Old Mother Hubbard.

"Old Mother Hubbard,
Went to the cupboard,
To give the poor dog a bone.
When she came there,
The cupboard was bare,
And so the poor dog had none."

When you've been single for what seems like eternity, it actually becomes boring.
Once you get past your lapse of crazy freedom, you realise that suddenly, you miss having someone to just call when you want to talk and know they'll listen. Or go for strolls, hand in hand, not caring about what others think of you. Or lie in someone's arms, while watching a scary movie, knowing that even though the monsters aren't real, there's no way they could jump out of the screen and attack you. Not with that person so close. Even if he breathes heavily. Even if you have extreme sunburn on the side you're using to lean on him making it slightly uncomfortable. Even if there's a cat on the seat above you - vibrating randomly for no apparent reason - ruining any "moment" the two of you might have been sharing (if any).
None of that matters when you feel right. When everything feels right.

So why, later, does everything fall apart? Something that had felt so right before, now has increased doubts and confusion pouring out of every socket.
The person you want to be with seems uninterested and only talks in riddles you just don't seem to be able to understand. 
He brings up the what-ifs that you're not supposed to think about at the start of relationships. Or the fresh start of relationships in some cases.
What if we don't see eachother enough?
What if it's too awkward?
What if I over-analyze everything?
What if I assume every tiny thing you say or write is about me?
What if I just don't like you?

"Give the poor dog a bone."

I have no clue what's going on at the moment in my entire love life situation.
I am given no hints. No possible clues. No secret sources or hidden messages.
I just wish someone would just throw me a bone - and help me out a bit. Before I starve. Like Old Mother Hubbard and her pathetic dog.

Jack and Jill.

"Jack and Jill went up the hill, 
To fetch a pail of water. 
Jack fell down and broke his crown, 
And Jill came tumbling after."  

Why is it, that everywhere Jack goes, Jill follows? 
Shouldn't Jill make her own decisions? Shouldn't she go where she wants, not just where Jack leads her? Jill really should just stand up for herself, without following Jack's footsteps, and lead her own life. 
But what if Jill doesn't want to? What if she's happy going where Jack goes, just because she loves him, and would give up anything, even her own dreams, just to be near this boy, just to be close enough to breathe in his scent? What if she doesn't mind climbing up a stupid, godforsaken hill, fetching a fucking pail of water, just because he wanted to? What if she did everything for him, everything he asked, and more importantly, everything he didn't ask, even when he didn't give her so much as a backwards glance, just so she could be noticed by his own sweet eyes? 

Of course, this poem is based on history, merely cleaned up a bit, and turned nursery rhyme, just for the sake of little kiddies. The story behind the poem is that of King Louis the XVI - who was beheaded during the Reign of Terror in 1793. Naturally, his wife, Queen Marie Antoinette, was beheaded afterwards - another Jill, following the shadowed life of the man she loved.

"And Jill came tumbling after"

Is it in the genetics of all women, to get in over their heads with a significant other? 
And sometimes the feeling is mutual, from both parties, and I deem the woman sane. 
But in the cases of when the male is completely uninterested, and the female still continues stumbling after him, with her heart in her hand, dropping it every now and then, but dusting if off so that it seems as "good as new" - then, and only then, will I deem said woman; insane. 

It is these insane women - the Jills out there - who usually fill the largest percentile of the westernised teenage population. The Jills who can't get it through their thick skulls that they don't have a chance with Jack, yet refuse to give up, always sparking a new flame of hope, whenever said other utters her name (be it to her or about her), or even looks in her direction (be it at her, or through her). 

Of course we've all been a Jill at one point in our lives. Whether our significant others turned out to be Jacks, or Prince Charmings, is what will keep us with the title of Jill, or rip away the stereotype with just satisfaction, so that we become those princesses who ride off into the sunset. 

And you may think that it could be the Jacks' faults. That it is the men who are either the sane or insane ones. But was it Jack who asked Jill to become completely infatuated? No. Jill did it. On her own. It is merely Jill's judgement on what kind of guy Jack is, before she gives up her life to be near him. 

Because Jack had never wanted to fetch a pail of water. He was merely using Jill to get it for him. Manipulating her feelings so she would do his bidding. Because even if Jack hadn't fallen down the hill first, he still would have pushed her down it eventually. He always does.  

