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“Great is the art of beginning… but greater is the art of ending” ~ Lazarus Long

I have said it before and I will say it again…. I am TERRIBLE at endings. I don’t know when to say when, how to say goodbye, where to stop, how to say no… it is a Franki Figgs personality flaw #504… and as hard as I work at it… my skill set in this regard, doesn’t seem to get any better.

You know what I am talking about my loverlies… don’t you? The inability to let go? No? I think you do. Let me digress and paint a picture in hopes that you will come to see the world through the same tequila colored glasses that I do…

Things we covet despite our subconscious screaming that they are no longer relevant… appropriate or healthy in our lives….

The pair of hot pants in your closet that used to make your ass stop traffic but now don’t even make it past your thighs… and still you hold on to them regardless of the fact that you haven’t been a size 2 in 10 years… You go to toss them in the donation bag where they rightfully belong but the very idea of being a size two again causes you to rack them on a hanger and place them back in the deep recesses of your closet…

How about that friendship that really isn’t a friendship anymore… Time, space, and circumstance (or marriage and babies) have turned them into a judgey and righteous asshole. Notwithstanding these things, in true masochistic form, you continue to accept dinner invitations or agree to a wine date because you find their new personality a source of comic relief (and a reason to feel better about your own assy life) and your morbid sense of humor aside, your heart is crossing its fingers that this new degree of douchery is just a phase…. And that one day you will be just like peas and carrots again…

Or the worst…

Have you ever wanted to break up with someone because in your heart of hearts you know you want different things, and that charming oil and vinegar banter you once had is now just constant arguing, you never see eye to eye…. and your lifestyles and what you want from a relationship are two totally different things.  It is important for your own sanity that things end, and you are ready to send that text, or have that chat…. When you arrive home after a 14 hours shift and without asking he pours you a glass of pinot and rubs or feet while talking to you about love and life and dreams and your body screams at you “YOU ARE BEING TOO HASTY HERE!!!” Do I really want to jump back into the reality of Tinder and Plenty of Fish and suffer as so many of my friends have with bad first dates or great first dates followed by no shows or horrible second dates? And so you continue to bite your tongue… occasionally drafting but never actually sending the “you are an egomaniac, high maintenance weirdo… take your hipster jeans and old soul and go fuck yourself” text message demanding he get his shit together or move on… until it is too late and there is no salvaging anything…

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Sigh…. I am currently feeling this way about #pumarules my friends. I want to end it… But then someone emails me and asks why I haven’t been writing… or someone stops me and tells me how much they have enjoyed the humor of my “little” blog and how disappointed they are in the gaps in my writing… or I get a new Word Press follower or a new Twitter follower (do you all remember the time that Justin Bobby starting following me on Twitter??) and I am find myself nostalgic and ecstatic that my humiliation and verbal bile have entertained or touched people… even if it is just a few. In the last three years, I honestly can’t think of a single thing that has brought me so much personal satisfaction and that includes academics and alcohol… so why end something that has given me so much pleasure without asking for anything in return (unless you factor in sleepless nights and anxiety over risky content and the chance that my mother might read my blog and give me that look of disappointment for being too honest). And so I keep chickening out… I don’t want to go back to being anonymous… I have learned to enjoy my yoda-like status in the #singledom world.

Here is the problem my friends.  I am definitely not the same girl who started this blog three years ago. I have matured… grown into my womanhood… and learned to define the terms of #singledom instead of allowing it and the world to define me. There are numerous and significant writing projects waiting on the sidelines that are the bread and butter of my academics and the foundation of the career I am determined to follow and  the romantic advice and hilarity of this blog are actually deterring me from them (well…. If I am being honest… it is actually the guilt I feel about NOT blogging that is deterring from them). And third and probably most importantly I just don’t think I am qualified. My recent circumstances and an attempted relationship have taught my that I am as fucked up as ever about men and partnerships and the amount of emotional baggage I carry around with me makes it pretty obvious that I am not in any position to offer up sage advice on such things as #coupledom and #happilyeverafter.  The pause in writing can be directly attributed to this flailing about over the last year and a half… single… not single… single… not single… in varying degrees of relationship depending of the day of the week… how whiskey fueled I am… and where he is in his menstrual cycle… So how could I possibly continue to write about the fabulousness of #singledom when I was not really living it?

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All of my excuses aside…. #PumaRules feels undone… and when I attempt to move on and turn my attention to something else… this blog and the nostalgia it brings to my soul… pulls on the strings of my stitched up heart… and I find myself back here… staring at a blank page wondering how to end it or how to continue on… A month ago I celebrated my 38th birthday… and for the first time in a decade growing older isn’t scaring me… instead I find myself stoked at the opportunities that lie ahead of me and the adventures that are just around the bend. I have had so many amazing, awful, fantastic, brutal experiences over the last few years that never made it to the pages of this blog… The great thing about being someone who can sort through her emotions most clearly when she writes, is that most of these experiences do in fact exist in writing… they are either half started and unpublished posts, or diary entries which I never converted into blog-like material but are truly worthy.  So why not go out with a bang?  Close the chapter on Franki Figgs (who many thought was a name to hide behind, but is actually a nickname caught on, and given that I will be publishing shortly in very “serious” academic circles I didn’t think having my real name attached to romantic satire and humour would help with my credibility as a serious human rights activist #TBT), and give the world a few more chuckles at my expense as I endeavour to explain the #singledom world.   Challenge to myself?  How about 40 posts in 40 days which will take me to the beginning of my new adventure and my new blog.  Sidebar: I have a lot on the go right now… I am preparing for a trip to Jordan to do some humanitarian work with Global Villages and United Nations in August (if you would like to sponsor me you can click here, if you want you can consider it remuneration for the content I have provided free of charge over the years), and I have a major research report due  from my trip to Costa Rica… and so I will begin with the creation of a Facebook page for #PumaRules (which I have never done before) where I will post all my entries over the next few days starting from the beginning….and then add 40 more (I will # the new ones so that I can’t cheat old for new for those of you who are new).

See… I told you I absolutely suck at endings…. Procrastination is my middle name… or it might be Adele…. Believe what you like my loverlies.

Yours in all endings… good or bad…

Franki Figgs

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~ All artwork on this blog post is owned and distributed by the amazing Nicolas Ruston

 

 

 

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