I started writing stories about my quest for true love in the 21st century for one reason alone - I wanted to feel better. Since the departure of Mr. Wrong, I've felt pretty lousy a lot of the time. In fact, I've felt so lousy so often that in the past nine months, I've tried a lot of things under the guise of, "well, it probably can't make me feel any worse!" This list includes but is not limited to: exercise, gentle; exercise, vigorous; mindfulness meditation; cognitive behavioral therapy; tap dancing; mass consumption of wine; a subscription to Frogs.com; the dates you've already read about; the all Klondike bar diet; and of course, journaling.
I really dislike journaling, probably because I don’t want a record of all the crazy thoughts and ideas and self-pity that emanate from me on a regular basis. I know it’s supposed to be therapeutic to “write it out” but once you commit your thoughts to paper, they’re really out there. This might not be a problem for some people, but for a person like me, I don’t need further proof of my wholly imperfect being. I’ve spent the better part of my life cataloging my many shortcomings, and journaling feels like evidence of my failures. And do we really need to accumulate evidence? I think not.
However, Elf-Therapist decided to take his hard-earned money (which, in some sense, is mine, too) and take an exotic vacation, which left me with few options:
A. Sit with my thoughts until he returned and then talk really, really fast during my next session so as not to leave anything out
B. Torment my two friends with my lamentations
C. Try this whole “writing it out” thing because it’s preferable to the alternatives
I diligently sat down and tried to write about what and how I was feeling. Of course, yours truly is the only human being on earth who got writers block trying to keep a journal, mostly because I couldn't tell my story if I wasn't writing it for an audience. Right around this time I also realized that one of my greatest strengths is my ability to find the humor in just about anything and to laugh at myself.
One day, I sat down to journal and instead of writing about how sad, lonely, and depressed a decidedly unprincess-like woman with a deep fear of dying alone was feeling, I wondered what it would be like to tell my story from a different point of view. What if I told my story from the perspective of a princess who simply wanted to find love and companionship? (I mean, a prince would be nice but none of us are getting any younger or better looking over here, so we're keeping it real.)
I wrote a little story about Princess D and why she is kissing frogs. When I re-read it, I thought, "Hey, this is kind of cute!" and I shared it with a couple of friends, who got a little chortle out of it and who suggested that I tell more stories. Maybe start a blog. I laughed it off but realized that writing that first story actually did make me feel better. By taking the events of my life and making them into a comedy, I could stop taking myself so seriously, laugh a little, and gain some perspective.
I started this blog because I figured it wouldn't make me feel any worse, and in many ways, it's helped me to feel better. It never really occurred to me that anyone would be interested in reading it. I figured I'd write it until I stop feeling so lousy all the time and then like most of the crap on the internet, it would just wither away in obsolescence.
A couple of things have happened lately to challenge my thinking. First, the Elf-Therapist (who is more than just an elf and a therapist - he is also a reluctant blog reader) called me out last week. The exchange went something like this:
Elf: Princess, we need to talk about this frog blog. I don't like it.
Princess: I knew you were pissed off that I likened you to an elf. Why didn't you just admit it when I asked you about it earlier?
Elf: You are a moron, you know that? It's not the elf thing. I think elves are cool. They have magical powers.
Princess: Well, then I don't know what the hell you're whining about.
Elf: If you'd shut up, I could explain it to you. What are you going to do when you meet a guy you actually like? Are you going to put all your business right out there on Front Street for anyone with internet access to see? What guy is going to sign up to date you knowing that the end result is that he is going to be maligned, humiliated, and turned into a frog on your blog?
Score is Elf: 1, Princess 0. I hadn’t considered that the frog blog, this thing that is actually helping me come back into my own, might not be my most appealing quality as a potential date. I’ve got to do some serious thinking on this topic.
The second thing that happened is that one of my ill-fated frogs read my blog, and based on his response, it’s safe to say he didn’t particularly care for the way I portrayed our short-lived and doomed relationship. BUSTED!
Contrary to what this frog thinks of me and is probably subsequently posting on his own blog, I’m not a heartless bitch. I never intended to hurt any frog’s feelings and I do feel bad that he had such a strong response. I considered removing the post in question but ultimately decided that this blog isn’t for the frogs – it’s for me. I’m not suffering from any delusions. I’m no more a princess than these guys are actual frogs. These frog blog stories represent real dates I’ve been on with allegedly human being males but for the record . . . any resemblance to real life frogs is purely coincidental and no harm was meant to any frogs therein. Any resulting injuries may they be physical, mental, or emotional – including wounded pride – are purely accidental. And if you think you might be a frog, I would suggest that you point your browser to a different website or proceed with caution.
© 2010 Princess D
No comments:
Post a Comment