The 30th
In the months leading up to my 30th birthday I made some really big changes. I had been separated from my husband (no ex-husband) for about 18 months or so, I had decided to leave the public service and give the private sector thing a bash, which meant leaving the building I have been turning up to for years every day as well as what was inside the building.
It was a really significant change and one that I was petrified of. I had so many memories of the inside of this building and the one we had moved from over the road a couple of years before, and the place was filled with people I knew, gossip I knew, routines I was very comfortable in and a level of confidence about my work simply because I was so familiar with it and the way things operated around the place.
I was hooked up and tight as with all the important people, the mailroom, the bloke who can get your phone connected and get you a new mobile if you happen to misplace it or it breaks – that’s code for “got pissed and left it in a taxi” or “it fell into a glass of gin, I then tried to wash the gin off with a bucket of hot water and when trying to pick it out of the water I dropped it and it smashed” – but every workplace has their “code language”.
I was hooked in the IT blokes who sorted me with a new laptop after mine was “stolen” and this was genuine, because I got very sick (drunk) and was forced to take a taxi home (was unable to stand up or walk anywhere and had also vomited on myself) and left it safely in the taxi where I expect it to still be when I woke up surrounded by Mc Donalds wrappers in bed the following morning, but some opportunistic arsehole took it – STOLE IT!
So leaving this safe haven of connectedness was a terrifying thing. I was surrounded by some of my best friends and at times I felt like I was back at high school – especially when I set all the stationary belonging to one of my best friends in a big bowl of jelly and had him called to reception to collect it, or when the same friend and I had been out boozing and doing air guitar on our knees at the Champagne Lounge until all hours one evening and headed back over the road to the office to collect out bags and the security guards on the speaker phone wouldn’t let us in until we could spell our own names without slurring our speech – they were all in the control room laughing at us while we gave it a good bash and finally let us into the office where we found our other friend who had ditched us earlier devouring a whole chicken at his desk – yes, we certainly were exemplary examples of responsible career public servants in those days.
So I was leaving all of this behind me. I think the only two things that made it possible were the fact that my best friend and air guitar comrade had just recently left for a 12 month secondment to private sector, which left me feeling like someone had removed a limb from my body, and the place was so empty and boring without being able to organise a call from the “Ministers Office” and watch the bullets of sweat pour from his head when the caller informed him of major industrial action or mass sackings in the automotive industry. The other thing that made it possible was that I wanted nothing more than to tell my fucked up manager at the time to go and fuck herself when I got the offer of another job.
Let me explain – this woman is covered in freckles, her face is sunken and ugly as a hat full of arseholes sucking on a lemon and she has short red hair which is mainly grey and looks exactly like pubes on her head, and worse of all, she wears nothing but flat shoes – these woman are the worst kind and can not be trusted.
This crazy cat also has a condition known as vertigo. For those who may not know what this is I can’t help you there, go and look up google – but what I can tell you is that it forces her to lie on the floor, or the street or wherever she should find herself when she has one of these “episodes”.
I have seen her laying down in Collins Street in the middle of peak hour, and she could regularly be spotted laying under her desk where sometimes she would actually hold meetings because she was fine if she was laying down – apparently, that’s not mentioning the fact that she was actually fucked in the head and that there was absolutely nothing “fine” about her at all.
So telling her I was leaving in two days was actually a fucking sensational feeling, and on my final day when she was dicking me about and preventing me from going to my farewell function by calling a very important “meeting” and I got up and told her that it was ‘very fucking simple, I have reviewed the file and provided a full and detailed report which included recommendations for further action and was not prepared to continue this bullshit discussion’ – yeah, I was quite happy with that.
But then I had to go to this new job and I was terrified, it was fine, the bloke I was working with was ace, we were the same age and he was fantastic to work with and as soon as I met him I felt like we were just great mates. The job however was a complete misery and was not anything like what I had been told it was and what was far worse was that the business was completely stuffed, it was built on a business plan that was worth less than budget toilet paper and there was not a chance in the world that it was going to remain viable. I was right, it died in the arse and although I did ultimately resign, it went under not long after.
But having this go on, as well as the other really big changes in my life at the time left me on some fairly shaky ground and in the lead up to my 30th birthday I was not in the best state.
I suddenly realised that I was no longer 20 whatever and that I no longer had my 20’s and 30’s to figure my shit out and get myself organised and work out if I wanted to have kids or not, I now only had my 30’s – what the fuck! Where had the last 10 years gone and how did they get by me without giving me the opportunity to sort myself out!!!
I had a plan, I am not sure exactly what it was but it sure as fuck was NOT THIS!
I never really saw myself in the future or had a concept of what I wanted to be or look like or be doing by now but I know I didn’t want to be a miserable dateless fat arsed drunk with a shit job, an ex-husband, two mad dogs and a house in crazy need of renovations – this was not in the plan - I knew that much.
The day of my 30th birthday party rolled around. It was 5th of January, my actual birthday is the 7th so the party was the Saturday night prior and it was hot, bloody hot, 42 degrees most of the night actually and when it did cool down I think the lowest it got was around 37.
My sister and I spent the night before the party drinking wine and cooking food for the event, which was held at my home in Abbotsford. It was a huge effort and the food was truly delicious.
The party kicked off before I even had time to organise myself, I had put on some weight and my boobs were much larger than they had been in a while, coupled with the fact that it was so hot and I was sweating like a pig on a spit, the silk and velvet dress with a zip at the side was not doing up, no way. I had to lie on the floor with my arms over my head whilst my sister stood on my boobs from the side, pressing them down and pulling the zip up simultaneously – I am not sure how but it worked – eventually.
I was drinking gin, its so refreshing and yummy and the heat was making me sweat so much I felt like I was going to melt, I actually started to notice that I was walking with my legs apart as my crouch was so sweaty with the heavy dress on and all the running around – it was truly disgusting.
The thing is with gin is that it sneaks up on you, I can drink gallons of the stuff but sometimes it just hits you, and its normally when you have not been able to eat anything which was the case that day, and when you happen to be a bit emotional which I was already but then became more so when my father decided to “confront me” about my “weight issues” as I stood out the front of my house welcoming my guests.
At one stage I became so hysterical and was crying so hard that guests were turning up and trying to sneak past me to try and find the “fun” people! I AM the fun people!!! But I was a wet, sweaty crying mess and I felt like the culmination of the last 6 – 12 months of anxiety and crisis was pouring out of me, my grief on display for my guests and all the passers by in the street.
