The energies around me are shifting to places that I cannot interpret anymore. Someone threw out the instruction manual of my life and all I can rely on these days is change and the knowledge that anything can happen in an instant and bring severe circumstances with it, and you have to roll with the punches and try to survive. The days of working a decent nine to five and earning money to get by seem strangely easy, blissful even, in comparison.
My friend T was a victim of internet fraud today, a month before she would finally be paid for the first time in ages, after being unemployed for a while. She is devastated, in shock.
Had an uncontrollable urge to download the Jersey Boys album of Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons, especially the song ‘Who Loves you’. It must be from a past life, it brings back incredibly deep feelings of bliss and joy that are indescribable. So this show is on at the West End at the moment and seems to have rave reviews. Really want to see it. It is the story of the lives of the group members and their times in the sixties and seventies amongst Italian American mafia style situations and that working class New York, passionate lifestyle again. What energy, I wish I had that energy, that passion cursing through my veins right now, or ever. And the men were gorgeous and so romantic and real, enough to make you infatuated, unlike here and now. They had drive and chutzpah. FV looks like Al Pacino. Need I say anymore?
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Thursday, 20 March 2008
Wednesday, 12 March 2008
Abuse Part 2
Sometimes I wish I could just get cancer and know that there is a certain end in sight. Right now I feel like the living dead. Correction, death would be easier. Living is hell. Even in my darkest of dark days back home I always knew I could go back to my parents.
Right now I feel like I am being forced to endure a slow death with no option for a fast one. Every day I stand on the border of facing the possibility of having to put the place on the market and hope for the best, and every day closer to that I have less and less money. Had I done it sooner, I would be in a less crap situation but relying on FW is as usual always to my detriment.
I feel very weak today, I don't even have the energy to feel sad anymore. Just emptiness. I think FW would be happy if I suddenly died (and left a hefty insurance payout for him). It would solve all his problems. Then he could go out and meet the 101 women he keeps mentioning that are interested. The truth is, if he would just leave, I could move on with my life. But he remains here, ostensibly in a relationship that is clearly gone, ostensibly fairly contributing, ostensibly helping me but he is only using me to get his way as usual.
I will not deny that FW contributes a fair share to the expenses, especially now, but what really pisses me off is that I contributed so much more when I was working and even his increased contributions can't even things out now, and he dares to insist that he is 'keeping' me now, does that mean that I was keeping him when I was working?
I calculated today that compared to all the contributions FW has made since he moved in here he has actually only paid 28% of the total expenses for the flat over the last 17 months. When I footed the majority of the expenses, I did not go around telling everyone that he lived in my flat and that I covered most of the bills or in any way make him look small to his friends or family. Now he insists that people find it very generous of him to be 'keeping' me. That they think I have it all. And based on his character he he must be spinning some very embellished stories to all concerned.
Last year when the plan was for me to stop work and be at home until we managed to (as a partnership) get a working visa for me, I did not expect to be the victim of psychological abuse derived mainly from alcohol abuse on his part. As a result I did not pursue a visa on the basis of my relationship with him. That was not expected. He said he would support me when I left work. And when we had the conversation in January, he said he was ashamed and let me down and that he would do anything he could to make up for it, including paying my rent if I moved elsewhere while he covered the rest of the bills whether by buying my flat or not. He even offered to get a loan to pay me for the furniture so that I would have some funds to complete my qualification, so that even though my stay here with him has been traumatic and messed up my chances of getting a visa, I would still have some validation, that he could salvage something.
Seems like all talk now. Now he says he only agreed to help out for a little while. Suddenly all apparent remorse was bullshit. Suddenly he wants to hold the cards and fuck me over, again. I feel more inspired now to pursue the domestic abuse case, as FW feels he can get away with everything. I am so sick and tired of it all.
Today he insists he pays me x amount of money a month, what an absolute load of bullshit, I have my bank statements to prove that is not the case, and he says we are finished. When were we not finished and more realistically, when is he going to be finished enough to just leave me alone and piss off? I dont even care about the money now, I am just angry that yet again, when I was on the brink of throwing him out in January, he manufactured these white lies to passify me and let him stay, he didn't even mean a single word. I still have the texts to prove how apparently sorry he was. If anything that is a sure indicator of the kind of liar he is.
And he always creates an argument out of absolutely nothing, especially when the lounge door is open so that all the neighbours can hear and he provokes me just to the point of yelling, which I think is exactly what he wants, because after that, after he carefully says exactly what he knows will piss me off, he resorts to 'I dont want to argue now'. How fucking marvellous. He argues until: he realises he is wrong/can't defend himself anymore/I am angry/the neighbours are listening and this alone satisfies the sadistic fuckwit.
I cant wait to get this all over with.
Right now I feel like I am being forced to endure a slow death with no option for a fast one. Every day I stand on the border of facing the possibility of having to put the place on the market and hope for the best, and every day closer to that I have less and less money. Had I done it sooner, I would be in a less crap situation but relying on FW is as usual always to my detriment.
I feel very weak today, I don't even have the energy to feel sad anymore. Just emptiness. I think FW would be happy if I suddenly died (and left a hefty insurance payout for him). It would solve all his problems. Then he could go out and meet the 101 women he keeps mentioning that are interested. The truth is, if he would just leave, I could move on with my life. But he remains here, ostensibly in a relationship that is clearly gone, ostensibly fairly contributing, ostensibly helping me but he is only using me to get his way as usual.
