Tipping the Scale: a twenty-something's quest for balance.

March 14, 2017

This is the first time I've ever recorded myself reading my work. Please be constructive but kind. Let me know in the comments or something if it's something you'd like to see/hear more of!

Regardless of whether you choose to believe in astrology or not, at some point in your life you have flipped to the back of a magazine to check out your horoscope. I know, right? It’s like I’m psychic or something. You probably then proceed to scan the page and locate the matching zodiac sign to the person you had a crush on, read the short paragraph and over-analyse it inside your head. We’ve all been there. Whilst the quality between publications may differ, the principles are always the same. As a Libra I am supposed to be balanced, charming and romantic whilst somehow being wary of my manipulative and indecisive nature. I am warned to stay away from pessimistic Cancer personalities and said to be attracted to the impulsiveness of a Gemini. 

Contrary to whatever the stars might be saying, balance is not my strong point. I struggle with limits. Be it “one drink” on a Wednesday or the ability to watch a single episode of something. I know what you’re thinking - Jesus this girl is actually an alcoholic in denial! But I’m not. I went months without a single drink and I didn’t miss it at all. The problem I have with alcohol is the same problem I have with dating, with work, it’s even the same problem I have with communication. I cannot teeter somewhere in the middle. I’m impatient. I’m stubborn. I want to do things now. If not now then not at all. In a week it will be something new, so what does it even matter?

The last time we spoke I couldn’t keep my new found love for women quiet. I was so excited. In fact, the last two entries were me emptying my heart. Sexuality is fluid, we know that. But could this be a pattern of mine? Somebody hurts me and I switch straight back over? A girl makes me cry and suddenly I catch myself glancing at men again. I work in a busy pub so there is a constant flow of material for one of my favourite hobbies: people watching. When I first felt attracted to women I would see a group of them sitting at the bar and obsess over their interactions. A beautiful girl whispers something into the ear of a female friend. I’d quickly avert my eyes as if I had been observing something illicit and I didn’t want to get found out. So you can imagine my disappointment when I realised I was ‘back into’ men. Men with sweaty foreheads, strong arms and bloated bellies. Men holding babies. Riz Ahmed in Star Wars. Ryan Gosling in La La Land. Mr. Darcy in the wet white shirt, and *sigh* oh, Mr. Big.

But I can break patterns or habits. I stopped smoking, gave up alcohol and bought furniture. I really got my shit together. But I didn’t see my friends. I’d spend each weekend (or whatever qualifies for a weekend when you work in a bar) feeling so anxious because there was so much to do and I didn’t feel like I had enough time. Menial tasks such as going to the local shopping centre to buy a new lightbulb would consume me. I ended up spending a lot of money on gadgets and knick-knacks, which I am still glad to own but in hindsight I was just trying to fill the gaping hole where my social life used to be. I’d saved up so much money from being a recluse that I could finally afford a MacBook Pro, something I’d been aspiring towards for a very long time. But I was bored, and lonely. What’s the use in having your shit together if you’re just going to stay indoors the whole time with only your expensive new vibrator for company?




And what’s more self-destructive anyway, going out, drinking excessively and sending provocative text messages, or staying home and playing The Sims for 9 hours without moving? I’ve always found it incredibly difficult to find a balance between anything. If I’m making a good choice by staying sober, awake and at home, then is it ok to binge watch Sex and the City for the zillionth time? Wouldn’t I rather have arrived home 3 hours earlier and stumbled my way into my bed? Even if I had cut knees and a squashed Big Mac, at least I had fun?

I began drinking again, at first it was fine and just on special occasions but it coincided with me becoming tired of working night shifts all the time. So, I changed it. Another pattern broken. Suddenly I had some evenings free and my friends back! It didn’t take long for my bedroom to return to a messy state. Coffee cups left wherever I stood last before running out the door, my bed a graveyard for pistachio shells. 

I have to keep reminding myself that just because my laundry basket isn’t empty, it doesn’t mean that I’m a mess again. My happiness is not synonymous with a clean desk. I’d like to think that where I’m at now is somewhere in the middle.  A balance, a compromise. At least Mystic Meg will be happy.



1 comment:

  1. Oh my gosh, this is AMAZING!! You are such a truly fantastic writer.

    ReplyDelete

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