Lulu Dengler

Since I started dating guys (i.e. approximately, seven years ago), I’ve come to develop a ‘type’ of the right-guy-to-date: you know, men who read books and music magazines, watch films, listen to records and new bands, have a car, go (or went, since I’m good at getting thirty-somethings’ attention) to college, have jobs they don’t like, still live with their parents, smoke, drink… physically speaking, I’d go for tall, from tough to little overweight, short curled dark haired, bearded, furry, and the list continues to ennumerate a series of average characteristics corresponding to my averageness as a girl. (more…)

I’ve felt like this before.

Now I feel it again. Here it is, the awful sensation of being rejected for the second time. Not for the same reasons as the first time it happened, but in an interesting parallel way. Obviously, the parallelism being the thing that makes you feel as if you hadn’t learned anything from your many mistakes. The first hit, it really hurt. But it was just an insult to my ego compared to this sort of heartbreak. It hurts still. The first hit was a pretty live rehearsal. This one is like dying on stage.

Except for this time, rejection also comes from mum, and dad, and siblings, and aunts, and uncles. Even grandparents. The columns in which I had placed the abstract concept of absolut love just fell apart. And, if they do not love me unconditionally, who else will? Not even myself, certainly.

Ironically, myself is the place to start and the only one that matters. That’s why I’m reconstructing. Writing. Finding my own narrative and hence logic.