Saturday, 19 August 2006


For no particular reason at all I've decided to lay this blog to rest. Possibly forever, or maybe just for a little while.

I've lost my blogging mojo for the moment, and see no point in forcing myself to write if I don't feel like it..

To my lovely blogging friends; be well, and I might well be lurking in your comments section from time to time. You have cheered me up no end on those days that were longer than I wanted them to be.

Be back before you know it.

Tuesday, 15 August 2006

Living with depressives

Note; not depression, but depressives... Although B can often lead to A.

I had a chat to my only married friend this morning; she's a very intelligent, very lovely girl who is married to a man who has been severely clinically depressed for the past 18 months.

She says she feels used up.

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Wednesday, 9 August 2006

On the topic of slags

I could be called a slag. There, I've said it.

At least as in "I've slept with several men who weren't my boyfriend and duly booted them out the door as soon as it was overwith."

Honey, I need help with the VCR...
I'm not saying I'm proud of it, but I'm certainly not ashamed of it either.

I have one friend who's only had sex with one man; they're now married (although they didn't wait until the wedding night; there was nothing religious about her decision to stick to the one). I don't hold that against her.

But sometimes I just get really pissed off with men's attitude to this. What

Last night, my wonderful neighbours invited me over for an on-the-spur barbecue.

The boy there is a chef, and little by little, as we were enjoying vodka coctails and marinated kangaroo (yes, really, and lovely it was too), his colleagues dropped in to parttake in the feast.

They were all foreign, as bar staff tends to be in England these days, except for one 18 year old English twat.

You could tell straight away that he was trying to hold his own and be 'cool' around people 10 years his senior; obviously he hadn't reached enlightenment and the conclusion that trying to be cool immediately makes you uncool.

He was talking about this girl that my neighbour is pursuing at the moment.

"I keep telling him," he said loudly, "she's a complete slut. She's been passed around like I don't know what."

I object to that on two grounds. What exactly is a slut? Someone who doesn't lie back and think of England, and actually enjoys sex enough to want to have it with several people (potentially at once)?

Secondly, 'been passed around'? No, bottles are 'passed around'. Women aren't, unless you're a human trafficker, group rapist or male chauvinist.

Hopefully, mr School Leaver Incredibly Dumb 18 year old fell only into the latter category.

I confronted him on this. "What exactly makes her a slut?" I said. "Would you call yourself a manwhore if you slept around?"

He was immediately flustered and said that of course he would. Then he said that she had slept with both him, his brother and my neighbour "and that was only the start of it."

"One time she had four boyfriends on the go at once," he said.

Which, I think you'll find, says more about men's immense stupidity than about her sexual morals.

And excuse me, sharing sex partners with your brother? I can't pinpoint it, but something is slightly wrong there. Especially when you boast about it.

I am thinking he only got laid with very few girls (he wasn't very handsome or, as you can probably tell, charming), and is a little upset that she didn't think him very special.

"Have you ever thought that she's probably picked up a few tricks along the way, which could be a good thing?" I asked.

Again, he was lost for an answer.

Now I'm not advocating wild promiscuity. I think it's important to be careful in these Chlamydia times.

But it pisses me off when men start going on about women being sluts, slags, whores and the like.

Afterall, it takes two to tango... And you never hear those same men say that about their male thug-friends.

It says something about their attitude to women in general, it indicates that they are immensely scared by female sexuality and very insecure about themselves as a man.

Maybe they all have small penises (which there's nothing wrong with unless you're generally crap in bed)? I don't know.

And without making any sweeping generalisations, there are a lot of men like that here in the UK, who are incredibly sexist and think that women should be kept barefoot and naked in the kitchen.

The culture insists on 'girls night out' and 'going to the pub with the boys'; I keep meeting people who have never had a close friend of the opposite sex.

Before getting married, men have "stag" dos and women "hen" nights. Stags => symbol of male virility and dominance; "hens" =>domesticated bird. I rest my case. It's sad, really. And worst of all, women don't seem to mind.

Maybe not being a ballet-dancing, cookie baking, non-tree climbing, pink-and-frills clad child playing with dolls has ruined me for life.

Or maybe I have the right to say, do and shag what and who I like without being judged for it more than my male counterparts.

