I’m having trouble sleeping again. As I stared at the ceiling in the deafening darkness last night, I found myself wondering about many things, but two stood out for me.Continue reading
I’m that girl. The one that wears her heart on her sleeve, the archetypal hopeless romantic. Yet Valentine’s Day is one Hallmark holiday I absolutely abhor. I associate it with rejection, and have done ever since I was at school. As I’ve got older it’s got worse. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a hearts and roses kind of gal, but I’ve never been the recipient of such on this particular day – not in thirty-two years. As some people feel Bah! Humbug about Christmas, I feel Cupid should shove is heart-shaped arrows up his arse, sideways.
Every year while at school, the prefects would come go door-to-door to every classroom handing out anonymous cards and trinkets to the chosen. Some of the girls I was in high school with would go home with bags full of goodies. But not me. Not a single one.
In late 2014 I met someone who was in the process of getting divorced. We had fun together and I found my affection for him growing.
Then in January 2015, scarcely six weeks after his divorce was final, he tossed me aside like yesterday’s news after meeting someone a decade younger than me at a party he partnered me to. But wait! It doesn’t stop there…
A mere two weeks later, on Valentine’s Day, he asked her to marry him, and as has become the norm in this day and age, the announcement was broadcasted on Facebook. I was gutted. So was his ex-wife of almost 21 years. Both she and I have moved on, and while I can’t speak for her, the day is still one to which I attach a negative connotation, so for now, until someone changes this Misfit’s mind, I’m going to abide by these images: