Summer of Discontent

After calling it off with T (Calling it off? Nothing had happened anyway), I disconsolately turned to my dissertation for solace.

Actually, there was none of that Romance of the Intellectual crap. I had to write 55,000 words in 3 months because, having previously been more interested in snogging than studying, I'd pretended it didn't exist for the first half of 2012.

Oh the misery!

What did I need to relieve me from the burden of the lonesome scholar and the full-time job? Someone affectionate, easy to be around, undemanding. Someone who knew me inside out (and still found me tolerable), and was therefore willing to cut to the chase (thus representing a good investment of my minuscule amount of free time). But who could this demi-god be?

A-ha! An ex!

In timely fashion one got in touch. Ex (as I shall henceforth refer to the being) sent me an extremely romantic birthday present, out of the blue. From thence I fell into a pining and a sighing. Hadn't he always been my One True Love? Wasn't this, finally, the very pinnacle of moments for Ex and I to reunite in a metaphysical merging of both body and soul?

Stop wasting my time!

The short answer: No.

We met for drinks, things seemed encouraging when - and I must admit a level of presumption on my part here - he turned the discussion to the possibility of having children with me, how he had never stopped fancying the pants off me, how he'd never met anyone he could get on with as well as he got on with me, and what a wonderful mother I'd make. Six or seven long phone calls (and holiday plan-making) later and...

Well, reader, I feel such a fool. You see, I had interpreted the above outpourings (articulated after one measly pint) as an indication he was still interested.

scratch 'n' sniff

However, one month down the line he kindly informed me this is how he talks to all his female friends. Yes, that's right - "I want you to be the mother of my children" appear to be words used as a mere token of friendship in Warwickshire...


Following his suggestion that we now be bestest of best friends ever, and maybe swap sticker albums or something, I decided that the time to be hankering over commitment-phobes 20 years older than me was past*: in short, the Era of the Ex was over.


Time to reinvest my energies in the more emotionally thrilling "Panic" stage of the dissertation.

Back to old faithful...

*you will enjoy my upcoming posts, if you believed that...