Sunday, 30 October 2005

Caring and sharing

The bliss.

I just had a really nice evening with J. He came to see me this afternoon, we went out for a meal and hung out with my depressed flatmate.

Or more correctly, he hung out with her while I played playstation.

This, I'm sure most people agree, is one of the really important things in a relationship; the ability of one person to take care of the other.

But I mean not just directly, like bringing each other tea and in the case of colds, chicken soup, but also, as in this case, more indirectly.

I love my flatmate to bits, but she is having a really hard time and as we came back from our lovely meal (to which J treated me as I was very disappointed when we missed the supermarket opening hours; this would be the direct caring) I knocked on her door and could tell from her voice she was feeling very low.

Let me digress for a moment. Two people cancelled on her in one day. Two! She's a pleasant, fun person who despite her depression doesn't complain about her life much. One of the cancellers even knows she is having a hard time.

I just ask; what's with people? Why can't they just say no when she asks to arrange something, instead of cancelling last minute? I think it's a British thing, an avoidance of conflict or maybe the result of not wanting to say rude (saying no to someone's face is apparently ruder than cancelling last minute by SMS).

End of digression.

So I came back into the living room after knocking on my flatmate's door, and asked J if he thought I should knock again.

I guess I knew he would say yes; I find that really attractive. Many guys or indeed girls would just say not to worry to get you to themselves. "If you don't knock again," he said, "you'll just be wondering how she is all evening and you won't enjoy your GTA. If she tells you to fuck off and leave her alone you've done what you could."

So I went in and she was indeed very down as she told me about the above cancellations and how she'd roamed around town all by herself for ages instead. London is lovely, there's always something to do, but then again that many people with an apparent purpose can make you feel like you're very all alone sometimes.

Coming back into the living room, J could apparently tell from my face that I didn't really know what to do. So he began chatting to her, and then asked if she wanted to do the Guardian quick crossword with him. After about 10 minutes she came out and joined him on the sofa, and they spent a good hour with him knowing all the answers and giving her extra clues.

The reason I think this reflects well on him is that he could tell that I was tired, because being around someone very depressed is tiring and you run out of things to say, so he decided to shoulder some of the burden. He likes my flatmate anyway and they get along well, but I know he did what he did chiefly because it made the evening easier for me.

And then he gave me a lift to work. Before I come off as a selfish bitch can I say that I repaid it with some explosive oral sex fitted in at a convenient point of the evening. Not that I don't enjoy it, but it does do things for him that really surprise me on a regular basis.

Can't say fairer than that. Now how do I get him to marry me?

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The perfect woman II

I'm glad a silly web site agrees.

You Have Your PhD in Men

You understand men almost better than anyone.
You accept that guys are very different, and you read signals well.
Work what you know about men, and your relationships will be blissful.


Click on the headline if you feel inclined to see if you measure up, and let me know how you get on... So long and thanks for all the fish!

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Happy Halloween

Walking into work today I spotted a house, Halloween decorated to the hilt. Flashing pumpkins in the window, a door sized banner covering the entrance, garlands of bats and so on. Until this I hadn't really thought of Halloween at all.

When I turned the corner of the block, three almost identical Draculas somewhat comically rolled out of a small car parked there. I guess the Halloween house was preparing for a party. Halloween and London is a somewhat strange juxtaposition, although the city arguably contains more goth than all of the US added up.

Halloween, the hailed annual opportunity for every US High School and College (possibly past this age as well although I couldn't say from personal observation) girl to legitimately dress as a complete 'slut' with no repercussions.

Me? I did don the latex hotpants once upon a time. Now, it reminds me of my gay ex*.

His birthday is near Halloween, and with his love of flamboyant dressing-up (his favourite costume being, in fact, Dracula) allowed us to stage some fantastic Halloween parties while we were going out. The ultimate camp experience, making October a worthwile month.

He was great.

We would spend ages in the bathroom together getting ready to go out, dress in matching outfits (not deliberately but we had a very similar taste in clothes), he would never be scared of making an arse of himself on the dance floor (which of course he didn't since he could actually dance).

He never let food go mouldy in the fridge and was actually not bad in bed either, since you ask.

I met him again recently, and he was exactly the same, on his way to watch the Eurovision with his friends.

