Berlin wall

Life's little ironies

Sat, 10 Jan 2009 20:26:25 +0100

One of the ironies of life; how one can be hated and still occupy such a large portion of the other person's brain, use up so much of their negative energy. Big egos are the worst: they never let go and never accept indifference.

Ah, yes, indifference. The most powerful weapon of all.

I hurt, laugh, feel and regret, I love and live. But I only hate the weather.

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The luxury of chicken nuggets

Sat, 10 Jan 2009 13:06:14 +0100

I chew the end of my pencil thoughtfully.

Rent.
Bills.
Broadband (God forbid that should be missing!)
TV licence (for the boys, as I never watch TV).
Car insurance, fuel and bills (Ouch! This one will be hefty)
Food shopping.
Contents insurance (why? I shall have nothing worth stealing apart from my laptop, but I could always sleep holding on to it...)
Council tax (so that I can bullied into putting the rubbish out in the appropriate coloured-bins and on the appropriate day; I shall never manage that).
Clothes (I am Italian after all)
Occasional presents/toys (I don't want the boys to think that life is all the worse for my decision to leave).
Contribution towards children's upbringing.
Speeding tickets (see car).

Have I forgotten anything else?

I have been offered an impossibly glamorous job with an impossibly low salary. That figures. And yet, I'd rather be paid peanuts and be in love with what I do than earn a fortune and work in a soul-destroying environment.

However, once I finish my list of outgoings, and have a look at my job offer, I worked out I'll be left with £2.99. Just as well my boys like MacDonald's chicken nuggets...

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Sorry

Fri, 09 Jan 2009 19:26:29 +0100

It seems that even my private posts offend people.

I am sorry if anybody feels I am deluded, sad or superficial. I do not like to be the object of 'derision', and I most certainly do not 'need help'.

Everybody should deal with pain in the only way they know. I am a basic creature. My soon-to-be ex-husband is a sophisticated individual who feels deeply and writes well. I had not read his blog for a while, and when I did I found comments there (apart from his own j'accuse) that made me want to fold my own blog and disappear.

I shan't. But perhaps I ought to stop writing for a while. I am not seeking attention; for me writing is a necessary part of my life and I can do so marking my posts 'only me'.

I do believe, however, that I have a few friends here, and it has been comforting to feel good enough about them to trust them with my words, deeds and thoughts.

I have removed myself from the friends' list of the particular blogger who feels so strongly about (or should I say against) me. Not out of spite, not at all. I just don't want to elicit that kind of reaction, and I am genuinely sorry to be so despised.

As for the other blogger... Well, she has conjured up such a personal crusade against me that whatever she may say now really does not matter.

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New business idea

Fri, 09 Jan 2009 16:03:38 +0100

I slammed the cyber-door. Again. Maybe I should open a school for 'budding primadonnas'. Complete with red curtains and kohl make-up.

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I thought I'd been forgotten

Thu, 08 Jan 2009 15:19:43 +0100

I drove, and the steering wheel felt sticky under my hands, the brain hardly registering road signs and other cars. For once in my life, I was early. As I sat in the unknown carpark, I listened to my heart beating fast, and whispered to it trying to calm down.

It felt like minutes and yet it was hours. Talking and laughing, sharing and understanding. Moving on wavelengths long forgotten, breathing at the same pace.

Panic and joy. Comfort and excitement. My colours ran true and our words sang together.

Today I am happy.

I have been offered a job in my specialist field. Specialist, that is, before I had a husband and children. Seven years have passed, and I thought I'd been forgotten. I thought I had forgotten.

A job. And all I can do is cry.

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How bad is that?

Thu, 08 Jan 2009 09:25:26 +0100

I am too scared to lay my tarot.

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Wish

Thu, 08 Jan 2009 00:59:54 +0100

Wish me luck and mean it. Please.

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The last laugh

Wed, 07 Jan 2009 11:00:33 +0100

I shall allow myself a spot of naughtiness... A mature woman has accused me of it, over the last few months, and I was innocent. Before the end of this week, I shall be guilty.

Once you are blamed, you might as well indulge.

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No other

Tue, 06 Jan 2009 16:45:20 +0100

I used to think that burning without ever melting was a curse. Now I know it's the only way.

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Free

Sat, 03 Jan 2009 00:45:15 +0100

Tonight, my friends, I am finally free.

Free from all the pain.

Extinguished.

Tonight I feel I can finally shut the book whose pages have been flapping away too long, and love myself again. I am not the worst human being I know. In fact, I am rather proud of myself, because I have now got some terms of comparison.