After I gathered myself together and drank some more gin I continued with the festivities, the music was pumping the booze was flowing and the house was packed, it was a great night and everyone was stinking hot but having a great time – that is until it came time to have the speeches……
My sister kicked them off with a bit of a tanks for coming and ‘I love my sister’ etc, my dad went next with a bit of banter about how proud he is of me and despite the fact I know this is certainly not the case, it was a moving moment all round.
It was then my turn. I was quite pissy at this stage and thought I would kick off with a bit of light hearted entertainment so launched into ‘well, I have slept with a HUGE number of me’, at which time my fathers head went down into his hands and I could tell he was looking to see if there was a clear path to the exit so that he didn’t have to listen to anymore details about my sex life, there wasn’t, he was stuck and I was going to make him hear it all!
So I banged on for a bit about how I have had one miserable and failed relationship after another, how I was recently dumped on Christmas Day, and how my ex-husband ‘left me for that slut Cindy and her great body with a tight pussy’ – oh the joy. I continued with the banter about my miserable existence and how lucky I was to have all these great friends around me – and I meant it, I wouldn’t have wanted to hang around with me at this time and I was fortunate enough to have people who did!
My sister was decent enough to cut me off when everyone in the place had clearly had enough of my rubbish and the party continued for many hours. My uncle was rolling joints on the back table that looked like Cuban cigars and I was smoking them one after another after I was certain my dad had left for the evening – but suddenly he came back and my sister and I looked at each others paranoid faces trying to work out how we could pretend to our father that we were not completely ripped – the thought that I am now 30 years old and in my own home, that I pay the mortgage for didn’t even occur to me and finally he left so I could smoke some more, that is until I decided that I wanted to be alone and kicked everyone out, including one of my very old friends who is now “The Hot Man” in my life and my oldest friend from primary school who I refused to even let stay inside while she waited for her taxi – my hospitality had clearly gone off in the heat with the cheese platter.
I am not actually sure I really achieved much about figuring this turning 30 stuff out. I did however leave the job, I went back to the workplace I knew, this could be seen as a step backwards but it provided a sense of security which is important and I have had a few jobs since being back and all of them have giving me more skills and experience so perhaps it was just about me accepting my decision to be a career public servant.
I also came to the decision that I want to have children, this was an important step because it means that I am more selective about the kinds of men do meet or spend time with, they need to be deserving of my time and conversation but they also need to meet with the expectation that they may one day father my children – I no longer date men because they have a cool car or a great CD collection.
I have decided to spend more money and time on my house and my efforts to improve my little home have been quite remarkable of late, which may not be turning back the hands of time on the birth certificate, or challenging the pull that gravity seems to be having on my arse and my boobs, but it has put me in a good head space and has given me the opportunity to feel a bit better about my surroundings…..as for the dogs, they are still completely bloody mad, but and endless source of entertainment and amusement and frankly I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I think the madness that engulfed my life in the lead up to my 30th was horrible and seems to have really continued to a large degree, but then recently I realised that all the worry about it has not done anything except perhaps provide a distraction from the fact that I am actually now staring 32 between the eyes and I still have a long way to go before I work out what I want to be, do and what’s more scary now than ever before is that I now have no plan what-so-ever so lets just hope this means I don’t have to go through all the same rubbish when I turn 40, I am not sure my liver will be up to it!
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
So I guess for me this instalment is probably a little close to the heart. I have previously written about the scares of my past relationships and how I have really found it difficult to get over the hurt I have experienced in the past – not that I have had really bad relationship or been with really evil blokes, its really just that I have had a huge amount of “issues” as a result of my parents nightmare of a split.
Essentially what has happened is that I have developed a chronic fear of the end of a relationship, even if I am unhappy in a relationship which I have been many many times, I will just stay, until the bitter end – and I have NEVER initiated a break-up EVER.
I do however undermine the situation, its not normally a conscious effort but I know I do it. I will be nasty, defensive, difficult, irresponsible, disrespectful and generally treat the victim at the time like complete shit in an attempt to get the person to “prove” how much they love me and want me by putting up with it and staying – but eventually they leave, and why the hell wouldn’t they!??!
The day my husband packed all his belongings into the back of a moving van and drove away I sat with my father crying, I was basically catatonic and I felt empty but full of pain at the same time. Strangely I also felt some level of relief as well. My father said to me ‘you know, you will be a better person for this, its going to be the hardest thing you will ever do but you are going now to be forced to face you fear, a fear that is so crippling that you have never even enjoyed a real relationship. So when you get through this, and you will, you will find some happiness in you life’.
Dad was right. It was the hardest thing I have ever done, and probably will ever do, and it didn’t kill me but most of the time I wished it did because I didn’t see much point in going on, there was no joy in what I was experiencing. But I faced it and I did not get into a relationship immediately because I really wanted to do it properly and not move into something else which would be a temporary fix and where it would be inevitable that I would repeat the same mistake again.
So staying single wasn’t that hard to be honest. I was not at all an attractive proposition for anyone, I was thin, malnourished, drunk, hurt and angry all the time – plus I never got asked out so I never really had the option placed before me so I need to be honest about claiming that I “resisted” the temptations of a cosy hook up, because they just didn’t exist.
I don’t think I have ever been that chick who gets chatted up. I don’t know that I actually have ever been chatted up, and only once have I been asked for my number. I have never been able to figure out why….I know I am no oil painting but I am not as ugly as a horses arse either – and you only need to step out the front door to see what’s out there, some fucking shockers – and they get dates!! Perhaps I am just not really a very nice person, my personality repels people, but then I have heaps of friends so that’s kind of unlikely too.
I asked my best male friend about this one evening and his reply was ‘Rachie, blokes want to fuck a party queen but marry a princess – you are the party queen’, and I guess that’s true.
I am the one who is always the first to suggest drinks, I am the first to accept the invitations and I am always the last one to go home – normally after I have dominated conversation, made people laugh all night and if there is music playing there is usually no hope of keeping me from dancing until the sun comes up – The Hot Man said to me once years ago ‘you’re the fun one, everyone is here because we all want to hang out with you because its always going to be a guaranteed great night with you’ –
This was sweet and probably true but during the years on my own I realised that nobody loves a party queen when she is sad and not “fun” anymore, so whilst I have heaps of friends, I really found out during this time who the great ones were. They were the ones I could call on at 4am when I was crying and thought the pain would never leave, but mainly they were the ones who wanted to hang out with me even if I was a sad sack of shit.
So after being on my own for three years, except for the odd short thing here and there and plenty of random sex with strangers which is predictably messy and generally not very good, and basically I got sick of the hassle of it after a while and made a conscious effort to go home alone and break out the vibrator, at least I knew I would be guaranteed and orgasm and a good nights sleep, but I suddenly find myself in a “relationship” a scary word for me, with someone who is a very old friend.