I will not deny that FW contributes a fair share to the expenses, especially now, but what really pisses me off is that I contributed so much more when I was working and even his increased contributions can't even things out now, and he dares to insist that he is 'keeping' me now, does that mean that I was keeping him when I was working?
I calculated today that compared to all the contributions FW has made since he moved in here he has actually only paid 28% of the total expenses for the flat over the last 17 months. When I footed the majority of the expenses, I did not go around telling everyone that he lived in my flat and that I covered most of the bills or in any way make him look small to his friends or family. Now he insists that people find it very generous of him to be 'keeping' me. That they think I have it all. And based on his character he he must be spinning some very embellished stories to all concerned.
Last year when the plan was for me to stop work and be at home until we managed to (as a partnership) get a working visa for me, I did not expect to be the victim of psychological abuse derived mainly from alcohol abuse on his part. As a result I did not pursue a visa on the basis of my relationship with him. That was not expected. He said he would support me when I left work. And when we had the conversation in January, he said he was ashamed and let me down and that he would do anything he could to make up for it, including paying my rent if I moved elsewhere while he covered the rest of the bills whether by buying my flat or not. He even offered to get a loan to pay me for the furniture so that I would have some funds to complete my qualification, so that even though my stay here with him has been traumatic and messed up my chances of getting a visa, I would still have some validation, that he could salvage something.
Seems like all talk now. Now he says he only agreed to help out for a little while. Suddenly all apparent remorse was bullshit. Suddenly he wants to hold the cards and fuck me over, again. I feel more inspired now to pursue the domestic abuse case, as FW feels he can get away with everything. I am so sick and tired of it all.
Today he insists he pays me x amount of money a month, what an absolute load of bullshit, I have my bank statements to prove that is not the case, and he says we are finished. When were we not finished and more realistically, when is he going to be finished enough to just leave me alone and piss off? I dont even care about the money now, I am just angry that yet again, when I was on the brink of throwing him out in January, he manufactured these white lies to passify me and let him stay, he didn't even mean a single word. I still have the texts to prove how apparently sorry he was. If anything that is a sure indicator of the kind of liar he is.
And he always creates an argument out of absolutely nothing, especially when the lounge door is open so that all the neighbours can hear and he provokes me just to the point of yelling, which I think is exactly what he wants, because after that, after he carefully says exactly what he knows will piss me off, he resorts to 'I dont want to argue now'. How fucking marvellous. He argues until: he realises he is wrong/can't defend himself anymore/I am angry/the neighbours are listening and this alone satisfies the sadistic fuckwit.
I cant wait to get this all over with.
Tuesday, 11 March 2008
Autumn Leaves
The light at the end of the tunnel is still there, but now I'm beginning to imagine all sorts of sabotage to the light when I actually approach it.
I've given up internet dating for good. It damages your soul in the long term. Especially if you're a serial first-dater. The good old fashioned meet-them-first is so underrated today. Period.
I've given up internet dating for good. It damages your soul in the long term. Especially if you're a serial first-dater. The good old fashioned meet-them-first is so underrated today. Period.
Sunday, 9 March 2008
Tears
Friday night for the first time in a long time, I shed a few tears. After a year of emotional numbness, coupled with repetitive catharses (which sadly no one noticed as being shockingly abnormal as they were), I found myself back to – I sincerely hope- a sense of normal crying. The kind of crying, where you realise you are tearing and it isn’t coupled with an enormous, uncontrollable gushing urge to just bawl, shudder and let it all out like I have been doing over this last year.
I’m not even sure why I was crying, or why I felt so emotionally raw and open for the first time since about 2001. I half hoped that it would be the beginning of finding my lost emotional self again.
Today I am sad. Sad for playing out a life in which I choose not to go out and have fun, because it is better than feeling insulted and ignored by FW (which normally happens when we go out). I have a few personal invitations, consistently, but as much as he says go out, he always re-aligns the situation with a patronising set of questions, suggestions and behaviour that makes him look like a parent allowing a child to go out, but only under certain circumstances. And I feel uncomfortable enough to sometimes withdraw. No doubt this is his tact, to control.
I feel so trapped here. As much as this flat reflects my choice in property and my tastes in some of the decor, it is not my home. FW has dominated and even though it goes unspoken, there are things that are done his way or not at all. I have chosen for the sake of my mental balance and to keep the peace to accept them but they generally keep me in a constant state of disorientation and therefore discomfort.
Like the TV. He always has the TV on. It’s on as soon as he walks through the door and all night and quite often all our waking hours of the weekend, and let me tell you, BBC with no sky is mind numbingly boring. That’s worth repeating, it is MIND NUMBINGLY BORING. Any form of music is no competition and he complains if my music is on for too long.
When I was younger I used to joke with my friends that we were the sort who had the TV on in the background, with the sound switched off, and the stereo playing music instead. I really love playing music. Apart from calming me, it also lifts my spirits and puts me in a good mood. For as long as I can remember, a lounge to me has been a place to relax, very often with appropriate music in the background, it was who we were and who I still am. Now I have to, along with everything else that has been stolen from my life, give up the sense of calm and relaxation that I have always been used to.
I’m suddenly not surprised I had a mental breakdown last year, with everything else going on and not a moment to relax, I couldn’t take it anymore.