"Up Jack got and home did trot,
As fast as he could caper. 
He went to bed and bound his head, 
With vinager and brown paper."  

So whatever happened to poor Jill?

The Sad Thing I Call A Love Life.

It’s been a while. Seemed about time I wrote another blog.  

How come I always find myself writing these when I’m upset? Or lonely? Is writing really the only thing that helps me figure life out these days? 

Surely I would have a friend who I can just turn to? To spill out all the shiz and feel like they’re listening...And I know I have a few. But you never want to spoil their super days. You know?  

And what gets me so down, you ask? Well I pretty much took a step back today and looked over my life a little. Yet it’s pretty much my love life that takes the cake. 

Which is weird. Because realistically speaking, a teenager’s love life shouldn’t be of the most importance. 

We should be more focussed on things like growing up, and education, and making sure our future is all lovely. Not on a relationship that’s, let’s face it, probably not going to go anywhere like marriage or anything. And even though I fully believe in all the things in this above paragraph, I still have “love” at the top of my list. Sad, I know. But we’re all made to think differently.

"I’ll always remember my cutesy little year eight love interest with fond memories."

So my relationships. You’re all in for the pathetic goss that comprises my exes?  

Well first up there was Mr Bennett. An outgoing fellow, who pretty much always speaks the truth no matter how much you don’t want to hear it. However, what he lacks in communication and tact, he makes up for in brilliant writing skills, romantic notions (haha see what I did there!!), and a charming personality. 

And even though we kissed more in our “stage” relationship than our actual one, I’ll always remember my cutesy little year eight love interest with fond memories.  

Then there was the lovely Ess Dub. Our relationship didn’t last as long as my previous, but when it was over, it formed a better friendship. One that I’ll look back on when I’m a shrivelled granny and go; “that Smallwood guy, he was alright.” I can now talk to him about anything, and I don’t have to worry about him hitting on me or anything, because been there, done that. 

After Smally came Cammy-Babes. The one I constantly remind as the sweetest guy I know. He always knew what to say and when to say it. I could always count on a pick me up text on a sad day, and a friendly face to turn to when the world was full of hatred. My friends always tell me they hadn’t seen me happier than when I was with him. Yet unfortunately, relationships don’t survive on romantic texts and chats over msn. So with the lack of non-virtual meetings, I had to call it off. 

Now I know what you’re thinking. “So you’ve had a few exes – what’s the big deal?” But it’s the love interests that never did evolve into a relationship that wear me down.

"My friends always tell me they hadn’t seen me happier than when I was with him."

And I’m not just talking about the bad “mistake” hook-ups or the guys who become obsessed with you no matter how many negative signals you send in their direction.
No it’s the ones I fall for that really fuck with my brain.

Like years ago, when I had a crush on my best friend’s ex-boyfriend (bah – ridiculous I know) only to have him palm me off with a fucked up excuse about his sexuality, then going off with some chick like, four days later. You could at least tell the truth if you’re going to reject me. Seriously.

Then there’s the fact that the guy I used to look up to, and really, really, really, like, has been the one who has not only broken my heart twice, but “lead me on” (if you can even call it that) numerous times despite the presence of a third person (being the girlfriend).

Then there’s the one who had assured me that he was interested (and oh how the feeling was mutual!) but then right as the crush goes to escalate to relationship, he informs me that he has chickened out and is not ready for a fucking commitment. Only to re-inform me four weeks later that he has changed his mind. Yet as it goes, so had I, and I was just no longer interested.

Then there’s that lovely bloke who is my cousin’s mate. I was introduced, and we hit it off, and I thought he too was pretty genuine. Someone I could rely on. Someone I could trust. But like everyone I get close to, it fucked up – and I was back to ground zero. Okay. So this last one was a little exaggerated. It’s okay now. But bro – it hurt. It still does.

So that’s it summed up. Of course, if I had mentioned those “accidental hook-ups”, you’d know more of where I’m coming from here, but I don’t exactly kiss and tell. Well, I probably do to my nine best friends. So if you’re not one of them, hopefully you’re out of the loop. Hopefully.
   

’m just sick of being fucked around. It’s old, okay?