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A splash into 'me' time

Fri, 02 Jan 2009 18:41:00 +0100

I thought I'd go and buy my laptop today. I also decided to combine that with some physical exercise, and cycle there. The other side of town, across the canal. Estimated overall distance, about thirty miles.

I live inside my head nowadays. My legs were cycling but my mind was somewhere else. Up and down the hills, across the cattlegrid, and along the canal. Dark green, still waters. Barges lulling alongside, dozing in the early afternoon and grey fading light.

The cycle path is as narrow as a peasant's mentality.

I wish I could give a reason why it happened, but I can't. I simply do not know why.

I fell into the canal.

Not the bike. Just me.

I didn't scream and I didn't call for help. I was so embarrassed, wet, cold and scared that for a second or two I thought I'd just let go and stay in the canal. There was nobody around.

I must remember that falling into very cold and dirty water with a heavy coat on, clothes, trainers and a backpack is a challenging experience. However, I am fit...So I managed to hurl myself out of the water and onto the grass.

You should have seen the state of my hair. I looked like bloody Medusa.

Not bad for my first day of 'me' time. I wonder what I can do tomorrow to make it more exciting.

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'Me' time

Fri, 02 Jan 2009 02:48:14 +0100

London.

Yes. Definitely London. It'd be foolish not to.

The whoosh of a train, a thousand heels on the platform, a jump and a dive. To be lost and never be found.

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Alone or with company?

Fri, 02 Jan 2009 02:07:01 +0100

That's it. I decided.

I am using some of my time-for-myself to go and buy a laptop. As I have absolutely no idea about which one to get, do you think I should risk the nylon shirt-infested waters of PC World on my own, or enlist the help of someone who has a clue?

And since when looking (and being) hopeless has been an endearing feature?

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Alone

Thu, 01 Jan 2009 23:01:56 +0100

I shall be on my own for the next couple of days. My Soon-to-Be Ex is taking the boys to see some friends up North.

Not for me the sudden opening of the bedroom door in the morning, with two little faces beaming as they jump into my bed and push their icy-cold feet into my tummy.

Not for me the whining and whinging about whose turn it is to hold the remote at breakfast time (yes, I allow them to watch the TV during breakfast, whip me if you must).

Not for me growing ten arms like Kali, the Hindu goddess (and fangs too), as I warm up pancakes, pour milk, mix Nesquik, make myself a cup of tea, do the washing-up, open the fingers of Pest n.1's hand grabbing Pest n.2's hair, help find the remote, show Pest n.1 what cereal we have, help find the remote again, throw away my cup of tea because the milk has gone sour, help find the remote, resist the temptation of killing them both...

Not for me the post-breakfast ordeal of washing hands and private bits, brushing milk teeth and finding pants and socks (I have enough trouble finding my own, thanks).

Not for me finding something to do for the day, a little food for their brain and plenty of action for their bodies.

Not for me the dinner time, arguing over whose turn it is to choose whether to have chicken or beef, and which vegetables are less likely to make them sick (beetroot is an all-round winner).

Not for me the bathing time, reading-a-story time, and getting up in the night if one or two beds get wet.... It is rather unpleasant to have a child arrive into your bed soaking wet and smelling of urine: I wash and change him into fresh PJs before allowing them in.

Alone!

Much as I love my children, is it really bad to feel a small wave of relief and a secret joy, looking forward to the next few days?

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My cup

Wed, 31 Dec 2008 13:30:21 +0100

I poured it, and it was carelessly spilt. The magic is, it just replenishes itself.

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Mr B

Wed, 31 Dec 2008 13:25:07 +0100

He came out of his car, and I came out of mine. I frisked myself for pain, the flooding-in of memories. I know every inch of his person; my eyes wandered over jacket and trousers, the ancient wallet and the trusted wristwatch. Everything as I knew it.

When I tie up the numerous strands of life as we lived it, all those years ago, I am not really sure about what to expect.

It is not hurt. Sorrow or regret. It is not resentment, and - in a way - it is not even love.

I have smoothed over the sharp edges of loss and despair, and managed to hold on to what made me feel alive then.

I feel affection.

A long lunch with the man who strung up my soul and left it to dry out.

And all I can feel is warm affection.

There is hope. If I can forgive him, I can forgive myself. If I can do that, I might even eventually love myself, the UNCHANGEABLE segments of me.

I might manage to replicate that... apply it to fresher wounds, younger hurt. To accept and move on. Never understand, and never try to change it. Just accept.

