Late night pouties.

Sometimes I wake up feeling really down. I've had this since I was a littlin, and I'm pretty used to it. Most times I just read a book or keep myself occupiedin some other way (internets, etc).

Tonight I sat and really wallowed. It was gratuitous pouting, a fest of feeling utterly sorry for myself. And what - what is my malady, my source of sadness?

No job? Nope, doesn't bother me, never has, know that I'll find one if I look hard enough.

Health? It's teetering and the codeine is still a problem but hey - I can walk around and I can dance. I'm okay.

No, no no. I'm pouting and sighing over something as weak as being *single*. I dunno. Maybe it's cause I'm regularly exposed to my little sister's relationship, which is pretty much the perfect, sweet kinda relationship that makes most cynical, heartbroken single old hags like me want to kick puppies. I'm not blaming them for it - far from it. It's just a tiny little reminder what I don't have, what I've never had, what I probably will keep not having.

I'd be all right if I'd had some kind of substantial relationship in my past to look back on, but really, all I've had is one unheatlhy fascination after another. And it's *not* because I enjoy that sort of shit, either. I really do make sure I'm going for stable, sweet, well-adjusted young men. I think I inspire asshattery in people or something. I must be wearing a pheromone that transmits the signal "Chat me up, dump me and generally ignore my existence."

What makes it worse is that it's abundantly clear to me lately that my looks are taking a steady decline. I don't know if other people notice, but I sure as fuck do. Maybe it's my wog genes from my Gran, all I know is that my pubes are doing the long march down my thighs, my top lip hair is deciding that it wants to be noticed after all these years of neglect and all my other body hair is going "Hey! What about us?!" and is joining in on the assault. My veins are trying to migrate *outside* my body, my skin, though not wrinkled as such, is definitely sagging and my face is pudgier than it used to be.

Point being - my prettiest days are behind me. But it's not like I ever picked up guys when I was super pretty. Don't ask me why - I don't know why. If I knew why I was so fucking offputting to men, I'd do something about it. Or maybe not - I don't change for other people (hence why I'm probably still single).

I know, there's more to life than looks. And you know, I'd say yes to that but sadly, I act dramatically different when I lack confidence in myself. And let's just say - I've not felt beautiful or sexy for a very long time. Years. I nearly did when I was on that date, but then butthead never spoke to me again so - yeah, that kinda didn't help matters.

It's so stupid to be upset about this sort of thing. There's so much in the world that's going on, so many things that are more important than my sex life. And I really feel I'm being thankless when I'm like this, that I'm not being grateful enough for all the blessings in my life. Beautiful family, beautiful friends, beautiful home.

I guess we all get lonely sometimes. It happens more and more to me. The more men I meet and the more disappointments I have, the more I feel that the chances of me finding a man that I'm totally head over heels for, and who feels the same way towards me, are so astronomically small that they're practically naught. Sometimes I honestly believe that I'll be like those old maids in Agatha Christie novels, living with their brothers and doing their laundry and making their dinner. (Not that living with either of my brothers would be that bad, considering I live with them now and it's a laugh a minute, but ya know... weird!)

What really shits me? Is when people say "It happens when you least expect it!" and "It won't happen if you're looking for it!" Or - this is my favourite, it really is: "You have to be happy in yourself first!"

You know what? Bullshit. That's complete bullshit. I've been looking, I've been not looking. I've been *totally* happy with myself and totally hating myself. It makes no fucking difference. It's all chance, really. A big fat game of chance.

Some people act like love is inevitable, that everyone finds it and that there's someone for everybody. But that's not true, is it? There are some people that never get married. Some people that are alone their whole lives. Who's to say I'm not going to be that kind of person, not out of choice but out of sheer fuck-luck?

Well, I've felt sorry for myself enough here, I think. I didn't cut this long rant but I figure, fuck it. It's my journal, it's what I got it for. To have the odd shit-fit at life in front of people. I'll probably friends-only it tomorrow when I wake up in a better mood and feel like an idiot for being so pouty. (It happens). Damn my mood swings.