And the mortgage is dragging on and on. I don’t know whether it’s because FW is being unreasonable with the mortgage company or whether there is indeed a delay. The last time he applied for a mortgage, he ended up losing £500 worth of the deposit fee on the property, after I advised him to get the offer in principal first, but of course he never listens to me. This time he happens to be squealing about £200 pounds worth of admin fee that may secure the mortgage offer and wrap it up. And he seems to be making an issue out of the prolonged life cover, which I know from experience is not a major factor in the mortgage itself, it can certainly be concluded after the mortgage. He seems to have a very incorrect view as to who to remain professional to and who not to. So many times he has been unconditionally considerate and professional to those that have absolutely no bearing on the particular business at hand, and now he has crossed a professional line with his mortgage advisors, which cannot bode well for him. Perhaps he chose so to ensure the end of this connection.
I think FW is just prolonging this because it gives him an opportunity to continue living here while he drags this mortgage out - of course to my detriment. In January when we had that final conversation about his attitude, he said he was so remorseful that he had taken so much of my life away and that he wanted to make up by even offering to pay my living expenses while he bought the flat. I knew it was all talk. Now he doesn’t even contribute what he promised towards the mortgage because he says he didn’t agree for me to be unemployed for this long! So I have to deal with hell or high water trying to scrape up from anywhere just to cover the shortfall, and he has no conscience, and through this all he won’t ever stop the payments for say, the car he bought for his Goddaughter, who conversely has all the support of his family while I am here alone and used. I am always the sacrificial lamb in his life.
I believe the only way to resolve this is to get authorities involved to vacate this property and put it on the market, so that I will finally get the cash I need to move on. It may not be the best outcome, but it will give me the opportunity to get back on track again.
I’m not even sure why I was crying, or why I felt so emotionally raw and open for the first time since about 2001. I half hoped that it would be the beginning of finding my lost emotional self again.
Today I am sad. Sad for playing out a life in which I choose not to go out and have fun, because it is better than feeling insulted and ignored by FW (which normally happens when we go out). I have a few personal invitations, consistently, but as much as he says go out, he always re-aligns the situation with a patronising set of questions, suggestions and behaviour that makes him look like a parent allowing a child to go out, but only under certain circumstances. And I feel uncomfortable enough to sometimes withdraw. No doubt this is his tact, to control.
I feel so trapped here. As much as this flat reflects my choice in property and my tastes in some of the decor, it is not my home. FW has dominated and even though it goes unspoken, there are things that are done his way or not at all. I have chosen for the sake of my mental balance and to keep the peace to accept them but they generally keep me in a constant state of disorientation and therefore discomfort.
Like the TV. He always has the TV on. It’s on as soon as he walks through the door and all night and quite often all our waking hours of the weekend, and let me tell you, BBC with no sky is mind numbingly boring. That’s worth repeating, it is MIND NUMBINGLY BORING. Any form of music is no competition and he complains if my music is on for too long.
When I was younger I used to joke with my friends that we were the sort who had the TV on in the background, with the sound switched off, and the stereo playing music instead. I really love playing music. Apart from calming me, it also lifts my spirits and puts me in a good mood. For as long as I can remember, a lounge to me has been a place to relax, very often with appropriate music in the background, it was who we were and who I still am. Now I have to, along with everything else that has been stolen from my life, give up the sense of calm and relaxation that I have always been used to.
I’m suddenly not surprised I had a mental breakdown last year, with everything else going on and not a moment to relax, I couldn’t take it anymore.
And the mortgage is dragging on and on. I don’t know whether it’s because FW is being unreasonable with the mortgage company or whether there is indeed a delay. The last time he applied for a mortgage, he ended up losing £500 worth of the deposit fee on the property, after I advised him to get the offer in principal first, but of course he never listens to me. This time he happens to be squealing about £200 pounds worth of admin fee that may secure the mortgage offer and wrap it up. And he seems to be making an issue out of the prolonged life cover, which I know from experience is not a major factor in the mortgage itself, it can certainly be concluded after the mortgage. He seems to have a very incorrect view as to who to remain professional to and who not to. So many times he has been unconditionally considerate and professional to those that have absolutely no bearing on the particular business at hand, and now he has crossed a professional line with his mortgage advisors, which cannot bode well for him. Perhaps he chose so to ensure the end of this connection.
I think FW is just prolonging this because it gives him an opportunity to continue living here while he drags this mortgage out - of course to my detriment. In January when we had that final conversation about his attitude, he said he was so remorseful that he had taken so much of my life away and that he wanted to make up by even offering to pay my living expenses while he bought the flat. I knew it was all talk. Now he doesn’t even contribute what he promised towards the mortgage because he says he didn’t agree for me to be unemployed for this long! So I have to deal with hell or high water trying to scrape up from anywhere just to cover the shortfall, and he has no conscience, and through this all he won’t ever stop the payments for say, the car he bought for his Goddaughter, who conversely has all the support of his family while I am here alone and used. I am always the sacrificial lamb in his life.
I believe the only way to resolve this is to get authorities involved to vacate this property and put it on the market, so that I will finally get the cash I need to move on. It may not be the best outcome, but it will give me the opportunity to get back on track again.
Attitude is Everything
I really can’t understand how an island, with a substantially large immigrant work force (menial and commercial labour), which relies mainly on imports, can be more economically efficient than a self-sufficient country with similar population levels and about 3 times the size.
Yes, I realise the labour issue back south can cause a bit of a problem, as well as geography, but the country certainly has the means by far to train the masses to be economically contributing and certainly that should have already started making an impact.