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Comforting

Wed, 31 Dec 2008 09:38:07 +0100

Beyond and above fermenting envy, the exquisite embroidery of revenge, asthmatic threats and the laughable rolling of adipose egos, the truth has an unerring habit of emerging. One day.

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What do you do with your ghosts?

Tue, 30 Dec 2008 01:30:09 +0100

We all have our ghosts to deal with. I stashed most of mine deep into my closet, and jumped up and down on the pile to keep it compact and avoid release. Many hold me in their invisible silky net. A few, I have conquered. One of these, I am even meeting tomorrow.

I find dealing with other people's ghosts a much more palatable option. They can't hurt me, and they feel my lack of fear. I can unlatch their cold fingers from people's souls without recoiling from contact, a little like sweeping the cobwebs away from a dark corner.

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A line

Mon, 29 Dec 2008 20:28:23 +0100

I draw the line here.

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Sugar in the cupboard

Sat, 27 Dec 2008 13:48:33 +0100

I got a text this morning.

'I'll burn a disc for you. And I now have a fridge AND some sugar.'

Do you think Mr Single wants me to volunteer the soap?

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The iExorcist

Fri, 26 Dec 2008 20:16:00 +0100

Update on the iDisaster.

Until two hours ago, thanks to Mr Single, I had the Good and Beautiful on my iPod nano: Coldplay, Red Hot Chilli Peppers, Snowpatrol, REM, Fratelli, Radiohead... He has good taste in music.

Now I have nothing else apart from 'Peace' (Eurythmics), which I have managed to upload from a CD.

Somehow, though (and this is really spooky), I seem to have also acquired some JAZZ. Why? From where? I detest Jazz. Is my iPod possessed? And I cannot delete it. Believe me, I have tried.

I need an exorcist.

Right. I am off to buy a bar of soap. Any suggestions, anyone?

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iDisaster

Fri, 26 Dec 2008 19:01:05 +0100

Oh dear.

I appear to have erased ALL the albums so carefully loaded last night on my sodding iPod.

What does 'reformatting' mean? Does it mean 'I shall erase everything you've done so far, silly moo'?

And more importantly, does that mean that I must go back to Mr Single for some further 'reformatting'?

Crucially... shall I take a bar of soap with me?

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It's either the ipod or sugar in the cupboard

Fri, 26 Dec 2008 12:26:34 +0100

I have a brand new ipod nano. Orange, as it were... My favourite colour.

Could I set it up, and load ANY music on it?

No.

Someone I know offered to help me, so I turned up at his house with a little tray of my home-made tiramisu. Fair deal?

Setting up iTunes and the little orange bugger looked very tricky to me, even as he was doing it. By comparison, making a pudding is pleasantly uncomplicated.

I marvelled at his bachelor's pad. Congruously, a large Christmas tree blinked pleasantly with all its blue lights from the otherwise bare corner of the sitting room.

Two sofas. No fridge. No sugar in the cupboard.

The female in me went into overdrive. I felt and resisted the strange urge to push him out of the house and re-organise his living space according to the order whispered by the only universe I know. My own.

Mind, no pink and fluffy cushions scattered all over, or purple frilly curtains hanging from the bare windows. I was blown over by the functional technology of this man's flat, and how everything seemed to work according to divine, sensible logic.

All it's missing is love.

And a bar of soap in the bathroom.

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My Christmas present

Thu, 25 Dec 2008 11:58:03 +0100

A little voice pierces the thickness of my sleep. It is neither early or late, but I am groggy with a night spent awake and throbbing.

'Mamma! Father Christmas has been to my room! I have my presents there, on the floor!'

'Has he really? Oh, my sweet! Are they the ones you wanted?'

'I don't know. I have not opened them yet.'

He curls up next to me, the baby smell squeezing my nostrils and warming my heart.

'Don't you want to go and see what he brought you, then?' I ask.

'No...It's ok. I want to be here.'

Today, Pest n.2 chose a cuddle with me over the frantic ripping of wrapping paper and the obscene rituals of Christmas morning.

To my five-year-old, I am worth more than a little pile of gifts.

Thank you Father Christmas. That was a lovely present.

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My boys' moving interest in Christmas Eve

Wed, 24 Dec 2008 21:08:28 +0100

MY BOYS

The little faces lit up with excitement....

Christmas is coming!

Baby Jesus will carefully be put in the manger....

The magic lights of our old church will glow warm in the night's mist....