Basically the way it happened was that I had been having a dry spell after my decision to cease all one night stand activities last year, so it had been a good six months since I had had sex with anyone else but myself and it was kind of getting me down, not the sex so much but the lack of even a pash and just getting some attention to boost the ego every now and then was really lacking. He (The Hot Man) had fallen in love earlier in the year – HARD – he had even cut off all the bits on the side which he has always had as a fall back position should he ever need them and then the girlfriend dumped him. He hadn’t had sex in six weeks and for him this was like life sentence, I started to wonder if he was going to start fucking random holes in the ground or loose it when we were having a drink or dinner and start humping my or some strangers leg like my dog does every so often.
He has always banged on about shagging me, so it was no surprise that he was once again trying to convince me to “help out a mate” as he called it and often questioned my true commitment to our friendship because I refused the alluring invitation to give him sex or a quick blow job at the end of the evening – call me a prude but I didn’t have much trouble showing resistance.
So one fateful evening when last December, when as usual, everyone else had gone home and there was just the two of us we decided to head to The Dirty Swan – for old times sake – and a dance to some bogan tunes. We danced for hours and ended up over the road getting shit food at some stupid time of the morning and he pashed me while we waited for our greasy delights.
This was not really a big thing, we had pashed before, a few times actually, but it never did much for me, although it was nice. So on this occasion I was not overly concerned about it but as usual told him to cut it out, he persisted and somehow managed to convince me that going to his place for some sex would do us both the world of good. It didn’t.
It was weird and felt odd and although he was fantastic, it wasn’t working for me. I made an excuse to leave, but he insisted on coming with me to my place because he wanted us to spend the night sleeping in bed together – I never do this with anyone and I kicked him out at 7am on the dot, his phone was flat, I didn’t call him a cab and I told him to walk home – lucky for him he only lives a short distance away, but it was still a little rough when I look back on it.
So I am not sure what happened after that, I told him I never wanted to do it again and to just forget that it happened and go back to normal. We did and it was fine, but we had the odd pash here and there over the next few weeks and then on Christmas day I felt weak in the knees when I saw him when my dad and I went to pick him up to go to our family lunch. I have no idea what happened, but I definitely felt something.
We had a great Christmas day, we pashed a few times when nobody was looking, we smoked joints and drank shitloads and it was fun. The next day we had the Boxing Day session and once again we shagged that night, and this time it was amazing, it blew my mind and it all felt different.
Anyway, the next few months get really messy and actually probably quite boring so I will get to where I am now.
Right now I am realising that I am essentially in a relationship with someone. Someone who I care about with an intensity that I never imagined was even possible to feel without the person being your family, or in my case my dogs!
I am no longer undermining my relationship, I am investing time into it and trying to do things differently to any other time I have been with anyone before, although I think this is an ongoing process and I continually doubt and question myself about this.
The truth is that I am scared, really scared. My dad was right, it was the hardest thing I will probably ever do, but he forgot to tell me about this bit, the part when you are totally and utterly consumed by fear, the fear of letting someone else into your life, because if you do that you will change your routine, your patterns of behaviour, you will loose the sense of loneliness that you have become accustomed to and comfortable with.
But I have made a commitment to myself that I need to do this, I need to invest myself in this in order to invest in myself – to grow as a person and learn how to function in a relationship – regardless of the fact that it may well not be this relationship that is the lasting one.
Right now I am feeling things I have never felt before for anyone. I truly and utterly adore him. Life is just better when he is around and even when he isn’t I feel happy that he will be again. I am fully aware that this relationship may not last and whilst I am worried about the sadness I will feel if and when it ends it is no longer an all consuming fear that keeps me locked into something that does not deliver what a relationship should – a feeling of happiness that just isn’t possible when you are on your own, a feeling that when you look over and see the person on the other end of the couch when reading the weekend papers you feel like they are an extension of yourself and that your world would simply not be right if they were not occupying that space.
The most important thing for me is that even if it ends, I know I will be ok, I will be sad, probably even devastated for a period of time – but it won’t kill me – because it didn’t last time. I have faced my greatest fear.
Essentially what has happened is that I have developed a chronic fear of the end of a relationship, even if I am unhappy in a relationship which I have been many many times, I will just stay, until the bitter end – and I have NEVER initiated a break-up EVER.
I do however undermine the situation, its not normally a conscious effort but I know I do it. I will be nasty, defensive, difficult, irresponsible, disrespectful and generally treat the victim at the time like complete shit in an attempt to get the person to “prove” how much they love me and want me by putting up with it and staying – but eventually they leave, and why the hell wouldn’t they!??!
The day my husband packed all his belongings into the back of a moving van and drove away I sat with my father crying, I was basically catatonic and I felt empty but full of pain at the same time. Strangely I also felt some level of relief as well. My father said to me ‘you know, you will be a better person for this, its going to be the hardest thing you will ever do but you are going now to be forced to face you fear, a fear that is so crippling that you have never even enjoyed a real relationship. So when you get through this, and you will, you will find some happiness in you life’.
Dad was right. It was the hardest thing I have ever done, and probably will ever do, and it didn’t kill me but most of the time I wished it did because I didn’t see much point in going on, there was no joy in what I was experiencing. But I faced it and I did not get into a relationship immediately because I really wanted to do it properly and not move into something else which would be a temporary fix and where it would be inevitable that I would repeat the same mistake again.
So staying single wasn’t that hard to be honest. I was not at all an attractive proposition for anyone, I was thin, malnourished, drunk, hurt and angry all the time – plus I never got asked out so I never really had the option placed before me so I need to be honest about claiming that I “resisted” the temptations of a cosy hook up, because they just didn’t exist.
I don’t think I have ever been that chick who gets chatted up. I don’t know that I actually have ever been chatted up, and only once have I been asked for my number. I have never been able to figure out why….I know I am no oil painting but I am not as ugly as a horses arse either – and you only need to step out the front door to see what’s out there, some fucking shockers – and they get dates!! Perhaps I am just not really a very nice person, my personality repels people, but then I have heaps of friends so that’s kind of unlikely too.
I asked my best male friend about this one evening and his reply was ‘Rachie, blokes want to fuck a party queen but marry a princess – you are the party queen’, and I guess that’s true.
I am the one who is always the first to suggest drinks, I am the first to accept the invitations and I am always the last one to go home – normally after I have dominated conversation, made people laugh all night and if there is music playing there is usually no hope of keeping me from dancing until the sun comes up – The Hot Man said to me once years ago ‘you’re the fun one, everyone is here because we all want to hang out with you because its always going to be a guaranteed great night with you’ –
This was sweet and probably true but during the years on my own I realised that nobody loves a party queen when she is sad and not “fun” anymore, so whilst I have heaps of friends, I really found out during this time who the great ones were. They were the ones I could call on at 4am when I was crying and thought the pain would never leave, but mainly they were the ones who wanted to hang out with me even if I was a sad sack of shit.
