Welcome to Friday, it’s VERY nearly the weekend. I thought I’d pop a blog post up whilst I’ve some time to kill at work – counting down the minutes until home-time. Today’s post isn’t really HIV related per se, it’s just about people and attitudes.
Last night I had a date, well I thought I had a date anyway. I wasn’t entirely in the mood for it if I’m honest, I’d spent a long day chaperoning at the local GUM/HIV clinic – which is incredibly draining both physically and emotionally, but hey I’m not one to turn down a date. We were to meet at 8:30pm at my local train station and head into the city for some dinner and drinks, so I spent an age picking what to wear and doing my hair (that rhymes, wasn’t meant to), then headed to the station. I got there a bit early as I’d rather be early than late and make a bad impression.
8:30pm – no sign, not everyone is as conscientious about timing as I am.
8:40pm – he must be running late
8:45pm – I send him a text, which is delivered (according to iMessage)
8:50pm – I call him (he doesn’t answer)
9:00pm – I realise I’ve been stood up and mope my way home to eat an entire packet of hobnobs.
I felt like a complete moron. I wasn’t in the mood, got myself all excited about it, made myself up and made the effort to go meet him, waited around in the cold for 30 minutes and he couldn’t even be bothered to send a text message to tell me he wasn’t coming. It might be funny if this wasn’t the first time in recent history that this has happened, not with the same guy I hasten to add. It’s hard enough to find guys interested in you when you’re HIV+, it’s even harder when they don’t turn up!
I’m growing weary of being overlooked, taken for granted or generally pissed upon. It’s not even just people I know, it’s the general public too – I’ve got so fed up of holding doors open for people never to be thanked that I’ve started shouting “YOU’RE WELCOME!” at the top of my lungs as they walk away, the other day I helped a woman carry her child-in-pushchair up a flight of stairs – I didn’t get so much as a “ta” or a nod of the head. Why do I bother?
I need a serious injection of positivity and reassurance, before I turn into Agnetha from ABBA and move to my own remote island and block out the word. Less sequined clothing though, might be a bit much for just me and my inevitable 94 cats.