What I believe is missing back south, or not part of the patriotism of the country, is the assumption that it is a great nation, and that reflection being present in every aspect. Poor publicity of government officials doesn’t help matters ether. There is such potential to pull it together and create, firstly the impression of a first world country beyond a doubt and secondly to fulfil this by using the labour force efficiently. The technology in the more first-world sector is comparable if not superior to other first world countries. The commercial sector operates on a super-efficient level compared to some global powers.
The follies and wrong doing of first world leaders, are today, just as ridiculous as that of the third world leaders. So in a greater sense, who can really point a finger?
I am slowly beginning to realise that attitude makes all the difference. And there is a lot of it present in third world countries, but it needs to be visible.
Yes, I realise the labour issue back south can cause a bit of a problem, as well as geography, but the country certainly has the means by far to train the masses to be economically contributing and certainly that should have already started making an impact.
What I believe is missing back south, or not part of the patriotism of the country, is the assumption that it is a great nation, and that reflection being present in every aspect. Poor publicity of government officials doesn’t help matters ether. There is such potential to pull it together and create, firstly the impression of a first world country beyond a doubt and secondly to fulfil this by using the labour force efficiently. The technology in the more first-world sector is comparable if not superior to other first world countries. The commercial sector operates on a super-efficient level compared to some global powers.
The follies and wrong doing of first world leaders, are today, just as ridiculous as that of the third world leaders. So in a greater sense, who can really point a finger?
I am slowly beginning to realise that attitude makes all the difference. And there is a lot of it present in third world countries, but it needs to be visible.
Wednesday, 5 March 2008
Yet another annoying FW moment
I woke up this morning to an unfortunate striking drop in temperature from last night, and had a very achy ice-cold head, along with headache and what felt like the chill. After turning on the heaters and having a long hot bath, chicken soup, loads of vitamins and relevant pills and fluids, I think I finally started to recover. I am determined to attend every lesson of my very expensive course tuition.
So true to form, sometime this evening, after pulling my sleepy self off the couch to make a casserole on demand from FW, I discover that he opened my bedroom window and the entire hallway, and both bedrooms were freezing. I figured it may have been while he was on the treadmill, which he usually does and was a bit confused as I don’t remember him being on the treadmill, but the room smelt frozenly-fresh so I closed the window and turned on the heating. FW bitched and moaned deeply. He was apparently preparing the room for the run! What a complete jerk, is all I can say. The man should have been born of a different gender, but he will never admit it.
So true to form, sometime this evening, after pulling my sleepy self off the couch to make a casserole on demand from FW, I discover that he opened my bedroom window and the entire hallway, and both bedrooms were freezing. I figured it may have been while he was on the treadmill, which he usually does and was a bit confused as I don’t remember him being on the treadmill, but the room smelt frozenly-fresh so I closed the window and turned on the heating. FW bitched and moaned deeply. He was apparently preparing the room for the run! What a complete jerk, is all I can say. The man should have been born of a different gender, but he will never admit it.
Tuesday, 4 March 2008
Daily irritations and child abuse
Things that have happened to me on the last few days:
· I started college yesterday. I had to plan so many aspects to begin smoothly it was unbelievable. Like the admin involved in combining three oyster cards into one, online. Finding a place that could replace my watch battery (which is now up and running yay!!). Washing knapsacks and making sure they are suitable for use. Tailoring pairs of new jeans and getting a wardrobe together. Addresses, directions, methods of transport. And finally the induction day when all should finally come together for the start. It wasn’t so bad but then I arrived home and realised I got given 2 wrong sets of books (which were an absolute pain to carry, they were so heavy) and this morning I had to schedule in extra time to swop one set, the other will have to wait till Thursday – too heavy. Almost got late this morning with a transport issue and am exhausted, but ok.
· Queuing for tickets on weekday mornings is a mission. There are always potentially late trains and a massive queue with people that have their fingers up their rear, and of course incompetent staff. So today and from now on I have decided to buy my tickets in advance. Something I would have gladly done ages ago had I known you could (because on some forms of transport at some stage you couldn’t so...). So I was happily heading off for the tickets this afternoon, after catching a bus that was right there when I wanted it and then a train right on time, that ended up getting me to my station much sooner, when I encountered a situation with a an idiot-male-of-this-area species. He just bluddy stood in front of me in the queue. So I said to him, ‘excuse me but I’m in the queue’ and his response was, ‘so?’!!! I tell you, it explains why there is so much common violence around here. Idiots. I managed to go to the next available teller because I absolutely just did.
· I was really sick and disturbed to see this report of child abuse. It makes me so outraged and lost. I cannot imagine how anyone could think of torturing poor young helpless kids like this. Shocking and disgusting. And Britain should very seriously stop turning a blind eye.
http://www.digitaljournal.com/article/251098/Jersey_Child_Abuse_Cellar_Discovered_By_Police
· I started college yesterday. I had to plan so many aspects to begin smoothly it was unbelievable. Like the admin involved in combining three oyster cards into one, online. Finding a place that could replace my watch battery (which is now up and running yay!!). Washing knapsacks and making sure they are suitable for use. Tailoring pairs of new jeans and getting a wardrobe together. Addresses, directions, methods of transport. And finally the induction day when all should finally come together for the start. It wasn’t so bad but then I arrived home and realised I got given 2 wrong sets of books (which were an absolute pain to carry, they were so heavy) and this morning I had to schedule in extra time to swop one set, the other will have to wait till Thursday – too heavy. Almost got late this morning with a transport issue and am exhausted, but ok.