I end with the story of my friend, who was crossing the road inside a supermarket car park.

She didn't see a car approaching, or rather the car didn't see her, he almost ran her over.

But instead of apologising, he leaned out the window (of his fat ultra-polluting BMW) and shouted "YOU FUCKING SLAG!!!" at the top of his voice.

Crossing the road makes you sexually promiscuous these days, it appears.

Be careful when you cross the road, girls; remember, without a good reputation, you'll never get married.

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Monday, 7 August 2006

Breaking up

We broke up over the weekend.

The evening before we'd been to a very nice wedding, which as every girl knows is quite a powerful emotional catalyst.

At least the psychological conflict is befitting
So when I woke, during the routine snuggle we like to enjoy, his morning wood nestled cosily on my bum, I asked J where our 18-month old relationship is going.

It was one of those innocent queries that set off an avalanche. But I guess that, like someone shouting in the mountains after a heavy snowfall followed by a thaw, I should have known better.

"I don't know," he said. "I need to feel better. About myself, about this relationship."

I thought about it for a little while. Part of me was extremely sick and tired of waiting, of not knowing where we are headed, or if indeed there is a 'we' headed anywhere.

"If you want me to leave, you should say so," I said.

He just looked at me.

"Is that what you want?" I pressed.

And he said yes.

And then he started crying. I have never heard anyone cry like that, it was like all barriers burst and all the pain I know he feels every day but rarely tells me about, came out. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't hear me. He just kept repeating "baby" and other things I couldn't quite make out.

At first I was calm. I held him, passed him (a lot of!) tissues, told him everything would be OK.

In my head I made contingency plans; who would I stay with, how would I tell my mum.

I put on some clothes, somehow being naked felt frightening all of a sudden.

Then I left the room and promptly collapsed in the spare bedroom.

I would say that my heart broke, but actually I think that being with J chips away at it; it is already cracked and every day another small piece falls off.

Still, it was painful, frightening, like having 20/20 vision on your life and suddenly being reduced to being pathologically myopic.

I have always said that I would go if he wanted me to, if he thought there was no other way.

But when he came after me into the bedroom, I just threw myself in his arms, just saying "no", over and over again, begging him to not let go, begging him not to leave me. He was crying as he held me.

"If it hurts you so much, why are you doing it," I asked. He didn't answer.

"I just don't see how I will ever feel comfortable being in this relationship," he said. Which is his euphemism for saying he doesn't think he loves me.

"Even if we keep going, I just think we'll end up back at this point again some time in the future," he said.

I felt sick. The alcohol from the wedding felt like it wanted to exit, one way or another.

"Please change your mind while I go to the bathroom," I said.

And wonder over all wonders, he did.

When I got back, he just said "I want to keep trying."

I still don't know why he changed his mind, and I don't know if I have the strength to hear it.

"If you had just walked away, I probably would have just left it," he said later.

"But I am surprised at how painful that was."

"I felt relief, but it was painful."

I guess part of him doesn't want to live without me after all.

And of course I felt relief too. When you go around fearing the worst all the time, it's sometimes a huge weight off your shoulders when it actually happens, so you don't have to obsess about it anymore.

And of course it's nice to be single. I've always loved to be single.

But I also know that I will not leave this. I will hang on till the very end, even if it is a bitter one. The part of me that wants to stay is so much bigger than the part of me that just wants the insecurity and anxiety to end.

And of course we had incredibly hot make-up sex. It is like a part of J feels the need to check that I'm still there by vigorous prodding methods whenever sticky points happen in our relationship.

Last Thursday we went to see the Bolshoi's Swan Lake.

J was convinced that the swan lives, but it turned out this was simply a Soviet-era tack-on (communists disapproved of unhappy endings) to the original finale where she simply just dies. He was gutted.

But that just goes to show that he can be wrong about the happy ending, sometimes... Let's hope it works the other way around, too.

About a year and a half ago, I made fun of my best friend S, who broke up with his girlfriend for about six hours before he took her back (she was crying and begging and he realised he still wanted to give it a go). He doesn't love her, I know it. But they are still together.

J and I managed a whole seven minutes apart.

I will never laugh at S again.