Where am I going with this, you ask. Am I just boasting of having managed to net a guy who doesn't actually like girls?

No.

When I was with Gay Ex, it was like coming home. I think that's how you know you really love someone. We knew each other for four days before he came out to me, and in those four days I knew he could be the one. Not in any 'I want a mortgage' way as we were in our early twenties, but in a way where every fibre in my body ached to be near him.

I think he felt the same way. He contacted me constantly, we spent every waking moment together and soon developed the habit of sharing beds as well, platonically. By three months in, it was no longer platonic. My theory is you put two reasonably horny people half naked in bed together for that long, things are bound to happen.

I used to hold him at night. He was often depressed and cried lots, but on good days he was the loveliest man ever. I never had to say what I wanted, he read my mind to an eerie degree. He bought me a copy of the Narnia series for £2 at a car boot sale, one of the nicest gifts anyone has ever bought me.

We kind of decided when we got together to give it two years. When they were up, I left. I was tired of caring so much for someone I knew I didn't have the conscience to stay with for ever. I thought he deserved to love someone the way I loved him.

My heart was breaking constantly for two years, but not to the extent it broke when I wasn't with him anymore. He called me and cried down the phone, begging me to come back. I said no, because I knew we both deserved better.

By better for myself I meant I wanted to meet someone like Gay Ex who wasn't gay.

This is where J comes into the picture.

He cries less, and has less toiletries, but for all intents and purposes they are very similar people. They are even the same star sign. They are equally uncompromising, equally depressed and insecure, equally cleverer than I could ever hope to be.

But now it is about mortgages. There is no two-year limit in my head, or in my heart. Yet I am sometimes thinking the same things; is it selfish of me to stay with someone who doesn't love me just because I want to be with him. He deserves to love someone the way I love him.

Maybe we dress up for each other emotionally a little every day. He acts as if he loves me, but says he doesn't. I act as if he loves me, but I know he doesn't.

And no Halloween party is going to fix that.


*Before you ask, the gay ex knew he was gay from at a very early age (cue: crush on Adam Ant) and is still gay. I was, I guess, his somewhat botched attempt at girls.


We stuck it out for a couple of years, and I loved him in a very heart-breaking way. I really think he loved me back in his own way. I have never come so close to spewing out ill-sounding words like 'soulmate' and the like.

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Friday, 28 October 2005

Moving-in day approaching

I was on the phone to J last night, and he told me he will be dropping off his stuff for our trial cohabitation on Sunday afternoon.

The thought of that does fill me with a certain degree of excitement, but as mentioned earlier, it's a bit scary.

Part of me thanks God for his bad relationship with his mum, without which he probably would have chosen to stay with her rather than me (she also lives in London). Such is his commitment phobia.

On the other hand, I am mildly panicking. I suspect/fear I might like the idea of living with him better than the fact of it.

Pros:

  • More cuddles before sleep and when waking up in the morning
  • Someone who cooks and does the dishes
  • Never having to leave the house cause you have a partner for dvd-watching, secret crap TV indulgence, Singstar and board games

Don't worry, I'm not going to start with the whole 'building a life together' thing, although I do like going to Ikea with J, and not just cause he buys me meatballs. I assume this is down to some poorly-researched graduate nesting instinct... Or just the regular female one.

In fact, I can't really think of any practical cons to cohabitation apart from:

Major opportunity to have your heart broken in a drawn-out, economically devastating manner.

But I could live with that. Roll on, cohabitation.

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Thursday, 27 October 2005

Rollercoaster

J doesn't like rollercoasters. They apparently scare him. I've tried to explain that the whole point of a rollercoaster is to experience fear in a controlled (read: safe) environment, but this has done little to endear him to the idea.

His rollercoaster phobia is especially strange and ironic considering our relationship is fast becoming one. Although it would be wrong to say he enjoys it being this way, nobody can say he's running from it with anywhere near the speed he would be should he suddenly find himself on a real theme park contraption.

A few examples:

Holiday Day 1 (0 metres above sea level):
We're both really excited to be there and spend most of the day roaming around the city and looking at architecture and people, feeling blissfully in love (at least I assume so on his behalf as well)

Holiday Day 2 (-5 m):
I feel quite low. I don't really talk to J about it, instead I stay awake part of the night and burst into tears in the morning because I feel selfish for staying with him when he doesn't love me.