· Queuing for tickets on weekday mornings is a mission. There are always potentially late trains and a massive queue with people that have their fingers up their rear, and of course incompetent staff. So today and from now on I have decided to buy my tickets in advance. Something I would have gladly done ages ago had I known you could (because on some forms of transport at some stage you couldn’t so...). So I was happily heading off for the tickets this afternoon, after catching a bus that was right there when I wanted it and then a train right on time, that ended up getting me to my station much sooner, when I encountered a situation with a an idiot-male-of-this-area species. He just bluddy stood in front of me in the queue. So I said to him, ‘excuse me but I’m in the queue’ and his response was, ‘so?’!!! I tell you, it explains why there is so much common violence around here. Idiots. I managed to go to the next available teller because I absolutely just did.
· I was really sick and disturbed to see this report of child abuse. It makes me so outraged and lost. I cannot imagine how anyone could think of torturing poor young helpless kids like this. Shocking and disgusting. And Britain should very seriously stop turning a blind eye.
http://www.digitaljournal.com/article/251098/Jersey_Child_Abuse_Cellar_Discovered_By_Police
Saturday, 1 March 2008
The Tyre
So, this week while I was happily trying to find a company to buy a new car tyre from, and I had all intentions of just going and getting it done at a supplier around the corner – myself, FW jumps in and insists that I go to another specific car place (for no reason other than that he has been there before, and this is usually his reasoning for choosing places). He started pointing out the possibility of being sold a retread. Then he tried to give me advice on how to recognise these types of tyres. Then he offered to go with me to the place after calling them up to query the price of the tyres. The main reason I was holding out to go with him was that, I got the feeling I was going to be ripped off when not in the proximity of a man, as has often been the case here in these parts.
We were meant to go on Thursday, but we both had crappy days so we decided on Thursday, to go today instead. So after a few days of waiting and waiting to finally cross this thing off my to-do list, this morning, after I reminded him that we were doing this, he suddenly turns around and says: Why don’t you just do it yourself?’
We weren’t even arguing or anything. I believe it’s laziness on his part, but what really pisses me off is that he made me wait all this time, when I could easily have done it myself, just to be let down!
We were meant to go on Thursday, but we both had crappy days so we decided on Thursday, to go today instead. So after a few days of waiting and waiting to finally cross this thing off my to-do list, this morning, after I reminded him that we were doing this, he suddenly turns around and says: Why don’t you just do it yourself?’
We weren’t even arguing or anything. I believe it’s laziness on his part, but what really pisses me off is that he made me wait all this time, when I could easily have done it myself, just to be let down!
Wednesday, 27 February 2008
Sleep beckons
Too sleepy to write anything decent...
I had my blood taken today - to establish weather I do have high testosterone levels. Don’t laugh. My body is very hormonal. I had to wake up ridiculously early (for me) and sleepily head over to the clinic. It was quick and easy. I then ended up in one traffic hold up after another until I finally gave up trying to park the car for some shopping and came back home.
Then got an incredible amount of admin and organising done, well done me.
But I can’t keep my eyes open and typing this half asleep.
Anyway hope you’re having a more awake time. Goodnight.
I had my blood taken today - to establish weather I do have high testosterone levels. Don’t laugh. My body is very hormonal. I had to wake up ridiculously early (for me) and sleepily head over to the clinic. It was quick and easy. I then ended up in one traffic hold up after another until I finally gave up trying to park the car for some shopping and came back home.
Then got an incredible amount of admin and organising done, well done me.
But I can’t keep my eyes open and typing this half asleep.
Anyway hope you’re having a more awake time. Goodnight.
Tuesday, 26 February 2008
Immigrant Abuse
The moron is at it again. This time I slipped my arse off on the kitchen floor, because he managed to spray oil all over the countertops, cooker, hood, cupboards and floor, just by frying 2 fcking chops!!!!
And as if that wasn’t enough he had the bloody audacity to argue with me over a map that had 2 dots (this is not an exaggeration, 2 fcking dots!), saying that loads of research and time had gone into making the bloody stamp size (again, this is not an exaggeration, stamp sized) map!!
And a further ‘conversation’ we had earlier:
FW: I don’t know why they don’t just get rid of all the immigrants from this country, they’re all minions and they (tie) up the (resources) on the NHS.
Jozi: So what would happen to the commercial economy which has quite a large proportion of very skilled professionals?
FW: Britain would be better off without them, why should a poor old seventy-something man go blind because some scarf-wearing immigrant woman wants to have kids? In fact, all women should work.
Jozi: Who would look after the kids then?
FW: They should work too, they could do acting
Jozi: What about the babies?
FW: They can bloody get used for commercials as well
Jozi: Whose going to take them there if the women are working?
FW: They can do it themselves
Jozi: You are talking through your arse now!!
And of course my fcking neighbour from no. 92 was listening as the volume went up towards the end. I heard the fire door bang abruptly at this point.
And through all of this, I am the immigrant, who despite being a very well-paid professional previously, cannot secure a new visa to work here, instead I am allowed to stay without working, but am not entitled to any state benefits, and they don’t care about my living because I own property here (an obvious indication that at least I was economically contributing to the country), or that I will eventually have to get the authorities involved to remove FW if he ever crosses over the very fine line of disrespect he is currently balancing on, while sponging off me!!!
And the only reason I have not done this already is because he damn well offered to buy the place himself, but if the ever-prolonged paperwork is not forthcoming in the next few days, I will have to put the place on the market, delayed on account of waiting for FW, and all this while I have no proper income.
This is how an apparently fine, upstanding citizen takes advantage of an immigrant. And with no conscience.
Disgusting!
