Bit of a Ramble + Hey Guys, Brian Here

I have a piece of flash to share. Shocking, I know. I haven't written much this year. I am choosing to blame being far busier than I have ever been before. The real reason probably lies somewhere in the middle of 'crippling fear of the future' and 'genuine chronic laziness underscored by mental illness that I am consistently failing to get on top of'. Any who, this piece is a rambling little excerpt of a day in the life of a man called Brian. Like all truly great men, Brian is a piece of fiction. Thank you for reading today and I do hope you enjoy my work. If you want more, I might just right it. Or not.

Hey Guys, Brian Here

Six seconds ago, I learned what it meant to love. Which is a shame, really, given that I had been in a relationship for the six months prior to those six seconds. It would have been incredibly helpful to know how to love somebody whilst I was meant to be loving them. Misfortune is no stranger to me, though, and the lesson never found itself learned until she ripped my heart out and stomped on it like an unwelcome cockroach.

This was far from my first break up. No, no. It was at least my third. Perhaps the fourth, who can say. Being young is an exciting time to be alive. Actually, excitement may be pushing it. A lot of youth is just trudging around, lamenting existence’s unfairness and waiting for something interesting to happen. Being young is an occasionally interesting time to be alive. Regardless, I may or may not have been through at least three or four break ups. It wasn’t until the third or fourth one, though, that I actually learned my lesson. I know I learned it because the break up didn’t mean much to me.

To my surprise, it didn’t feel like the climax of a doomed romance. It didn’t feel like part of me died. It always did, before. No, it just felt like the ending to a tumultuous friendship in which sometimes we did non-platonic things, such as holding hands and having mediocre sex. I was relieved, if anything. As soon as “We’re done” escaped her lips it was as if somebody had tapped on my shoulder and whispered, “This is fine, you’ll be fine, let’s go home now” into my ear. She didn’t adore that I was non-chalant about the ordeal. The words ‘heartless’ and ‘freak’ were thrown around. Oh well. I had been called worse.

Frankly, being with her was never too exciting. I never swooned when I saw her for the first time in that nightclub. My breath was not taken away when I saw her in that dress on our first date. She looked great in it, but she didn’t look like destiny. ‘The One’, like all hopeless romantics, was a concept I had always believed in. In the very depths of my heart there lies a yearning for true love. 

Of course, the modern pragmatist knows that after ‘The One’ there always lives a chance to meet ‘The Next One’. True love was invented by big business to sell greetings cards and soul-mates was a term invented by the first guy who decided to capitalise on St. Valentine's Day. I’m not quite sure if I believe all of that cynicism, but the edgy meta-humour of modern entertainment has instilled that mantra in to me just as well as the soppy rom-coms of the 1990’s taught me that the love of my life is sat on the other end of the bar right now.

That would be ideal, as I really am in a bar right now. Whilst I’m not exactly broken up about the end of my dalliance with Dalia the underwhelming ex-girlfriend, drowning my sorrows in over-priced beer felt like the practical thing to do. If anything, it's the logical next step whilst I collect myself. I am afraid to admit, though, that the grizzly Harley Davidson enthusiast sat three stools down from me may not be my destiny. A conversation could change that, but I’m not much in a speaking mood. If white picket fences and parent’s evenings are to be delivered to me by a middle-aged barfly with three teeth, I’m not sure domestic bliss is in the cards for me. 

With that, our time together is almost at an end. My beer has been drank and my rambling blog post is almost written. To summarise, Dalia left me this morning. I may have forgotten to say how it taught me how to love, that spiel was entire sentences ago. In case it wasn’t clear subtextually, loving someone is feeling all the things I never felt with her. It’s my heart beating faster than is medically advised when we meet. It’s my jaw on the ground when I see her in that dress on our first date. It’s great sex and frequent hand-holding. It might even be white picket fences and parent’s evenings. 

That’s all from me folks. For more aimless musings on romance, destiny and what it means to be alive, feel free to tune in next time. 

Faithfully yours,

Brian McCrary— Britain’s Favourite Blogger.  


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