Later: Burst into tears after silly argument, upon which J is very apologetic and attempts to kiss away the hurt in public.

Holiday Day 3 (+4 m):
Feel a lot better. Go out to see some live Jazz in the evening, share a bottle of wine, have a really good time.

Holiday Day 7 (+5 to -4 m):
J takes me out for lovely meal in the evening, then pisses me off by getting really irritated and not wanting to pay for cab when we miss the last bus (also for gentlemanly reasons refuses to let me pay for the cab).

We don't argue but I punish him with about 20 min of silence because my feet really hurt (I know, I know, why wear unpractical shoes, but it was a really nice restaurant and I wanted to look nice for him and the occasion).




We bicker because we're both insecure; he's insecure about himself and I'm insecure about how he feels for me. He wakes me up by rolling over, kissing me and apologising for not loving me, and soothes me to sleep by telling me how the holiday would not be anywhere near as nice without me there.

You get the picture. It's strenuous, but I kind of like it. I'm just worried I'll get so tired from all of it that I'll have to leave to recover and take care of myself, that it won't all settle down into a nice routine before it's too late.

Thanks to all who've left comments here while I was away! I've not exactly got a tan but it was a really great holiday.

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Wednesday, 19 October 2005

Insecurity

So Mr. Attafield asked me if I'm insecure in my relationship. It's a fair question.

In the words of a close friend, yes and no.

I'm not insecure in my knowledge that I love him. I'm not insecure in knowing that theoretically speaking, under current circumstances, we have a chance.

I'm not insecure about whether or not he loves me, because he says he doesn't.

But that, of course, does make me insecure. I think I'd be either in denial or deeply inhumane if it didn't have me down in tears occasionally.

Our relationship is great as long as we don't think about it. It's like a Monet painting, once you start trying to study it in detail it blurs.

Is this the same for every relationship? Is the only way you can make it by never sitting down to analyse why you're actually with someone, why you love them (I refer again to the onion thing)?

The reason you end up with a person are endlessly complex.

Without giving in to literary Freudianism, to which I'm quite violently opposed, I think every person who's ever been seriosly involved with someone else has at some point stopped and thought, "oh my God, it's like my father" or "I like it when she says that because I always wanted that from my mother and she never told me".

Then there's the timing aspect.

I love J and we're together, because for me it's the right time, I'm ready to stop moving around every 5 months, I want to buy a house and own a piano.

If we'd met ten years ago, he would have fewer emotional scars, yes, and this would maybe have made things easier. But I wouldn't have been ready. Now, he would have been US Ex or maybe one of the other people I've loved deeply but am no longer with.

I fear it's not the right time for him yet and pray that I'll be able to stick around until it is (if you think this flies in the face of what I said in the third paragraph, so be it).

I'm with him because partly he's the sum of things I've loved or found missing in other people I've met.

And here I am, peeling away the layers. It's difficult to stop. Possibly so difficult it could be an early stage of OCD.

Maybe this is the different onion with something in the middle. Maybe it just needs to be firmly planted.

But then again if you keep peeling it's not going to grow very well once it gets in the ground...

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Tuesday, 18 October 2005

10 reasons why I love my boyfriend

We all want to be 14 again, don't we. Why resist the urge. I'm going on holiday tomorrow. It's allowed. In no particular order:

  1. He doesn't mind nipping to the corner shop for the n'th time as I'm cooking dinner and realise I don't have any eggs / sugar / milk / garlic etc. etc.
  2. The way he kisses
  3. He's cute
  4. He speaks proper English. This is very underrated
  5. He tells me I do well when we do exercise and I clearly don't. This includes during tennis, sit-ups and golf
  6. He doesn't mind if I talk about my ex-boyfriends and never displays jealousy. This could of course be because he's never jealous, but I don't think that's it
  7. He likes me better than he likes his mum
  8. We never agree on anything but he never tries to force me to think in his way
  9. He never budges if he actually thinks he's right
  10. Just because.












Love. It's a chesty ball of meat. Or something.


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Monday, 17 October 2005

Goodbye, my LA Ex

New to my blog? If so you should probably start with part one of this story.