Its days like this when I realise that my problems in good old Jozi weren't so bad after all.
And as if that wasn’t enough he had the bloody audacity to argue with me over a map that had 2 dots (this is not an exaggeration, 2 fcking dots!), saying that loads of research and time had gone into making the bloody stamp size (again, this is not an exaggeration, stamp sized) map!!
And a further ‘conversation’ we had earlier:
FW: I don’t know why they don’t just get rid of all the immigrants from this country, they’re all minions and they (tie) up the (resources) on the NHS.
Jozi: So what would happen to the commercial economy which has quite a large proportion of very skilled professionals?
FW: Britain would be better off without them, why should a poor old seventy-something man go blind because some scarf-wearing immigrant woman wants to have kids? In fact, all women should work.
Jozi: Who would look after the kids then?
FW: They should work too, they could do acting
Jozi: What about the babies?
FW: They can bloody get used for commercials as well
Jozi: Whose going to take them there if the women are working?
FW: They can do it themselves
Jozi: You are talking through your arse now!!
And of course my fcking neighbour from no. 92 was listening as the volume went up towards the end. I heard the fire door bang abruptly at this point.
And through all of this, I am the immigrant, who despite being a very well-paid professional previously, cannot secure a new visa to work here, instead I am allowed to stay without working, but am not entitled to any state benefits, and they don’t care about my living because I own property here (an obvious indication that at least I was economically contributing to the country), or that I will eventually have to get the authorities involved to remove FW if he ever crosses over the very fine line of disrespect he is currently balancing on, while sponging off me!!!
And the only reason I have not done this already is because he damn well offered to buy the place himself, but if the ever-prolonged paperwork is not forthcoming in the next few days, I will have to put the place on the market, delayed on account of waiting for FW, and all this while I have no proper income.
This is how an apparently fine, upstanding citizen takes advantage of an immigrant. And with no conscience.
Disgusting!
Its days like this when I realise that my problems in good old Jozi weren't so bad after all.
Monday, 25 February 2008
Crap day
Feeling hemmed in from all sides today.
An old friend of mine, and one whom I‘ve known for quite some time, called me today – the one who only ever seems to be in contact when he needs something from me. (This became obvious a few years ago when he started popping over to the UK on visits or business, and very conveniently staying at my place, without offering anything in lieu of appreciation, and indeed by being a very inconsiderate house guest in other ways.) Last year when I first started to panic about my apartment he responded by, ‘offering‘, to co-own my place (by verbal agreement, in which he would make use of the place from June onwards, this year, at a rental, like a lodger would pay for a room, but in this case he would expect some sort of capital benefit instead, and all of this would be conveniently ‘off ' paper.)
When I told him I was selling, he made some unsuccessful attempts at persuading me to keep the property, and then the phone calls ceased somewhat, albeit his falseness at trying to be so happy to hear from me when I called.
Today he left a message, so sweet and flowery, I thought he really wanted to say hello. Turns out he just wanted to know the name of the area I lived in, which no doubt he will use to bullshit, about co-owning my property, and quite frankly, I don’t care about that because legally he is of course not entitled to anything. What really bugs me though, is that he hasn’t really been much of a friend since I’ve had problems. If I think back 10 years, he has only sort-of been around when things were good and there was no responsibility.
My parents on the other end, are apparently happily asserting that they will be so much happier, if I was back home, as they would have someone ‘around’, meaning that they could rely/depend on me as a trusted family member. After some hesitation and bullshit attempts at feigning some form of assistance of the financial kind, none of which was ever forthcoming in any way, and certainly nothing I was asking for or needed from them, they expertly concluded that they are too old to be concerned with their kid’s problems. They are in their fifties. Hence my current assertion that I am too young to be concerned with their well being enough to warrant moving back home for their sake.
To make matters worse, on an obviously bad day, I had a mini argument with FW. We do not argue as ferociously as we used to because he is not allowed to drink in my apartment anymore, and hence behaves a bit more humanely towards me. This time it was about his constant excuses for not paying bills. They get more and more ridiculous by the day, and I end up having to foot the bill. I cannot wait for this place to be sold - so that I can move away from this black situation. And on the off chance that FW may be aware of this blog, I will say this: If it wasn’t for my foresight into exactly such a situation and making sure I had a plan B on the finances, just before I became unemployed, I would have been up shit creek right now, without a boat.
And to round off a perfectly screwed up day, I discover that my expectations on the visa front are all rubbish. I wonder if I will be able at all, to even get the visa I am holding out for now.
An old friend of mine, and one whom I‘ve known for quite some time, called me today – the one who only ever seems to be in contact when he needs something from me. (This became obvious a few years ago when he started popping over to the UK on visits or business, and very conveniently staying at my place, without offering anything in lieu of appreciation, and indeed by being a very inconsiderate house guest in other ways.) Last year when I first started to panic about my apartment he responded by, ‘offering‘, to co-own my place (by verbal agreement, in which he would make use of the place from June onwards, this year, at a rental, like a lodger would pay for a room, but in this case he would expect some sort of capital benefit instead, and all of this would be conveniently ‘off ' paper.)
When I told him I was selling, he made some unsuccessful attempts at persuading me to keep the property, and then the phone calls ceased somewhat, albeit his falseness at trying to be so happy to hear from me when I called.
