Going Wool Gathering

Published January 30, 2016 by mindfulofchatter

3d rendering of signs with "PAST" and "FUTURE" pointing in opposite directions

Now that I have a lot of time on my hands, my mind has been misbehaving and wandering off thinking about things other than how to manage my next set of bills.

One of the things it has been thinking about is dating again. That very thought of that makes me shudder. I don’t want to go through that again. It’s a miserable thing, dating is. I live in an area where the outdoors, 4 x 4 trucks and hunting are alive and well. Doing dorky, nerdy things like dressing in Victorian clothing isn’t so popular.

Now there is nothing wrong with the outdoors. I love the outdoors. I just want a real toilet and a hot shower at the end of the day. I am not a camper – happy or otherwise. It has never been my thing. Of course the ill-fated 1968 (ish) camping trip didn’t help my love of camping at all. The group hiked down the mountain in grand weather, then hiked up the mountain in pouring rain, rising rivers (which we had to ford) and eventually snow. We arrived wet, cold and exhausted to find all of the vehicles snowed in at the top of the mountain. Hot chocolate at the ranger station never tasted so good. Camping, however, made to the do-not-do-again list.

So yeah. I’m not a camper.

The other things are fine as well, if you are into those types of things. I am not. This means that looking at dating sites with the photos of happy men and their kills are not going to entice me to date them. If they are looking for a woman who enjoys hunting and fishing, it may be a grand way to find her. Otherwise – no. I’m not interested in seeing your dead deer or the fish your caught. But thanks for sharing.

Then of course there are The Pie Guys (yeah, go read THAT little adventure), the guys my age who want kids for girlfriends (really guys? a twenty or thirty year old when you are 60?), the guys who think they are still above women in general (news flash – it’s 2016, not 1816) and I just throw my hand in air and say NO. No thank you.

I don’t need that kind of depressing activity. I already know I am not the prettiest human on earth. I already know I am ‘old’ (*snort* – as if I think I am old), and I already know I am no longer skinny. I don’t need to be rejected on a regular basis for things I already know about myself.

If I do run into that guy that loves to play dress up, go to re-enactments, and create alter egos, I may give him a shot. Until then, I believe I will sew more historical garments and keep preparing my new venture for public performance. So shut up mind, we aren’t going there any time soon.

I’ll worry about the bills later. After all, the Regency corset isn’t going to make itself.


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