Four years later, I went to study nearer where he was from. On a whim, looking through my address book, I sent him a post card.

He wrote me back, saying his parents said he could go where ever he wanted for his spring break. I said he should come visit me. I thought it would mean nothing, but already then I arranged for a four-day stopover on my flight back home, in his home town.

A week before he was due to arrive, he had to postpone his visit for a week due to an art exhibition he was in.

In that week, I met someone else. Someone else I didn't love, but I was bored, it was winter, I didn't think USX's visit would matter at all.

But it did. He arrived, and stayed in our second bedroom. My new man stayed over a lot.

We had five days together, and I was more deeply in love with him than I have ever been with anyone else. He sat up and drank red wine with my new boyfriend, healing his broken heart. That's what USX does. He heals others while breaking himself.

We drove to LA together, it was a day trip, looked at orthodox jews, 'no cruising' signs, had dinner on Sunset Boulevard. It was like a movie.

We held hands the whole way. Thank God for automatic gear.

He said I always came around when he needed me most. He had been crushed by this other girl, and felt very low, and then my postcard arrived. He said he felt giddy with happiness, in the car on the highway.

On the last day before he left, he said "you're so beautiful, it hurts to look at you". At the red light near the airport we kissed. At the airport we kissed again, and he cried. In the car, alone, afterwards, I cried to. I never told the boyfriend this.

On the phone, whispering a few days later, my boyfriend in the next room, I told him I loved him.

I went to see him on the way home, having broken up with Temporary Boyfriend. Then Temporary Boyfriend called. He wanted to make up, to move in with me back home. For some reason, I'll never know why, I said yes.

USX begged to be allowed to kiss me. I let him, once or twice. I felt numb. After the first few days he let slip a few acidic remarks, and who could blame him.

I broke his heart, and to be with someone I never loved.

In the summer, he came to visit my home town and we met for a drink. He brought a friend. When she went to the bathroom, I said I was sorry for breaking his heart. He said it was OK. But I know it wasn't.

I've tried to call him, but I have no idea where he is now. It's been years since then, but I think about him often.

I hope he's well, that someone else has come around just when he needed them and let his heart of glass heal up. I hope he's giddy with happiness.


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Where are you now?*

You can't make stories like this up. Or that is, you can, but it would be unimaginative, lame and clicheed.

But this is true. I promised I'd tell the story of me and my first US Ex (from hereon out referred to as USX).

We met in a bar. I was an 18 year old virgin, and this was the first time ever I had met anyone in a bar, in any sense of the concept.

The bar was called after a famous movie star, and our story strangely ended up mirroring that of his most famous picture.

I was chatting to the bar tender one afternoon after school, probably doing my calculus homework at the same time. There was a lot of calculus homework in those days... Or maybe even worse, matrixes, or imaginary vectors or something else that I've successfully managed to forget by now.

The bar tender looked up to serve a young man who came to the bar, and then he said, so, USX, have you met ... She's a lovely 18 year old virgin (I'm not making this up, that was the bartender's idea of 'funny'). He said he hadn't. And then we got chatting.

This was about a week before my senior prom, and USX said he'd never get to go to his prom, because he graduated a year early and went abroad. So I invited him to mine.

On Prom night, he was wearing ridiculous socks but looked amazing in a suit. He was tall and lanky with amazing hair, the kind girls would kill for, long, wavy, blond, soft like that of a baby. He always wore it tied back.

We didn't know each other yet, but we got to know each other over the weekend as most other people at the dance were intolerably spoilt brats from Texas. The theme of the dance was Hollywood, and we sat at the table by the same name as the above star who had the bar named after him.

I don't know if I fell in love. I already had a broken heart. But he was so sweet, so different from all the superficial, self-obsessed, stone hearted and insecure guys I knew.

He was like an ancient hermit trapped in the body of an 18-year old. His dad used to make him play football because he thought he was gay. I dreamt he would write me songs on his guitar.

I took him to the afterparty and we kissed. We kissed for a long time, and he had the softest lips I have ever felt.

We had 22 days together, then he had to move home because his mother had a brain tumour.

The night before he left he had a leaving party. I fixed two of my friends up, they're married now. A girl had a fit and had to be taken to hospital.