Today he left a message, so sweet and flowery, I thought he really wanted to say hello. Turns out he just wanted to know the name of the area I lived in, which no doubt he will use to bullshit, about co-owning my property, and quite frankly, I don’t care about that because legally he is of course not entitled to anything. What really bugs me though, is that he hasn’t really been much of a friend since I’ve had problems. If I think back 10 years, he has only sort-of been around when things were good and there was no responsibility.
My parents on the other end, are apparently happily asserting that they will be so much happier, if I was back home, as they would have someone ‘around’, meaning that they could rely/depend on me as a trusted family member. After some hesitation and bullshit attempts at feigning some form of assistance of the financial kind, none of which was ever forthcoming in any way, and certainly nothing I was asking for or needed from them, they expertly concluded that they are too old to be concerned with their kid’s problems. They are in their fifties. Hence my current assertion that I am too young to be concerned with their well being enough to warrant moving back home for their sake.
To make matters worse, on an obviously bad day, I had a mini argument with FW. We do not argue as ferociously as we used to because he is not allowed to drink in my apartment anymore, and hence behaves a bit more humanely towards me. This time it was about his constant excuses for not paying bills. They get more and more ridiculous by the day, and I end up having to foot the bill. I cannot wait for this place to be sold - so that I can move away from this black situation. And on the off chance that FW may be aware of this blog, I will say this: If it wasn’t for my foresight into exactly such a situation and making sure I had a plan B on the finances, just before I became unemployed, I would have been up shit creek right now, without a boat.
And to round off a perfectly screwed up day, I discover that my expectations on the visa front are all rubbish. I wonder if I will be able at all, to even get the visa I am holding out for now.
Peach skin and Clarins
I caught sight of my face in broad daylight the other day. (This normally never happens as my bathroom has no window, so it's always in unnatural light). It was my reflection in the blank monitor of my laptop. I wish I could describe this any other way but it looked like an old drying up peach with its hairy skin. This shocked me into immediately doing something. Clarins is always my emergency answer to these crises, and I must say, 3 applications of the face lift formula later, I started wondering why I hadn’t bought the stuff before.
Bloody amazing!
Saturday, 23 February 2008
Things I hate about my flatmate - FW
FW has butter fingers and a very serious lack of common sense. As a result I have to put up with endless cleaning chores and stupid unorganised situations at home.
He spills something off every plate of food or drink he has, almost religiously, I swear the guy must think spilling is some sort of rite of passage for eating and drinking. He has no conscience about it either and I can guarantee, that if he does actually attempt to clean it up (in itself a miracle), it’s never done properly.
I have gotten used to walking into the lounge and finding spilt red wine on the carpets, all over the computer (leaving me the overly-intricate job of having to remove even the little round ball inside the mouse to get it working properly again, not to mention the printer), the walls and table top. All left, without a trace of an attempt to clean them. And he carries on the day as if nothing happened, or worse shoots back a reply of: ‘It’s only wine!’ Everything is always preceded by, ‘It’s only...’
He empties his left over coffee cups into the sink every morning with such force that the remnants splash all over the drying dishes to the side of the sink and all over the sink top. I have seen him doing it. It’s as if, he has to summon up the energy in advance to produce the otherwise unnatural force that is required to create the messy spill. He hesitates, he flicks. Victory! The cup goes into the sink. Anything neat and considerate would be a failure.
He has spilt pots of oily residue, oven grease, milk and running food on the floor and wipes them up with a dish cloth. So I, have had the distinct pleasure of walking into the kitchen and slipping right on my ass, and then later on discovering, that while using a dish cloth to dry the dishes, my dishes are being streaked with gravy - which has, more than likely, been mopped off the floor by said dish cloth. FW uses dish cloths to mop up anything in sight, I’m sure he would use them to wipe his own backside if in a hurry and then would place them right back where you would assume they are clean dish drying cloths, for the use of dish drying.
On the subject of dish cloths, I usually soak them overnight with bleach and then do a separate wash. FW simply throws them in the wash with his other clothes including his skid-marked underwear!
I have resorted to thinking twice before allowing him into the kitchen, never mind ever daring to ask if he could help, say open a jar or a bottle of coke or something as the contents would go splashing about and I would have to realise yet again that trying persistently myself would result in far less work than having to clean up after FW.
He also has a habit of placing mail and larger objects over smaller objects so that anything you assumed would be visible (or even just where you placed it in a hurry), is never so.
I went through a ‘keys’ situation for about 2 weeks before I managed to nip it in the bud. FW decided to (repeatedly) remove my keys, from the table that I have been leaving them on (for years- so that I would know every morning exactly where they were) and put them in my handbag, wherein I would never look for my keys as I would never put them there. I got late for work on about 4 mornings, looking for my keys, and of course FW denied putting them in my handbag until I finally had a yelling session at him, after which the keys have remained exactly where I put them.
My home life has degenerated into a consistent search for things. I no longer live with the pleasure of knowing where anything is. Being able to find something in a hurry is lovely surprise. I end up buying new things to replace old things that I know I will have much difficulty finding. And I have less time and more irritation living at home than I used to. FW calls this normal and can’t understand why I am so uptight.
What never ceases to amaze me about him though is the consistent lack of common sense that goes along with the bad habits and butter fingers.
Once when on holiday, I tried unsuccessfully to get ketch-up out of a new bottle with thick sauce towards the neck. I knew if I jerked the bottle any harder it would spurt all over FW and me, so I signalled the waiter to help, assuming he would probably take it back and give us a more free-flowing bottle. FW grabbed the bottle and saying it was so unnecessary to call the waiter, attempted to do it himself.
