Apparently, I invest more emotionally in what I write than in some people in my life. One of my friends said that I am very emotional, but only in writing. People sympathize with some of the things I write because I am able to explain it clearly, but it’s been pointed out to me that I am nowhere near clear or emotional in person as I am in paper. She told me that there is a big chance I will grow old alone if I don’t start connecting with people. And by people, of course she meant men.
But I’ve never felt the sense of urgency in being in a relationship, even at 26. Many of our friends are already married, others are expecting babies, and I’m more concerned about Doctor Who than about who I’m going to end up with, if ever I do end up with someone.
But seriously, I’m not a robot. If I could meet someone as adorable as Benedict Cumberbatch, who knows T.S. Eliot and John Keats poems by heart, and whose favorite book is also Catcher in the Rye but isn’t the personification of the neurotic Holden Caulfield, I’d date the hell out of that guy. That is, if he also wanted to date me. See, I’ve felt very strongly about different people. Sometimes I told them, sometimes I didn’t. But I’ve always written how strongly I’ve felt about them. Nonetheless, feelings fade, minds change, and at the end of the day, what’s left are words written by a once-smitten girl.
My friend keeps telling me to be more proactive in establishing healthy relationships. Evidently, a long distance relationship over Facebook chat, with a friend, is neither healthy nor a relationship. She says actions speak louder than words, but I am not a woman of action. I am a woman of words. Writing is my weapon, an escape, perhaps an Invisibility Cloak. People may look at me and decide that there isn’t enough excitement going on in my life and that I’m dull as a brick, and maybe that’s true on some level. But in my mind I am always battling with something, whether fictional or not. I guess that’s the problem with being a writer. And I don’t mean writer as a type of self-important, know-it-all, prick that I know others are when they refer to themselves as being writers. When I say writer, I only mean someone who is always looking for a story and how to say it properly.
I may need to start speaking up soon about how I feel. But for now, writing about it should suffice. Shouldn’t it?