We spent most of the night awake, lying on his bed, partly clad; he didn't want to have sex with me because he said he didn't want to be remembered as someone who hurt me. But in a way I still lost my virginity to him that night.

After orgasming he fell asleep, the kind of person who is incredibly vulnerable when awake, so when they're asleep one look at them will tell you that this person will have their heart broken again and again until there's nothing left of it.

I got up, washed my mouth out and sat in the living room with his friends watching the sun come up and drinking Black Tower. Then I slept next to him for maybe an hour, before he had to get up for the airport.

He let me follow him into town; he waited for the airport shuttle in the bar with the filmstar name. He cried. I cried too. He said he thought he could have loved me. A few weeks later he sent a letter saying; what a stupid thing to say, of course I love you.

I moved abroad, but not to him, it was too far. We talked on the phone and kept exchanging letters but love fades so fast when you're that age, even when you think it never will.

tbc

*sung in the style of Desiree in that track in Luhrman's R&J

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Post tempest

Suddenly everything is fine again. J is right; when things are tricky it is difficult to remember what it is like when it's really nice.

We're going on holiday in a few days; I'm really looking forward to it now. Romantic mornings and naked breakfasts.

J has even offered to get the Heathrow Express to make up for the grief he thinks he has caused me.

This is no small sacrifice on his behalf as he thinks it is capitalist and evil. It's quite amusing; a 31-year old who is still in his post-adolescent idealistic phase.

But nice at the same time. And he always recycles stuff, too.

On top of that I have finally fully recovered from my cold, I think I'm going to venture out on a jog today.

J did 10k yesterday 'just for fun' (it is probably obvious to the reader at this stage that his idea of 'fun' is somewhat warped) and I'm not planning on anything like that, but it'll be nice to be out in the crisp, ridiculously polluted air of London again.

When things are good, I think I've never had it this easy before. It's like child birth, you can remember there was pain but not in any quantifiable way, or you would never agree do doing it again.

But then again, the higher you climb, the harder you fall.

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Sunday, 16 October 2005

I give you an onion II

J is saying he doesn't know what he feels about me. He says he knows when I'm there, but has trouble remembering when we're apart.

It's tricky. He asks me how I can know that I love him. All the little things, I say, all the little things that feel good.

He cries when we talk about this, in his quiet way, without sobbing. Sometimes it's heartbreaking, sometimes I just feel numb.

I know in my more sane moments that he feels the same way about those little things, but it is as if he can't put this together to mean that he loves me back.

Love is like an onion, I say. If you peel away the layers thinking there's something in the middle, you'll end up with nothing. There is nothing in the middle. Love is the sum of its manifestations, there is no more than that.

But maybe I say this to comfort him, and in that way myself. Because in a way my love for him is not each of those things I mention, it's just something I know.

I was close to walking away last night; I know I deserve to be with someone who loves me. But so does he.

So until things change I guess I'll just have to keep believing for the both of us.

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I give you an onion

Valentine

Not a red rose or a satin heart.

I give you an onion.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
It promises light
like the careful undressing of love.

Here.
It will blind you with tears
like a lover.
It will make your reflection
a wobbling photo of grief.

I am trying to be truthful.

Not a cute card or kissogram.

I give you an onion.
Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,
possessive and faithful
as we are,
for as long as we are.

Take it.
Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding ring,
if you like.
Lethal.
Its scent will cling to your fingers,
cling to your knife.

(Carol Ann Duffy)

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Saturday, 15 October 2005

All the men I've never slept with*

The most important men in your life are the ones you never slept with. You sleep with someone, you flush them out of your system.

The ones who have never seen you naked, or you've only kissed and fooled around with on the other hand, they stay with you forever.

Following, in good old Nick Hornby style, are my top three, in no particular order.

1. My very dear friend "JR".

Why I should:

  • JR reads my mind. I come away from lunches with him with my face hurting because I've smiled and laughed so much. He always says the right things at the right times.
  • JR has seen me through my previous three boyfriends and doesn't seem to mind.
  • I'd find it very hard to do without him even though we don't see each other that often.
  • If I was half clever and I wanted to bring up children in his home town, we'd be married by now.

