocktails ordered and briefing of my new changes begins to be discussed. As I am talking to her a bemused expression falls across her face and even more bemused thoughts cross my mind. I then began questioning why I thought I needed to change myself and improve myself in the first place? Everything I have done has been fun and made me feel better and like I was doing something when I needed to feel like I was doing something. But at the end of the day nothing has really changed. I’m still me, and me is just fine.
‘Lump it or leave it.’ My best friend screeched as she cheers my glass to celebrate the new me reverting back to the good old me.
Am I that single girl with the post relationship blues?