I think my sisters are rather concerned that I’m too much of a home-body (my brother couldn’t care less and would be oblivious even if I vanished into a puff of smoke- boys!). Last week, we enjoyed a three-day weekend because we had to go to the polls. I went out on a Thursday night and drank too much (read last post) and therefore I feel that it’s completely acceptable that I spend three days recovering (age does amazing things to your body) and just lazing around.
So my sisters have been urging me to find a new hobby so that I would get out more. I said I love sleeping and was met with stony stares. I reasoned that I did find something I enjoyed doing, and look where it got me. I started taking oil painting lessons because after completing my degree, I suddenly had too much time on my hands. And that’s where I met X. I have to say the three years I had him in my life was rather eventful. So much joy. And so much grief now. I’m still missing him terribly every single fucking day.
I don’t think me being hesitant about finding a new hobby is unreasonable. I’m just afraid history might repeat itself.
But I did later sit back and think hard about this whole having a hobby thing, and I got rather excited about the things I want to do/ learn. Like knitting. I’ve watched my godmother do amazing things with her knitting needles, creating sweaters with our initials, complete with a cartoon character when we were mere munchkins, with her eyes glued to the TV no less! I once told X about learning knitting and told him I would knit him a sweater, some gloves, a scarf and maybe even some coasters once I’ve mastered it. And he said he was looking forward to all those. Wait. Stop. He’s not supposed to infiltrate my mind and to-be hobby like that. Scratch that.
Then I also thought about how much I want to learn a third language (swearing in various dialects do not count). French was always my first choice. Not only is it such a beautiful language but I personally have dreams about moving to Paris someday. A girl can dream. However, other than it being bloody expensive, it will also serve as a constant reminder of the one month I was in Paris with X. Best days of my life thus far. Whoever said “Paris is always a good idea”?! It is a fucking bad idea for fuck’s sake. It made me fall so hard for him it’s impossible to extricate myself from. Fuck this shit.
I was chatting with my colleagues about taking oil painting lessons and how much I enjoyed it and how it came to an abrupt end and she told me she’s taking lessons too and invited me to join her (after making sure X is not her instructor). I’m quite tempted to be honest. But a niggling voice at the back of my head keeps calling me a bloody traitor for wanting to ditch X as my teacher. In actual fact, he’s ditching me because he has time for every other student but me. And all, I mean ALL my supplies are at his home, together with my half-completed canvas. How in the world am I going to finish that canvas knowing that another man helped me with different styles and techniques? It really feels too much like a betrayal (like how one feels guilty going to another hairstylist behind the original one’s back).
Great. So whatever I do, I just seem unable to shake him off. How did I allow him to creep into every single aspect of my life? If only I could CTRL+ALT+DEL and start again. Looks like I’m destined to be the mother of all home-bodies.
I’m going to dissolve into a puddle of tears.