Why I haven't:

  • Honest to God, I do not know. So we've never been single at the same time, but that wouldn't necessarily put me off normally, as long as I wasn't the cheating one. We discuss this every time we're drunk, and we don't find each other unattractive, either.
  • Maybe I'm not actually lying when I tell people (read: his girlfriend) that it's "just not like that" between us.

2. My first proper boyfriend from when I was 15

Why I should:

  • He's dead attractive and has invited me to bed on several occasions.
  • I love him to bits, and his parents still think we should get married more than ten years later.
  • I know him better than anyone else, he's an amazing kisser and I know that deep down he loves me back.
  • He makes me think I'm 15 again. We can sit up until 5 in the morning watching MTV and playing playstation.

Why I haven't:

  • Bizarrely for kids of 15, we just weren't that interested in intercourse so never got there. Now I feel it would be a bit gratuitous and/or lame.
  • If we haven't managed for over ten years, it's probably not meant to be.
  • We can sit up until 5 in the morning watching MTV and playing playstation, so who needs sex anyway.

3. My American ex ("The Prom Crush")

Why I should:

  • I've never been that in love with anyone else, ever. It was like in the movies, but better. We had 22 days together when I was in high school and five days four years later.

Why I haven't:

  • He didn't want to sleep with me in high school because he was afraid to hurt me.
  • Further unfortunate circumstances. Including but not limited to his mum's brain tumour and my 2nd US ex. I think the story of us will be a post in its own right one day when I have time. I wonder where he is now. It's not too late!!!

J could have been one of them. We waited for longer than I care to remember as he was also afraid to hurt me. We are talking months. Hello, what are we in, the 50s?!

Whatever happened to passionate relationships based on casual sex? I'm not very patient at the best of times, and I guess J used up his patience quota when he had me waiting for that long to get laid.

I find it a bit worrying for my character that I was that impatient about sex, but seem to find more patience in myself waiting to be loved.

* Big nod to Arabella Weir, of course

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Friday, 14 October 2005

Take a painkiller, cycle on your bicycle

For some reason I'm suddenly full of resolve. I realise this can't go on anymore, that he'll have to decide to ride the bicycle (see yesterday's post) or not.

J, on his part, is full of implicit apologies.



I was talking to him last night on the phone and he insists on coming to see me on Saturday afternoon to stay over. This is despite his appointment to see someone at 0810 (!!) on Sunday morning, 1/2 an hour from his house but about twice as far from mine.

When I gently suggested he come to see me on Sunday after I finish work instead, he was all puppy dog eyes (I can feel them stroking my cheek through the receiver like tentacles) and "noooo, I want to see you on Saturday!".

The aforementioned resolve could naturally be closely related to the fact that I was crying last time we saw each other, and my mind, as I am apparently not completely insane, is taking measures to protect itself.

And I can see it melting away like Hagen-Daz magically disappearing from a freezer as soon as he gets here, not to mention when he's offering to buy me ludicrous souvenirs on holiday next week.

But M is right; loving is like riding a bike. You have to press forwards, or you'll end up falling off before you know it.

Thursday, 13 October 2005

MSN Therapy

M says:
my friend!

J's GF says:
Hola!

M says:
all sympahy

J’s GF says:
Much better today

M says:
To me it seems J is very much in love with you so I have no idea what he's on about

J’s GF says:
Me neither

J’s GF says:
I think he genuinely doesn't get what it means to be in love, or to love someone

J’s GF says:
That's quite sad for him if you think about it. Deprived childhood etc.

M says:
He must at least realise that he's good when he's with you

M says:
And anyway he has to understand that making a choice is an option

J’s GF says:
Yes, he gets that

M says:
And then you change your mind if neccessary

J’s GF says:
I'm obviously good for him, we all agree on this

M says:
He should schedule a chat with C*

J’s GF says:
Yes, I'm sure that would lead to a multitude of action

M says:
Have you asked him what he's afraid of

J’s GF says:
I think he's mainly worried that he doesn't love me.

M says:
So afraid to hurt you if he finds out he doesn't?

J’s GF says:
Probably something like that

J’s GF says:
It's a bit confusing

M says:
When you've come as far as you have, there's most likely no way around hurting, so might as well set full sails ahead

M says:
(good expression!)

