The title was appropriate for the blog I originally set out to write, the chronicle of my last desperate attempt to enter into a romantic relationship before I turn 40. But of course that hasn’t been happening. I’ve barely even made any sort of attempt; the one new foray I made into online dating was an even bigger disaster than usual, and left me feeling even more cynical and hopeless than ever. Consequently, instead I’ve been doing a daily blog chronicling my ordinary life, my studies, my writing and Greek mythology, which are, of course, all interconnected. (Though sadly the mythology is only connected in the sense that I’m writing about it and studying it, and tend to think about it a lot.)
Over the last few weeks, I’ve come to the bitter but inescapable realization that there’s no point pretending that I’m going to be able to change my loveless existence so easily, or at all.
We live in a society where a woman’s worth as a romantic partner is judged solely by her looks, and I’m quite probably the most physically repulsive person on the planet. I’ve seen women even heavier than I am, it’s true, but they’ve had more attractive faces to make up for it, plus their weight was better distributed. I can’t even hope to make good friends with some compatible guy and then turn that into romance, because most men are too disgusted by my appearance to be willing to speak to me, and even if they were able to speak to me, I’m too socially inept to be able to make friends easily.
So I’m going to change the title of my blog, as soon as I come up with one that seems appropriate. After all, I set out to write a daily blog for a full year–minus November, of course–and I plan to achieve that goal at least.