2001-08-08 - 11:53 p.m.
I was intent on writing a happy entry today. I was going to write about automatic toilet flushing systems, my favourite candy shop *Suga*, and the banal activities that shaped my day. That was until I had to play counseller to a dear friend who was going through a nasty breakup.
I sat there, surrounded by the sound of pokies machines, clinking coins, and old people. The gaudy carpet, flashing lights, and general frivolity of the venue was exceptionally annoying tonight. I've had four hours of sleep, three strong lattes, too few cigarettes, have I mentioned 8 hours of crap work?
I sat across her, watching her downturned lips quiver, tears welling. I'd never seen her cry before, I felt strangely uncomfortable. She talked about only ever wanting to find someone she was happy to spend the rest of her life with. I nodded in agreement, without much thought. It seemed logical, it seemed so simple. I let it rest.
On my drive home, it suddenly occurred to me that prior to this, I'd assumed that somehow, someday, somewhere, I'll find someone to settle down with, and he would be MY perfect partner. This would all, I assumed, be a natural progression, something I would not have to work at, that it would just miraculously happen. I believed that when I got to a certain age, I would know exactly who is right for me, and why.
Then for the first time in 22 years, I was afraid that I might never find my ideal partner. I've never found it quite necessary to worry about such issues at my age, I am afterall far from *marriagable* age. In ten years, I might develop a strong notion of Him: his height, hair, occupation, likes, interests. But I may never meet someone like that. Do I then continue waiting? Is life, as she implied, largely about the hunt for Him?
I should say here, that while I found this rather daunting a prospect, it hasn't made me panic-stricken at all. It was merely something to ponder over, something real, in this mad mad world.
