I think I've written before about the concept of Cosmic Ordering: the idea that if you voice to the benignly indifferent universe what you really really really want, it will arrive as if ordered on the internet.
I don't fully believe that shouting what you want as if to a short-order cook in the kitchen works, but I suppose that keeping the words in your mouth helps you to recognise the order if it might arrive, or helps you make steps toward it. I admit that I have, on occasion, made demands to a sky full of uninterested clouds. It is fortunate that when I used to walk in the Parc du Woluwé with a sleeping child last year, it was mainly empty.
It occurs to me that the universe, far from being benignly indifferent, is actually a bit of a piss-taker. I have asked, in polite and respectful terms, for a nice boyfriend. Someone kind, funny, loving, with nice teeth, and who will not bugger off immediately after. Not a huge or unwieldy list of demands. But somewhere between here and the kitchen, the order goes wrong.
At the risk of overloading you with metaphors, it is as if you go into a shop to buy a good winter coat and they say well all our good winter coats have been sold but would you like this one that belongs to someone else? Or this one that will disappear the day after you wear it? Or this one that you can try on, but you cannot take home?
Clearly it's not this simple. While I rarely doubted that I would find work here, because I knew my professional worth, that doesn't carry through to the more personal side of life. To change what you personally think is your worth is almost as hard as changing your genetic code. So I may be asking for something I feel I don't deserve, even though I know rationally that everyone deserves a good winter coat.