So after being on my own for three years, except for the odd short thing here and there and plenty of random sex with strangers which is predictably messy and generally not very good, and basically I got sick of the hassle of it after a while and made a conscious effort to go home alone and break out the vibrator, at least I knew I would be guaranteed and orgasm and a good nights sleep, but I suddenly find myself in a “relationship” a scary word for me, with someone who is a very old friend.
Basically the way it happened was that I had been having a dry spell after my decision to cease all one night stand activities last year, so it had been a good six months since I had had sex with anyone else but myself and it was kind of getting me down, not the sex so much but the lack of even a pash and just getting some attention to boost the ego every now and then was really lacking. He (The Hot Man) had fallen in love earlier in the year – HARD – he had even cut off all the bits on the side which he has always had as a fall back position should he ever need them and then the girlfriend dumped him. He hadn’t had sex in six weeks and for him this was like life sentence, I started to wonder if he was going to start fucking random holes in the ground or loose it when we were having a drink or dinner and start humping my or some strangers leg like my dog does every so often.
He has always banged on about shagging me, so it was no surprise that he was once again trying to convince me to “help out a mate” as he called it and often questioned my true commitment to our friendship because I refused the alluring invitation to give him sex or a quick blow job at the end of the evening – call me a prude but I didn’t have much trouble showing resistance.
So one fateful evening when last December, when as usual, everyone else had gone home and there was just the two of us we decided to head to The Dirty Swan – for old times sake – and a dance to some bogan tunes. We danced for hours and ended up over the road getting shit food at some stupid time of the morning and he pashed me while we waited for our greasy delights.
This was not really a big thing, we had pashed before, a few times actually, but it never did much for me, although it was nice. So on this occasion I was not overly concerned about it but as usual told him to cut it out, he persisted and somehow managed to convince me that going to his place for some sex would do us both the world of good. It didn’t.
It was weird and felt odd and although he was fantastic, it wasn’t working for me. I made an excuse to leave, but he insisted on coming with me to my place because he wanted us to spend the night sleeping in bed together – I never do this with anyone and I kicked him out at 7am on the dot, his phone was flat, I didn’t call him a cab and I told him to walk home – lucky for him he only lives a short distance away, but it was still a little rough when I look back on it.
So I am not sure what happened after that, I told him I never wanted to do it again and to just forget that it happened and go back to normal. We did and it was fine, but we had the odd pash here and there over the next few weeks and then on Christmas day I felt weak in the knees when I saw him when my dad and I went to pick him up to go to our family lunch. I have no idea what happened, but I definitely felt something.
We had a great Christmas day, we pashed a few times when nobody was looking, we smoked joints and drank shitloads and it was fun. The next day we had the Boxing Day session and once again we shagged that night, and this time it was amazing, it blew my mind and it all felt different.
Anyway, the next few months get really messy and actually probably quite boring so I will get to where I am now.
Right now I am realising that I am essentially in a relationship with someone. Someone who I care about with an intensity that I never imagined was even possible to feel without the person being your family, or in my case my dogs!
I am no longer undermining my relationship, I am investing time into it and trying to do things differently to any other time I have been with anyone before, although I think this is an ongoing process and I continually doubt and question myself about this.
The truth is that I am scared, really scared. My dad was right, it was the hardest thing I will probably ever do, but he forgot to tell me about this bit, the part when you are totally and utterly consumed by fear, the fear of letting someone else into your life, because if you do that you will change your routine, your patterns of behaviour, you will loose the sense of loneliness that you have become accustomed to and comfortable with.
But I have made a commitment to myself that I need to do this, I need to invest myself in this in order to invest in myself – to grow as a person and learn how to function in a relationship – regardless of the fact that it may well not be this relationship that is the lasting one.
Right now I am feeling things I have never felt before for anyone. I truly and utterly adore him. Life is just better when he is around and even when he isn’t I feel happy that he will be again. I am fully aware that this relationship may not last and whilst I am worried about the sadness I will feel if and when it ends it is no longer an all consuming fear that keeps me locked into something that does not deliver what a relationship should – a feeling of happiness that just isn’t possible when you are on your own, a feeling that when you look over and see the person on the other end of the couch when reading the weekend papers you feel like they are an extension of yourself and that your world would simply not be right if they were not occupying that space.
The most important thing for me is that even if it ends, I know I will be ok, I will be sad, probably even devastated for a period of time – but it won’t kill me – because it didn’t last time. I have faced my greatest fear.
Monday, July 13, 2009
The Fox Man
Ok, so this bloke was the work shag, but most people who know this story know this bloke as “The Fox Man” – the reason for this will become clear as the story unfolds.
So the work shag as read in a previous instalment was great. The sex was great, the conversation stimulating and oh my god did I found this bloke amazing to look at, and sometimes that was all I needed. He dressed so ridiculously well, to a date once he turned up in a cravat – I was like jelly whenever he was around and as a consequence had no ability to speak to him at work because I would go weak in the knees and not be able to stand, I would also blush uncontrollably and it was just all too much.
So whenever we went on a date I would have to drink a HUGE amount before we went just so I had the confidence to get out the door and be alone with him, but even then it was so hard. Dinner was basically useless because I couldn’t eat when I was with him, cake after a movie was not even mildly possible, although a cup of black tea was sometimes helpful for the dry parched mouth caused by a significant amount of anxiet, it was so hard and it didn’t get better.
I really liked him and wanted to spend time with him but was so nervous all the time that basically the only time I had the confidence and the desire to be with him was when I had been at the pub all afternoon and evening with my friends, I would be so paralytic that I would start sending him text messages and get him to invite me over. I would lob over there in a drunken state (remembering that he is a non-drinker) stinking of smokes and booze and for some reason think this was sexy……its not at all surprising that this relationship did not last…….
He was a perfect gentleman. I was always welcome to do whatever I wanted in his house, although he always preferred I do it with no clothes on, and would often chase after me when I looked a little unsteady on my feet as he was always very concerned about my drunken clumsiness as his house was the most amazing bachelor pad you have ever seen and if I broke anything I would simply never be able to afford to pay for it.
Let me explain……his house looks fairly average from the outside, in fact quite normal and unappealing, but then you go in and he has renovated and decorated every single part of this place with style, the man just oozes it.