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Thursday, 3 August 2006

Maybe some sex toys

I think I must be tired. This is a ridiculous time of night to be awake.

For the last week or so I've not even wanted sex.

If it's not a packet of crisps, I'm not interested...
I've masturbated daily (I heart shower head), but I've not actually really felt like sex.

Although I did eventually lose my recently acquired virginity.

I'm not sure what's wrong with me exactly; and believe me, something is wrong. Even when I had a gay boyfriend we were at it at least once a day.

J's approach to sex is completely different from mine.

He's sort of like, "I haven't orgasmed for about four days, it's time for some action."

And I guess that puts me off.

We've been together for almost two years now, but I still find him sexy.

Even when, like tonight, he's slinking past me from the shower, still damp from the shower, to go to bed early.

And if I see that repeatedly, it makes me horny. Usually very.

I don't think that's how he sees it. To him it's all a physical, mechanical thing, just like sleeping, eating or taking a really satisfying shit.

Which is not to say that I equate sex with love. Sex is not love, although having sex with someone you love is in most cases better than it is with someone you don't love.

But there has to be passion involved. It's not that I get bored, I don't need 65 positions and odd sex toys.

I need to feel that I am doing it because I want to, not because I can.

With my ex, we had sex daily and I didn't really mind. But I know I did it because I could, and not because I really wanted to.

It just so happened that for me, once a day was a good amount, so I kept it up.

I really worry that this is how J feels about me.

My ex was good in bed, he would have done anything I asked, and although many other things were wrong in our relationship, I had satisfying orgasms on a very regular basis.

Still, I didn't desire him. Maybe because I didn't love him, so that once the initial sex haze and novelty factor wore off, there was little left.

It took J three years to tell his ex that he didn't love her. He's told me that he doesn't from the beginning.

Maybe part of me wants to punish him for getting off so lightly, for having his cake and eating it.

Although obviously if I were to deny us both sex, I'd usually most of all be punishing myself.

But now I don't even want it anymore.

It's all very confusing.

I think I need some help here.

Or maybe some sex toys.

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Wednesday, 2 August 2006

The unbearable lightness of being

No, not the absolutely horrible film, nor the rather more palatable novel.

I'm having a restless day.

It's all your fault, SquareSoft
One of those days when you have a constant feeling that something important is wrong, but you can't say exactly what it is.

Kind of like the feeling you get on your way to the airport for a holiday; that you;ve forgotten to pack something crucial (this feeling is usually alleviated by excessive screaming as you discover at the check-in that you don't have a passport/credit card/anti-malaria tablets).

"Something is missing in my life," I complained to J, with half an eye still on Final Fantasy X (they've put off the release of FFXII to December, the evil bastards. Can't they see I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown and need relief??!).

He was't much help, on his way to do his mindfulness homework.

"I know you're not happy," I said.

"Why do you keep telling me you're happy when you're not? I need to feel I'm doing what I can to help you get happier."

"And I'm sorry for getting angry that you crushed two mangoes while making dinner."

J looked at me (I could tell despite now concentrating about 80% on the playstation).

"It's OK," he said. "I took it badly. You were disappointed there would be no mango salsa, I understand."

"At least we didn't argue."

As he went upstairs to settle down on our bed to feel the draft between his toes, I felt a little better. It is true. We are learning to argue less.

But I think I need more than that.

I need to feel anchored.

My whole life I've felt this restlessness, and when I met J, for the first time in my life I thought I would be able to stand still and be comfortable with it.

How ironic (in the most Morisette-esque meaning of the word) that I should meet someone who is so unable to allow me to do that.

I don't need to find a new job, or more friends, or a better life.

What I need is help to settle down and appreciate what I have.

It seems the only thing I really appreciate at the moment is J, to such an extent that it scares me.

Not to mention the thought of him giving up on us and leaving, that completely terrifies me.

We had sex yesterday for the first time in over a month, and for some reason, despite it being really nice and me having an unusually powerful orgasm, I felt distant. Like it didn't mean anything.

Everything is light. I can leave my job. J doesn't need me. I can't seem to make myself care what I eat, what I wear, how I look.

I need to feel heavy, to know that I matter.

Or maybe I just need to kill off a few more monsters in Final Fantasy.

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