The Big A-ha Moment

Have you ever had a spectacularly gargantuan A-ha moment? Somewhat like an epiphany of sorts? I had one recently, and it was fascinating (to me, at least) on so many levels. Obviously, this won't be nearly as interesting to you as it was to me, but I've nothing else to blog about at the moment, so allow me to bore you with this.

I do not want to be in a relationship with anyone.

Being a writer of erotic romance novels (and btw, for those who have been asking, the current MS is almost done -- but it's not erotic romance, it's more a romantic dramedy) I'd always thought these fantasies which have played out in my brain since childhood were the result of a strong inner desire to be involved with the type of men described in my books. Apparently, that's not true, and I discovered this during a recent bit of meditating (you people do meditate, right? It ain't just for New Agers -- it's the best life compass you can use). It turns out that the reason I love the chase so much is because I don't really enjoy the catch. Sure, I could say the catch bores me to an extent (as it does with anyone) but that's not the real issue.

The simple truth is that I like not being in a relationship. That's not to say regular sex isn't to be missed, but a girl can get laid whenever she wants and there are plenty of toys to offset these things. I do not want the things people in relationships have. I don't want children. I don't want to share a big house with a boyfriend or husband, because I like things the way I like them and I don't want to adapt to someone else's lifestyle. I don't want to have arguments over stupid shit. I don't want to worry about someone if they drag in hours later than they'd said they would. I don't want to cook for two people. I don't want to clean for two people. I don't want to give up the middle of the bed. I don't want to be inconvenienced when someone else wakes up in the morning and wakes me in the process. I don't want to explain me, my life or myself to someone who can't possibly relate to me or my life.

I don't want to be sidetracked from my goals, I don't want to make extra time for someone else, I don't want to gain weight because someone insists on taking me to dinner even though I'm not hungry. I don't want to wake up with a headache because someone insisted I have a glass of wine. I don't want to pretend that sex was good when it wasn't. I don't want to deal with headgames, whether they're in the form of the male ego or male insecurity. I don't want to explain myself when asked a stupid question. I don't want to have to be nice all the time. I don't want to meet someone else's family and pretend I think they're swell. And I don't even want to do these things from a distance. Meaning, not only don't I want to do these things with a live-in boyfriend; I don't want to do them with someone who lives down the street or in a neighboring city. I don't want another person living in my personal space, which, if you'd care to know, extends to the next country over.

All of that said, I like sex as much (if not much more) than the next person, and I'm not quite sure how to resolve this, as I prefer not sleeping with people I've just met due to my aversion to sexually transmitted diseases (do not forget that I have a degree in infectious diseases and am more concerned with these things than the average Joe) and the sad fact is that several dates tend to give some people the impression you're their girlfriend and I don't want that, either. What would be absolutely fantastic, would be a lovely posh Englishman penpal, who could just pop over here to service me a few times a week. Obviously, he'd need to be quite wealthy to afford this, particularly since he'd need to stay in a hotel (I meant it when I said I'm not keen on people in my personal space) but I promise the sex would be worth it. (For him, anyway.)

I can't believe that all this time I thought I wanted a relationship with Mr. Perfect -- when all I really want is what I already have (but with notable career advancement and a substantial raise in income). No fucking wonder I always get crazy the moment I get involved with anyone. No wonder I start to panic and want to stop seeing the guy immediately; it's because my subconscious knows it's not something I really want. None of this is to say that I don't like men. I love some of them quite a bit. Those in my books, for example, I find absolutely perfect. But, truth be told, I'm not sure even they are perfect enough to change my life for. Oh, I get quite a lot out of writing them. But I doubt that I'd want to live with, or marry, one of them. Not that I won't continue writing them, as I do very much enjoy it. But I think I prefer them as fantasy, rather than reality.

I'm sure some of you will think I'm high, or depressed, or whatever -- I'm not. The Rocket Scientist (who I decided not to go out with because I didn't think it would be fair to him, knowing what I now know) got me thinking about all of this, because he was so keen and such a catch in so many ways (job, income, looks, education, personality, etc). And now that I know it, it changes everything.

I truly cannot believe it took me 33 years to realize that I don't want a man of my own.

xx Isabella