He is mad on art deco and this is the theme of his place. His floors are black floorboards with a high shine, you could seriously do your make up with the reflection from these things. The couches are red leather with black and white leather cushions – each one has a specific place…..there is an immaculate art deco bar, side tables, flokati rugs, and the art covering the walls is to die for, not to mention the tasteful and immaculately placed deco ordainments and decoration pieces, its simply amazing.
Then there is the other thing he likes to decorate the joint with – and that’s the vast collection of dead animals. Yes, you did not make a mistake in reading that last line, he collects taxidermy, he is mad on it. A great Saturday night to him is finding a great new species online for a great price and organising the shipping, and marking the arrival date on the calendar in anticipation.
So to recap at this point, I am having fantastic drunken sex with a sober bloke who I work with who collects dead stuffed animals when I am a mad crazy animal lover – it’s the backbone of all the fairytales we heard as kids.
The favourite dead item was a fox, who was named “Lindsay”. She was a small female fox mounted on a log and stood in the lounge room and she wore a peal necklace with a diamond clasp from Tiffany. She was his pride and joy and he would speak of her often.
On one occasion he was dropping me home after I had stayed the night and I demanded to be walked to my front door – because I think that is what you should do – he refused because he said ‘I have the gardener coming in 3 minutes, I have to get to the other side of town before he gets there, I have a fox at home who has not had a decent good-morning from me yet, and you are ruining a great night and a very enjoyable morning….’.
There were also often suggestions and requests for Lindsay to come and “watch” the activities in the bedroom, which was beyond strange, even for someone who was literally soaking with booze every time I was in that house.
On one occasion when we actually were working on the same project we both needed to attend a conference in Bendigo I think from memory…….I went up with one of the other project partners the afternoon before as we had to meet some people for dinner and we stayed over and The Fox Man came up the following morning, so the first I got to see him was at the morning tea break where we said a quick hello and I had to check the phone and make some calls for work.
Lunchtime was when we got to have a bit of a chat, a flirt and talk dirty to each other whilst standing around with the other guests – it was exciting, we were telling each other what we wanted to do to each other as we stood there eating chicken sandwiches and meeting and greeting all the local important people, and they had NO IDEA, and this was thrilling to me.
The afternoon just about killed me, I had to sit through a killer hangover from the night before that was refusing to leave me alone and the thought of driving all the way back to Melbourne with the bloke I had travelled up with who the night before when we had seen our dinner guests off and continued drinking had tried to kiss me and had begged me for sex which was so far from appealing, it was Friday arvo and I just wanted to be in Melbourne and hit the pub. So we left the conference early and booted it back to Melbs in time for me to grab about half a dozen wines at happy hour price and get them in before heading to dinner for a friend’s birthday in Richmond with my sister.
We met our friends (a bunch of gay blokes) and we ate an amazing amount of Thai food, mainly hot and very spicy curries, and of course we drank and drank and drank and drank some more.
At one point I went outside to have a ciggie and when I returned my mobile was in the hands of one of my mates as they were all gathered around reading the latest text message which read ‘when are you coming over here’ and was followed by some dirty suggestions from The Fox Man….they all cheered as I approached and with that we finished stuffing ourselves, I sent a message back saying I would be there soon and we all left the restaurant and walk round the corner to a friends place where the festivities could continue.
Of course, keeping in mind that with the amount of booze I had consumed at this point I simply had no concept of time, so as we sang and danced the evening away around the grand piano my friend was playing I didn’t give a second thought to the fact that The Fox Man was at home……waiting and stroking the fox and waiting for me……
Many hours later when my sister had given up on turning one of the hot gay men straight and I felt that it was time not to be standing anymore we called a cab and I said I would drop my sister off home, she lived with me at this stage, and she could just run in and grab a few things for me for my sleep over, just the critical items: a toothbrush, a new pair of undies and a couple of bags of poo tea.
Now if you are not familiar with poo tea then this is a synopsis for you – it’s a tea you get from the Chinese grocery store, it tastes like poo, but that’s not why we call it that, we call it “poo tea” because that’s what it makes you do, and in uncontrollable voluminous quantities.
When you have a cup it generally works over night and in the morning you will probably be woken to the feeling of your insides turning on themselves and you will spend the next little while wondering if it will ever end and if you will ever be able to get on with your life again. But if you leave with a sense of security, as if you have finished, at some point you will feel it come on again, it may hit you when you are in a line at the supermarket, or on the tram or train, you will start to sweat and you will know that you have literally a matter of seconds before you are going to shit yourself as an adult – again.
You may be wondering why anyone would be interested in taking this stuff – simple – weight loss. I will do anything to lose weight, I will try anything, buy anything, spend any amount of money I have available in the desire for a decent body, and this includes being obsessive about what I eat and how much exercise I do.
So after a big meal of hot and nasty curry, I have in my drunken state, made The Fox Man wait for hours whilst I dance around singing ‘Its Raining Men’ with a bunch of queens and have then called past home and grabbed a couple of double strength tea bags to make sure that there was no chance I would absorb any unnecessary calories.
As soon as I rocked up at his place I made the tea, drank it and proceeded with some hot sex – I think, I can’t really remember.
In the morning I recall opening one eye and not knowing where I was but realising that I was nude, I stank like a homeless alco and my face was stuck to the pillow from sweat and drool – I am one hot lady! But it was only seconds before I felt the war that had begun on the inside of my body and I sprinted to the spare loo down the hallway and really really wished for some background noise as I made some of the most sickening sounds and hollered and prayed to every higher being I was away of that this would 1) stop 2) not get any louder, and 3) that The Fox Man would remain asleep.
The fact that none of these wished was granted is the reason I do not believe in god, and what was worse was that was that when I tried to flush there was no way I could get rid of this mess, it just got worse and worse, more and more blocked as I tried to flush and flush and flush this disgrace away. It did not work. I broke the flusher and the dunny was blocked. I wanted to die. There were no requests that morning for Lindsay to come and view the action and I am fairly certain that I became slightly less attractive to The Fox Man that morning, but what the hay! I had a great night dancing!
Ok, so this bloke was the work shag, but most people who know this story know this bloke as “The Fox Man” – the reason for this will become clear as the story unfolds.
So the work shag as read in a previous instalment was great. The sex was great, the conversation stimulating and oh my god did I found this bloke amazing to look at, and sometimes that was all I needed. He dressed so ridiculously well, to a date once he turned up in a cravat – I was like jelly whenever he was around and as a consequence had no ability to speak to him at work because I would go weak in the knees and not be able to stand, I would also blush uncontrollably and it was just all too much.