We will sing the carols, their cheeks rosy with love and understanding of this so very special time....

They cannot be contained any longer....

They are bursting with happiness and wrapped in the atmosphere....

I don't know how to calm them down! Christmas Eve is really too much for them! They tell me the story of the special child born tonight....They KNOW!!!

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For Kevin: my Christmas resolutions

Wed, 24 Dec 2008 20:11:48 +0100

At this time, when in previous years my usual thoughts would have turned to closer encounters with red candles and crackers, midnight mass and Him above, I am instead deciding what I shall try and avoid at all costs, from now on.

I shall stay away from:

1) People who play games.
2) Those whose meanness cuts like Excalibur and - like that sword - magically protects them.
3) Those who bestow kindness and then throw it back in your face, for that kind of kindness obviously comes with strings attached.

And...

4) Vulgarity. Because vulgarity is small and stains.

I really ought to love myself more.

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The most real

Wed, 24 Dec 2008 18:20:49 +0100

Up and down the dunes of my emotional, bare landscape. I'd love to claim it to be windswept and gloriously gloomy, but in reality it is just an ordinary, common heath of sterile dry grass and shallow pockets of water.

A pudding to make for someone else's Christmas. The last cards to hand-deliver with my red smile. Dull presents to wrap up, to look better than what's inside.

I receive a few abusive text messages, and - among them - another two come, echoed by my predictable and ordinary replies.

This is the most real Christmas I have ever lived.

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The inverted psychology of a bare tree

Tue, 23 Dec 2008 13:52:58 +0100

When I was a teenager, I was asked to take a personality test.

I was to draw a tree. So I did. It was a normal tree, with green branches and a brown trunk. Healthy enough, but plain.

Then I was asked to draw another tree. No explanation of why I should, or any clues, were given. So I drew another tree. It was similar to the first one, but had fruits and birds within its branches.

The test is about what part of us we show to the others (the first one), and what we are really like (the second one). Apparently, most people will draw a full tree, with either fruits or Christmas decoration on it. The second tree, however, will be bare, a winter sight of naked branches. The frame is there, without the extra baubles of our public persona.

I seem to be... the other way round.

Why? I have never known.

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6 miles +1mile + 20ft

Mon, 22 Dec 2008 21:24:52 +0100

Let me add another chapter to my ongoing 'bike ride in Milton Keynes' saga.

Here's the numbers for today: 6 miles (to get to Willen Lake), plus 1 mile (to get all the way around Willen Lake). Topped by 20ft (monkey bars for all of us, back and forth, more than once, in Willen Lake).

Erm... that's it.

That's right. No way back.

Spot the basic flaw in my cunning plan: read carefully.

1) Leave with boys and bikes at 1.00pm.
2) Arrive at the park by 2.30pm.
3) Have healthy picnic spoilt by abnormal abuse of two packets of crisps. Done by 3.00pm.
4) Move across to nearby David Lloyd gym, where we have basketball classes and Hour of Power. Just to make sure all expendable energy is spent. Done by 5.00pm.

Not spotted yet? Let me help you.

The bikes have NO LIGHT.

Is it dark by 5.00pm?

Yes.

Could we go back in complete darkness, a route of over 6 miles, when I have now got lost twice in the daytime?

No.

I smiled seductively at the David Lloyd's manager and whispered in a husky voice: 'Will you please let me store our bikes in your shed for tonight?'
Then I got a lift back home.

We'll go back tomorrow, and then I can get lost properly, in daytime. My boys can't wait.

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And the most unforgivable of them all...

Mon, 22 Dec 2008 21:08:49 +0100

....I dedicate a separate post to the most unforgivable sin, in a relationship. By 'unforgivable', I mean.. something which is a deal breaker INSIDE that relationship; not a sin which brands you forever, provided you learn that other people's feelings count exactly as much as yours.

5) THE DISAPPEARING ACT. This single-handedly beats all the rest. If you leave someone hanging on whilst you choose between two people, at least you have the warped excuse that there is another person you care for and must, therefore, make a decision. 'Disappearing', which is an item under which you can see also 'stop all contact', 'not replying to text/voice messages', 'make yourself unavailable'... is a cowardly act, dressed up in the glittering pretence of trying to let the other person down gently.

To look for a way out without cutting all ties neatly only leaves rugged, shredded ends flapping in the wind of agony and despair.

Disappearing as opposed to saying, clearly and gently, 'I don't want to see you any more', is as kind as tying a person by their limbs to four eager horses going in opposite directions.

Only... the pain lasts longer.

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