“I’ve got 99 problems . . .”

 I’m up at whoever past 3am, after having spent the greater part of the morning providing an ex with my assistance as a “Love Guru”.  The irony of it all, is not so much the fact that my ex who I wronged majorly would seek council from me; but more so that ANYBODY would ask me ANYTHING about love, what with my track record of terrifically horrible relationships.

What does a serial dater know about matters of the heart, and getting love right? Absolutely nothing if you ask me. And you should ask me, because I would know. I am that serial dater.

In truth it’s been 6 months since my last relationship, although there might be a soul or 2 who may have chosen not to hear me when I stressed that they and I were “just kicking it”. It’s been a kick ass 6 months mind you.  No obligations to phone people; no obligations to make time for people you aren’t in the mood to see; and oddly enough no obligation to sleep alone when you don’t feel like it. It’s been the perfect balance of companionship; convenience; choice & cock (in the completely opposite order of course). In the midst of all those “C’s” there may be room for loneliness, but lucky for me; I’m actually sensationally fond of my own company so I wouldn’t know loneliness if it were staring me in the eye. How radical is that!

This must be love right? What’s there not to love?

I’m loving not stressing over someone and their whereabouts. I’m loving not having anyone to answer to. I’m loving not feeling ignored because whomever hasn’t called me. I’m loving not giving a shit when people walk outside to take mysterious phone calls. I’m loving the right to close my legs for as long as I want and knowing it’s not jeopardising anything; but make no mistake, I am loving the variety too. I’m loving La vida single and the “lie-lessness” with which I conduct it.

Telling it like it is, is as fundamental as knowing your H.I.V status. It’s a must! It’s my number 1 rule, promptly followed by rule number 2 which would be to stay the fuck out of love. I anticipated the latter of the 2 rules to be harder to comply to, what with my being a bona fide lover of falling in love; this has fortunately not been the case.  The success of rule number 2 could be attributed to any number of reasons like not having found “The One”, mind over matter or a constipated heart; but all that matters is that it works for me.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not hating on loves parade; I’m probably it’s number one fan… if not an addict. Love is as trippy as any (if not more so) than most drugs, and I’m the poster child for addictive personalities.

So do the maths.

If there were any such bogus profession as that of a “Love Guru”, they would be compelled by the rules that govern their profession, to order me to quit loving; and so I have. 

6 Loveless months of heart rehab, with a happier head space to show for it. So now I’m in love with being outside of love, and I kid you not it ROCKS. . . For now! And it should rock dammit, because I’ve got 99 problems, and a dick ain’t one.

C. Msibi

7 June 2011