J’s GF says:
My thoughts exactly

J’s GF says:
Yes, almost like "ship ahoy"

M says:
Btw I don't think taking him home for Christmas is a good idea if you're planning an ultimatum in January

M says:
Do it before Christmas instead

J’s GF says:
Bit late now

J’s GF says:
Tickets booked etc.

M says:
If he wants to come with you for a family Christmas he clearly loves you!!

M says:
He'll just have to understand that!

J’s GF says:
My words exactly

J’s GF says:
I suspect more discussion on the topic before Christmas anyhow

J’s GF says:
He asks me often how I can know that I love him. But you just know that! It's tricky to explain.

M says:
Almost like trying to explain to someone how to find the point of balance on a bike

J’s GF says:
Yes, tricky

J’s GF says:
But like with biking, the most important factor is pressing ahead at speed

M says:
Indeed

M says:
Men!

J’s GF says:
Absolutely

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Commitment issues

Everyone has them. I used to have them more than most, and I guess I started this blog partly in shock that I no longer did.

I've been away for a few days, staying with J so he could feel sorry for me on a 24-7 basis while I was sick. It's been quite tough since last weekend, he's been very depressed and of course this means his outlook on our relationship as well is less than positive.

It all ended with him saying he didn't love me and didn't think we'd stay together long term, which of course led to an ill me bursting out in tears like a like a 5-year old. I don't know why I find it so upsetting. Maybe I'm just incredibly vain and it's impossible for me to fathom how someone could not love me.

But, of course, at the same time he panicked when I rationally suggested that if that's how he feels we should maybe finish the relationship. Evidently he wants to be with me, just not forever. Hello?

I look back and see that this is generally how most of my relationships have been. I love them more, get fed up, leave and then they come crawling back 2-3-4-5 (take your pick) years later lamenting how wrong they were, but by then circumstances have changed and there's no way of trying again. I am hoping I will stick it out this time.

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Saturday, 8 October 2005

Proper headache

First things first; I have a cold. My throat has sandpaper issues and my head is like a rugby ball filled with goo. Does anyone have any superb advice?

I wish I could give a heart-warming account of how J has brought me Jewish chicken soup in bed (I have come to experience that Jewish cafes in London for some reason do excellent chicken soup, it might be related to the dumplings or something). Unfortunately he's not been in town this week.

Although I think he'd be quite a good nurse if he were here. He made me plain boilt rice another time when I had food poisoning. It wasn't a pretty sight. Me, that is; the rice looked OK.

No, for once there's not that much to say about us.

Everything is going quite well. We've just finished planning a week's holiday together, he's coming to stay with me this weekend, we're spending Christmas together.

For some reason I'm a little less excited than before.

I wonder if I make myself feel less excited when it's going well to avoid being hurt if it all falls apart, or if I genuinely get bored as soon as there's no drama involved. I kind of hope it's the former.

Though judging by my personality in general, it could be the latter. I get bored with jigsaw puzzles as soon as I've finished the outter edge, I get restless before I can complete the middle bit.

That would be awful. I really thought I'd finally found someone I could stand still with. Come on girl, do some growing up.

Thursday, 6 October 2005

Depression

I think we should start a depression support group in my flat. I could be the moderator; secretly slightly depressive myself but writing it off as a side effect of contraceptive pills.

Has anyone else noticed that? Either being in a relationship makes me irritable, or it is the pills. I'm not too keen on dropping them either as I can't think of a more suitable means of contraception.

Anyway, depression.

My flatmate yet again had a panic attack on the way home from work. The usual; breathing issues, thinking you're going to die etc. Although, since she knew it was a panic attack she didn't literally think she was going to die, but it was still very unpleasant.

Things are just getting on top of her I think. She needs someone to snuggle up to. She's also irritable, unmotivated and cries a lot. Mild depression I think...

All that and J still struggling with the aftermath of this weekend's kind 'revelations' from his ex, the atmosphere in my flat these days is decidedly in need of some SSRIs.

Maybe it's just that time of the year.

Although on a positive note; I talked to J on the phone last night and he said he wished I was there so he could hug me.

Not because the hug would be comforting for him, but because he knew it would make a difference to me, and that would make him feel better.

