When I decided to create a new category titled “Pregnancy Pizzazz”, I had no idea how little pizzazz this pregnancy journey would have. I didn’t foresee the ultimate shittiness that would overtake me in the tiniest of details. My miscalculation, I admit.
Or I could attribute it to Mother Nature’s cunning ability to make a woman forget how shitty the baby-growing process was, and be dumb enough to do it all over again. And therefore I have to keep reminding myself (all over the place) that I shall close factory after this one.
So now that this emotional roller-coaster has brought me to (yet another) low, I just feel a strong sensation to fuck the word “pizzazz”. Pizzazz my ass!
It’s as if my life is full of untimely fuck-ups and a whole bunch of legitimate excuses that just happen to crop up at the worst time possible. If you ask me if I can accept it as “destiny”, I will honestly have to admit I have my doubts. To a great extent, I believe a lot of it is manmade and 100% able to turn around in time for a happy ending.
But of course, a lot of that depends on the human itself.
When you’re playing a game of cooperation, you can’t just take things into your own hands and turn it around. You need the other fucker in the game to compromise and be willing to go your way. More often that not, the fucker is just – for lack of a better word – a fucker.
I get tired of this charade; a neverending story of apologies that don’t do jack and no ways nor means to “make up” for the screw-ups.
“Sorry” is often the easiest way to whittle your way out of an unfavorable situation. Just open your mouth and spew out the words. But one does not always have to feel sorry in order to say sorry.
They’re just words. Meaningless and empty on their own, unless backed by some sort of action or behaviour that is able to prove how apologetic one is. Usually, like the fool I am, I wait for these actions to follow. Well, I’ve been waiting for years now and am sad to announce that I have not yet seen any change nor willingness to change. All I continue to hear… are words.
So to those single people who sometimes envy others for having a life partner, I can tell you: Don’t.
You have your total sense of freedom and the ability to be carefree; the married folks have… well, someone who is there for them if their partner is in the mood.
What you often see is the image before rose-tinted glasses: the lovey-dovey, the “I have a shoulder to cry on”, and the “I wanna have your babies”. What you don’t notice is the intensive amount of compromises, bearing with promises unfulfilled and the eventual boredom that sets in after a few years.
Right now, I would give anything to be able to dress up and go out to party mindlessly. To mingle with the drunken crowd and not have to worry about if I can cope with tomorrow. But because I am harbouring his child – and have to take full responsibility of an older one – things just don’t work that way.
Sure, there are great moments in being married, but there are great moments in being single as well. You just have to cover one eye and live with the bad stuff. This is the ugly truth about marriage. The ugly truth that every marriage holds yet no one really talks about. I think it’s supposed to be taboo or something.