So whenever we went on a date I would have to drink a HUGE amount before we went just so I had the confidence to get out the door and be alone with him, but even then it was so hard. Dinner was basically useless because I couldn’t eat when I was with him, cake after a movie was not even mildly possible, although a cup of black tea was sometimes helpful for the dry parched mouth caused by a significant amount of anxiet, it was so hard and it didn’t get better.
I really liked him and wanted to spend time with him but was so nervous all the time that basically the only time I had the confidence and the desire to be with him was when I had been at the pub all afternoon and evening with my friends, I would be so paralytic that I would start sending him text messages and get him to invite me over. I would lob over there in a drunken state (remembering that he is a non-drinker) stinking of smokes and booze and for some reason think this was sexy……its not at all surprising that this relationship did not last…….
He was a perfect gentleman. I was always welcome to do whatever I wanted in his house, although he always preferred I do it with no clothes on, and would often chase after me when I looked a little unsteady on my feet as he was always very concerned about my drunken clumsiness as his house was the most amazing bachelor pad you have ever seen and if I broke anything I would simply never be able to afford to pay for it.
Let me explain……his house looks fairly average from the outside, in fact quite normal and unappealing, but then you go in and he has renovated and decorated every single part of this place with style, the man just oozes it.
He is mad on art deco and this is the theme of his place. His floors are black floorboards with a high shine, you could seriously do your make up with the reflection from these things. The couches are red leather with black and white leather cushions – each one has a specific place…..there is an immaculate art deco bar, side tables, flokati rugs, and the art covering the walls is to die for, not to mention the tasteful and immaculately placed deco ordainments and decoration pieces, its simply amazing.
Then there is the other thing he likes to decorate the joint with – and that’s the vast collection of dead animals. Yes, you did not make a mistake in reading that last line, he collects taxidermy, he is mad on it. A great Saturday night to him is finding a great new species online for a great price and organising the shipping, and marking the arrival date on the calendar in anticipation.
So to recap at this point, I am having fantastic drunken sex with a sober bloke who I work with who collects dead stuffed animals when I am a mad crazy animal lover – it’s the backbone of all the fairytales we heard as kids.
The favourite dead item was a fox, who was named “Lindsay”. She was a small female fox mounted on a log and stood in the lounge room and she wore a peal necklace with a diamond clasp from Tiffany. She was his pride and joy and he would speak of her often.
On one occasion he was dropping me home after I had stayed the night and I demanded to be walked to my front door – because I think that is what you should do – he refused because he said ‘I have the gardener coming in 3 minutes, I have to get to the other side of town before he gets there, I have a fox at home who has not had a decent good-morning from me yet, and you are ruining a great night and a very enjoyable morning….’.
There were also often suggestions and requests for Lindsay to come and “watch” the activities in the bedroom, which was beyond strange, even for someone who was literally soaking with booze every time I was in that house.
On one occasion when we actually were working on the same project we both needed to attend a conference in Bendigo I think from memory…….I went up with one of the other project partners the afternoon before as we had to meet some people for dinner and we stayed over and The Fox Man came up the following morning, so the first I got to see him was at the morning tea break where we said a quick hello and I had to check the phone and make some calls for work.
Lunchtime was when we got to have a bit of a chat, a flirt and talk dirty to each other whilst standing around with the other guests – it was exciting, we were telling each other what we wanted to do to each other as we stood there eating chicken sandwiches and meeting and greeting all the local important people, and they had NO IDEA, and this was thrilling to me.
The afternoon just about killed me, I had to sit through a killer hangover from the night before that was refusing to leave me alone and the thought of driving all the way back to Melbourne with the bloke I had travelled up with who the night before when we had seen our dinner guests off and continued drinking had tried to kiss me and had begged me for sex which was so far from appealing, it was Friday arvo and I just wanted to be in Melbourne and hit the pub. So we left the conference early and booted it back to Melbs in time for me to grab about half a dozen wines at happy hour price and get them in before heading to dinner for a friend’s birthday in Richmond with my sister.
We met our friends (a bunch of gay blokes) and we ate an amazing amount of Thai food, mainly hot and very spicy curries, and of course we drank and drank and drank and drank some more.
At one point I went outside to have a ciggie and when I returned my mobile was in the hands of one of my mates as they were all gathered around reading the latest text message which read ‘when are you coming over here’ and was followed by some dirty suggestions from The Fox Man….they all cheered as I approached and with that we finished stuffing ourselves, I sent a message back saying I would be there soon and we all left the restaurant and walk round the corner to a friends place where the festivities could continue.
Of course, keeping in mind that with the amount of booze I had consumed at this point I simply had no concept of time, so as we sang and danced the evening away around the grand piano my friend was playing I didn’t give a second thought to the fact that The Fox Man was at home……waiting and stroking the fox and waiting for me……
Many hours later when my sister had given up on turning one of the hot gay men straight and I felt that it was time not to be standing anymore we called a cab and I said I would drop my sister off home, she lived with me at this stage, and she could just run in and grab a few things for me for my sleep over, just the critical items: a toothbrush, a new pair of undies and a couple of bags of poo tea.
Now if you are not familiar with poo tea then this is a synopsis for you – it’s a tea you get from the Chinese grocery store, it tastes like poo, but that’s not why we call it that, we call it “poo tea” because that’s what it makes you do, and in uncontrollable voluminous quantities.
When you have a cup it generally works over night and in the morning you will probably be woken to the feeling of your insides turning on themselves and you will spend the next little while wondering if it will ever end and if you will ever be able to get on with your life again. But if you leave with a sense of security, as if you have finished, at some point you will feel it come on again, it may hit you when you are in a line at the supermarket, or on the tram or train, you will start to sweat and you will know that you have literally a matter of seconds before you are going to shit yourself as an adult – again.
You may be wondering why anyone would be interested in taking this stuff – simple – weight loss. I will do anything to lose weight, I will try anything, buy anything, spend any amount of money I have available in the desire for a decent body, and this includes being obsessive about what I eat and how much exercise I do.
So after a big meal of hot and nasty curry, I have in my drunken state, made The Fox Man wait for hours whilst I dance around singing ‘Its Raining Men’ with a bunch of queens and have then called past home and grabbed a couple of double strength tea bags to make sure that there was no chance I would absorb any unnecessary calories.
As soon as I rocked up at his place I made the tea, drank it and proceeded with some hot sex – I think, I can’t really remember.
In the morning I recall opening one eye and not knowing where I was but realising that I was nude, I stank like a homeless alco and my face was stuck to the pillow from sweat and drool – I am one hot lady! But it was only seconds before I felt the war that had begun on the inside of my body and I sprinted to the spare loo down the hallway and really really wished for some background noise as I made some of the most sickening sounds and hollered and prayed to every higher being I was away of that this would 1) stop 2) not get any louder, and 3) that The Fox Man would remain asleep.