"When you're not there, there's nobody to do nice things for. Or at least noone to whom it actually makes a difference," he said.

What a sweetheart. Depressed sweetheart.

Tuesday, 4 October 2005

From Her Majesty's Secret Service

Here I was, contemplating the right- or wrongness of googling an ex.

Partly of course you think this is wrong because it's slightly voyeristic. When you break up with someone you deprive yourself of the right to know the ins and outs of their life from then on, let alone interfering with it.

But maybe it's different if you're the dumpee.

Especially if you come across notes written by your ex at the beginning of your relationship, where he says he doesn't really want to be with you but doesn't know how to tell you.

J just received a package in the post from his ex, containing notes of the above-mentioned nature and a card displaying a level of bitterness quite impressive seeing it as about two years have passed since they broke up.

He was understandably quite upset. It is amazing how you think you got over something and then the whole thing can be ripped open again in an instant. It must have been horrible for her as well to find out in that way how the relationship in a way was never given a chance.

I don't think that there's anything wrong with the inclusion of the bitter card; after all if you feel that hurt you have to vent somewhere, and it is really only fair to vent at the person at the root of the issue despite them not hurting you intentionally.

It does however fly in the face of his description of her as 'an extremely kind person'.

Oh well. Once he's gotten over the stage of questioning our relationship due to her need to rip up old wounds, I'm sure everything will be fine again.

I remember I found all the old emails from my previous partner when I cleaned out an old email account about a year after we broke up. The top ones in the list were all from after I broke up with him. The level of pain and confusion expressed in them made me feel as guilty as I did the day after I finally did the deed.

In moments of clarity I know I did the right thing. I didn't love him, we weren't right together, he turned me into the girlfriend from hell but because he was intrinsically a nice guy who loved me deeply, I really did try. So I shouldn't feel guilty.

But it is amazing how your body remembers the guilt even if your mind appears to have forgotten.

Saturday, 1 October 2005

Belated teenage angst

Just thinking about my adolescence.

I never experienced a single ounce of teenage angst. I was always skinny, had friends, did really well at school and got on with my parents reasonably well.

There was that one time that I poured a glass of milk and my dinner over my dad, but I put that down to PMT and stress rather than teenage-spesific hormones.

I never rebelled either, mostly because I was naively allowed to do whatever I wanted. Fortunately for, but not thanks to, my parents, I stayed away from hard drugs, unprotected sex and unwise vehicleous action of any kind.

And now? Now I'm like a 14-year old, irritated at everything and everyone, questioning everything, getting on worse with my dad than ever and secretly regretting never taking up cigarette smoking (even at my present state of mind I realise how ridiculous it would seem if I started now).

Is it a belated teenage identity seeking thing, since I was too lazy to bother when I was actually of the appropriate age? Thesis title: "Does absence of teenage rebellion in Western youth increase the chances of a mid-20s crisis?"

Fortunately, J will be picking me up from work later, and I'm hoping he'll have a soothing effect since his (real) neuroses always outshine my (largely imagined) ones.

I'll be spending tomorrow handling a) football and b) less than benign future in-laws, so if I'm not back by Tuesday, send out a search party. Detailed sit. rap. to follow. Have a glorious weekend, everyone!

A happy morning

I had a happy morning today, better than for a long time. I got up at a reasonable hour, did the dishes, did some yoga, wasted enough water to hydrate a small African state in the shower and noticed the yellowing of the trees when walking into work.

Was just told today that I have all of Christmas off, and managed to wrangle another day off on top of that, giving me a whole long week holiday.

J will be coming with me to see my family, which I'm really looking forward to. He likes food, there'll be lots of eating; it's bound to be a hit.

Secretly, I'm hoping that he'll like it so much there that he'll agree to move there eventually. We've had the conversation and he said something like "it can't be ruled out".

I don't know how I'm meant to chose between where I want to live and who I want to live with. I have this horrible image of myself fleeing home at the age of 40, one child under each arm and a broken heart, to a future of working as a checkout girl. Which there's nothing wrong with, but you know what I mean.

I try not to think about this that much.

Apparently 80% of people have a long term partner from within a 20 kilometre radius from where they grew up (what's with the stats? I don't know, it must be that time of the month). So much for rebelling and trying to be original, eh...

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