The fact that none of these wished was granted is the reason I do not believe in god, and what was worse was that was that when I tried to flush there was no way I could get rid of this mess, it just got worse and worse, more and more blocked as I tried to flush and flush and flush this disgrace away. It did not work. I broke the flusher and the dunny was blocked. I wanted to die. There were no requests that morning for Lindsay to come and view the action and I am fairly certain that I became slightly less attractive to The Fox Man that morning, but what the hay! I had a great night dancing!
Thursday, July 9, 2009
The scares of relationships past…..
Ok, so despite the fact that I feel like I have learnt a huge amount from previous relationship, and particularly from my time being married and the subsequent three years that followed when I was essentially single the entire time and did a huge amount of sole searching and actually really tried to figure out some stuff and learn about myself and my failures in relationships and more importantly why this stuff has happened, a couple of things happened as a result:
1. I realised that its actually very nice being on your own, and despite being “nice” it requires far less effort, does not require any risk and certainly absolutely no compromise
2. I am actually really not very good in relationship, I have had appalling relationship models and have not had any level of success in relationship as a result
3. Probably, the only reason I would consider having a relationship again is for the simple fact that I want to have children, but completely expect that the relationship would be brief and I would raise the child/children on my own
4. I guess this is more than a couple…..I really actually never saw myself in a relationship ever again and was completely accepting of this
So I guess all of this combined means that I have the tolerance for other peoples shit of an superficial premadona rock star who likes their m&m’s sorted by colour. I am more than happy to pull the pin at the slightest flaw. The fact that someone I was dating worse explorer socks was enough for me to realise that it was never going anywhere, I judge men on the income they earn, the car they drive, the level of education they have just to name a few of my very specific requirements.
I have actually been onto a number of dating websites where I have (without registering) done a search for my basic requirements and the result is always the same “there are no matches for you at this time”. Fine. That’s actually MORE than fine with me.
I don’t want to have to tell someone that I am going for drinks after work, I don’t want to report in during the drinks and say I am going to be a bit longer than expected and then have them crack the shits when I turn up at 4am on a Tuesday night after drinking my body weight in gin.
I don’t want to have to negotiate what colour I will be painting the walls, or what furniture I will buy, keep or throw away, or how the house will be set up, and what pictures will go where.
I don’t want to have to negotiate “house rules” where a level of respect needs to be shown toward the other person, not just because that’s what you should do but because you say you love them.
I don’t want to have to shower if I don’t want to, or watch some retard try to vacuum the floor or attempt the washing and end up doing it myself because I like things done the way I do them. Granted, there are tasks I detest and loath, these are taking out the bins, something I have been able to deal with by not having a bin inside but a small freezer bag on the bench that gets thrown out when it gets a couple of things in it so it has no time to go feasty, and cleaning the toilet and this little one is solved quiet easily as I get my dad to do it every time he is over.
So then there is my current situation where there is a relationship of sorts with my very old friend “The Hot Man”.
This has not been an easy situation to negotiate and I have many many times behaved badly due to my desire to resort back the my happy place of aloneness at 40 Henry Street, but also due to the fact that he brings to the table much of the same if not more failed relationship and fucked up family baggage as I do – making this from the get go a very friggen unworkable situation, which once again makes me think its probably easier not to bother.
I wouldn’t bother normally, but the thing is I do have a great deal of fun with him and can see some level of potential where this thing is concerned, mainly because we seem to fit quite well together despite all the negatives and I laugh a huge amount when we are together, and I reckon that’s not such a bad thing.
What I have been learning however is that I need to shut the fuck up sometimes – this is a hard one for me. I am much better at fighting with someone rather than just letting it ride when they say stuff that annoys me – possibly the reason my ex-husband spent on average 5 out of 7 nights sleeping on the couch…..and the other thing is that I am like a dog with a bone, piss me off and I will put it in the memory bank and bring it up EVERYTIME YOU SHIT ME.
So, on a personal development front I am learning that this kind of doesn’t fly so well with other people, especially someone who is old, pigheaded and extremely stubborn anyway.
I kind of did learn a bit of this from observing my grandparents relationship. It was a beautiful relationship however extremely dysfunctional so I am conscious that I should not model it too much, but we actually interact in an extremely similar way so its worth referring to for some pointers.
For example, my grandfather would say things to stir up my nan or just in general say things to give her the shits, and her response was to tell him to ‘shut up you dickhead’ rather than take the bait and spend the evening fighting the point and being in the shits.
But its really difficult to learn where to draw the line.
Over the last few days I have been quite sick with a cold. I don’t get sick often but cold seem to really affect me since having pneumonia a couple of years ago and I know when it comes on I am done for. Sunday night was the beginning, sore throat, fever, bad night sleep, sneezing and feeling crappy, I was staying over with The Hot Man at this point but it was not really until Monday at work that it became a full on cold and I went home at 3pm and got into bed.
Tuesday and Wednesday I was in bed, feeling lousy and basically just wanting to die.
During this time I received a number of text messages (yes, that’s how we communicate, email text, few phone calls, I hate talking on the phone when I am not at work and basically just refuse to answer if he calls me, plus throughout the 7 years we have been friends we have always used text as our form of communication and I am not so keen on changing that) – but not one of these messages asked me how I was. I did however get a full report of the amount of booze he had consumed at a work dinner on Tuesday night, and a very detailed analysis of everything else that was going on, plus a phone call at 4am when he was completely blind and the following day a bunch of status updates regarding the state of the hangover – BUT NOTHING ABOT ME!
I reported my lack of appreciation regarding this little oversight and did not receive an apology but I did get a number of messages several hours apart to see if I was still shitty, to each I reported YES and then this afternoon I received an invitation to come over tonight to his place.
Despite wanting to go over to see him, and be in his warm house, my response to this invitation was ‘I can not cook for you and will not have sex because I am too sick, I am of no use to you in my current state’.
Now, this may seem like it was a reasonable response on one level, but The Hot Man is the most unsympathetic, self absorbed individual to ever grace god earth. There are no secrets where this is concerned – he is great for some things, but this is not one of his redeeming features. However, like all chauvinistic men he loves to be cared for if he is suffering from an ailment – in fact he expects it, as did my grandfather.
So the issue that I need to resolve with myself now is weather I accept that this is just something that I need to live with and get over it, because he will never change (and he certainly won’t) or if I need to end it because its simply not something I can put up with (and its probably not something that bothers me a great deal) and if I do end it, am I doing it for the right reasons or for the simple fact that retreating to aloneness, 40 Henry Street and my dogs is a far safer option, or do I continue in bitch mode for a while, then give in eventually – and if that’s the option, then what exactly will I have achieved!!!??? NOTHING!
So I am off to ponder this issue now, and its probably not a great thing to do after swallowing half a pharmacy in an attempt to get through the day – but hell, at least I am not drunk, that’s normally when I make my other big life decisions.
Ok, so despite the fact that I feel like I have learnt a huge amount from previous relationship, and particularly from my time being married and the subsequent three years that followed when I was essentially single the entire time and did a huge amount of sole searching and actually really tried to figure out some stuff and learn about myself and my failures in relationships and more importantly why this stuff has happened, a couple of things happened as a result:
1. I realised that its actually very nice being on your own, and despite being “nice” it requires far less effort, does not require any risk and certainly absolutely no compromise
2. I am actually really not very good in relationship, I have had appalling relationship models and have not had any level of success in relationship as a result
3. Probably, the only reason I would consider having a relationship again is for the simple fact that I want to have children, but completely expect that the relationship would be brief and I would raise the child/children on my own
4. I guess this is more than a couple…..I really actually never saw myself in a relationship ever again and was completely accepting of this
So I guess all of this combined means that I have the tolerance for other peoples shit of an superficial premadona rock star who likes their m&m’s sorted by colour. I am more than happy to pull the pin at the slightest flaw. The fact that someone I was dating worse explorer socks was enough for me to realise that it was never going anywhere, I judge men on the income they earn, the car they drive, the level of education they have just to name a few of my very specific requirements.
I have actually been onto a number of dating websites where I have (without registering) done a search for my basic requirements and the result is always the same “there are no matches for you at this time”. Fine. That’s actually MORE than fine with me.
I don’t want to have to tell someone that I am going for drinks after work, I don’t want to report in during the drinks and say I am going to be a bit longer than expected and then have them crack the shits when I turn up at 4am on a Tuesday night after drinking my body weight in gin.
I don’t want to have to negotiate what colour I will be painting the walls, or what furniture I will buy, keep or throw away, or how the house will be set up, and what pictures will go where.
I don’t want to have to negotiate “house rules” where a level of respect needs to be shown toward the other person, not just because that’s what you should do but because you say you love them.
I don’t want to have to shower if I don’t want to, or watch some retard try to vacuum the floor or attempt the washing and end up doing it myself because I like things done the way I do them. Granted, there are tasks I detest and loath, these are taking out the bins, something I have been able to deal with by not having a bin inside but a small freezer bag on the bench that gets thrown out when it gets a couple of things in it so it has no time to go feasty, and cleaning the toilet and this little one is solved quiet easily as I get my dad to do it every time he is over.
So then there is my current situation where there is a relationship of sorts with my very old friend “The Hot Man”.
This has not been an easy situation to negotiate and I have many many times behaved badly due to my desire to resort back the my happy place of aloneness at 40 Henry Street, but also due to the fact that he brings to the table much of the same if not more failed relationship and fucked up family baggage as I do – making this from the get go a very friggen unworkable situation, which once again makes me think its probably easier not to bother.
I wouldn’t bother normally, but the thing is I do have a great deal of fun with him and can see some level of potential where this thing is concerned, mainly because we seem to fit quite well together despite all the negatives and I laugh a huge amount when we are together, and I reckon that’s not such a bad thing.
What I have been learning however is that I need to shut the fuck up sometimes – this is a hard one for me. I am much better at fighting with someone rather than just letting it ride when they say stuff that annoys me – possibly the reason my ex-husband spent on average 5 out of 7 nights sleeping on the couch…..and the other thing is that I am like a dog with a bone, piss me off and I will put it in the memory bank and bring it up EVERYTIME YOU SHIT ME.
So, on a personal development front I am learning that this kind of doesn’t fly so well with other people, especially someone who is old, pigheaded and extremely stubborn anyway.
I kind of did learn a bit of this from observing my grandparents relationship. It was a beautiful relationship however extremely dysfunctional so I am conscious that I should not model it too much, but we actually interact in an extremely similar way so its worth referring to for some pointers.
For example, my grandfather would say things to stir up my nan or just in general say things to give her the shits, and her response was to tell him to ‘shut up you dickhead’ rather than take the bait and spend the evening fighting the point and being in the shits.
But its really difficult to learn where to draw the line.
Over the last few days I have been quite sick with a cold. I don’t get sick often but cold seem to really affect me since having pneumonia a couple of years ago and I know when it comes on I am done for. Sunday night was the beginning, sore throat, fever, bad night sleep, sneezing and feeling crappy, I was staying over with The Hot Man at this point but it was not really until Monday at work that it became a full on cold and I went home at 3pm and got into bed.
Tuesday and Wednesday I was in bed, feeling lousy and basically just wanting to die.
During this time I received a number of text messages (yes, that’s how we communicate, email text, few phone calls, I hate talking on the phone when I am not at work and basically just refuse to answer if he calls me, plus throughout the 7 years we have been friends we have always used text as our form of communication and I am not so keen on changing that) – but not one of these messages asked me how I was. I did however get a full report of the amount of booze he had consumed at a work dinner on Tuesday night, and a very detailed analysis of everything else that was going on, plus a phone call at 4am when he was completely blind and the following day a bunch of status updates regarding the state of the hangover – BUT NOTHING ABOT ME!
I reported my lack of appreciation regarding this little oversight and did not receive an apology but I did get a number of messages several hours apart to see if I was still shitty, to each I reported YES and then this afternoon I received an invitation to come over tonight to his place.
Despite wanting to go over to see him, and be in his warm house, my response to this invitation was ‘I can not cook for you and will not have sex because I am too sick, I am of no use to you in my current state’.
Now, this may seem like it was a reasonable response on one level, but The Hot Man is the most unsympathetic, self absorbed individual to ever grace god earth. There are no secrets where this is concerned – he is great for some things, but this is not one of his redeeming features. However, like all chauvinistic men he loves to be cared for if he is suffering from an ailment – in fact he expects it, as did my grandfather.
So the issue that I need to resolve with myself now is weather I accept that this is just something that I need to live with and get over it, because he will never change (and he certainly won’t) or if I need to end it because its simply not something I can put up with (and its probably not something that bothers me a great deal) and if I do end it, am I doing it for the right reasons or for the simple fact that retreating to aloneness, 40 Henry Street and my dogs is a far safer option, or do I continue in bitch mode for a while, then give in eventually – and if that’s the option, then what exactly will I have achieved!!!??? NOTHING!
So I am off to ponder this issue now, and its probably not a great thing to do after swallowing half a pharmacy in an attempt to get through the day – but hell, at least I am not drunk, that’s normally when I make my other big life decisions.
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