Now I will tell you that on many occasions in life, a guy has offered to help out in some situations and until FW came along, they usually managed to surprise me with information or knowledge on things I would never have thought about, so having these experiences in mind (and not having known FW for very long at the time), I believed that perhaps he knew of a neat way to get ketch-up flowing more easily out of the bottle.
The fucking moron turned the bottle over, whacked it and spurt ketch-up all over me. And then I had to walk into our 5-star hotel lobby, having been previously treated like royalty by the staff, with fucking ketch-up all over my shirt!
And then there's his habit of cooking while leaving the kitchen cupboards and cutlery drawers open, so that the sauces from the stove splash around and items inside the cupboards and drawers are generally covered in dried sauce.
Today, he announced triumphantly that he washed the dishes, and I discovered a greasy frying pan in the cupboard. It looked clean on the inside but the underneath was covered in oven grease from being left on top of a roast pan. And the grease had made its way around a few other pots and the cupboard shelf as well.
Somebody help me.
He spills something off every plate of food or drink he has, almost religiously, I swear the guy must think spilling is some sort of rite of passage for eating and drinking. He has no conscience about it either and I can guarantee, that if he does actually attempt to clean it up (in itself a miracle), it’s never done properly.
I have gotten used to walking into the lounge and finding spilt red wine on the carpets, all over the computer (leaving me the overly-intricate job of having to remove even the little round ball inside the mouse to get it working properly again, not to mention the printer), the walls and table top. All left, without a trace of an attempt to clean them. And he carries on the day as if nothing happened, or worse shoots back a reply of: ‘It’s only wine!’ Everything is always preceded by, ‘It’s only...’
He empties his left over coffee cups into the sink every morning with such force that the remnants splash all over the drying dishes to the side of the sink and all over the sink top. I have seen him doing it. It’s as if, he has to summon up the energy in advance to produce the otherwise unnatural force that is required to create the messy spill. He hesitates, he flicks. Victory! The cup goes into the sink. Anything neat and considerate would be a failure.
He has spilt pots of oily residue, oven grease, milk and running food on the floor and wipes them up with a dish cloth. So I, have had the distinct pleasure of walking into the kitchen and slipping right on my ass, and then later on discovering, that while using a dish cloth to dry the dishes, my dishes are being streaked with gravy - which has, more than likely, been mopped off the floor by said dish cloth. FW uses dish cloths to mop up anything in sight, I’m sure he would use them to wipe his own backside if in a hurry and then would place them right back where you would assume they are clean dish drying cloths, for the use of dish drying.
On the subject of dish cloths, I usually soak them overnight with bleach and then do a separate wash. FW simply throws them in the wash with his other clothes including his skid-marked underwear!
I have resorted to thinking twice before allowing him into the kitchen, never mind ever daring to ask if he could help, say open a jar or a bottle of coke or something as the contents would go splashing about and I would have to realise yet again that trying persistently myself would result in far less work than having to clean up after FW.
He also has a habit of placing mail and larger objects over smaller objects so that anything you assumed would be visible (or even just where you placed it in a hurry), is never so.
I went through a ‘keys’ situation for about 2 weeks before I managed to nip it in the bud. FW decided to (repeatedly) remove my keys, from the table that I have been leaving them on (for years- so that I would know every morning exactly where they were) and put them in my handbag, wherein I would never look for my keys as I would never put them there. I got late for work on about 4 mornings, looking for my keys, and of course FW denied putting them in my handbag until I finally had a yelling session at him, after which the keys have remained exactly where I put them.
My home life has degenerated into a consistent search for things. I no longer live with the pleasure of knowing where anything is. Being able to find something in a hurry is lovely surprise. I end up buying new things to replace old things that I know I will have much difficulty finding. And I have less time and more irritation living at home than I used to. FW calls this normal and can’t understand why I am so uptight.
What never ceases to amaze me about him though is the consistent lack of common sense that goes along with the bad habits and butter fingers.
Once when on holiday, I tried unsuccessfully to get ketch-up out of a new bottle with thick sauce towards the neck. I knew if I jerked the bottle any harder it would spurt all over FW and me, so I signalled the waiter to help, assuming he would probably take it back and give us a more free-flowing bottle. FW grabbed the bottle and saying it was so unnecessary to call the waiter, attempted to do it himself.
Now I will tell you that on many occasions in life, a guy has offered to help out in some situations and until FW came along, they usually managed to surprise me with information or knowledge on things I would never have thought about, so having these experiences in mind (and not having known FW for very long at the time), I believed that perhaps he knew of a neat way to get ketch-up flowing more easily out of the bottle.
The fucking moron turned the bottle over, whacked it and spurt ketch-up all over me. And then I had to walk into our 5-star hotel lobby, having been previously treated like royalty by the staff, with fucking ketch-up all over my shirt!
And then there's his habit of cooking while leaving the kitchen cupboards and cutlery drawers open, so that the sauces from the stove splash around and items inside the cupboards and drawers are generally covered in dried sauce.
Today, he announced triumphantly that he washed the dishes, and I discovered a greasy frying pan in the cupboard. It looked clean on the inside but the underneath was covered in oven grease from being left on top of a roast pan. And the grease had made its way around a few other pots and the cupboard shelf as well.
Somebody help me.
Friday, 22 February 2008
Jozi Memory
Discovered on the Bell Roberts Exhibitions:
Jozi Memory
Wayne Barker, 2007
Oil on canvas, 1000 x 1000 mm
Lovely stuff!
Thursday, 21 February 2008
Friends or more?
Meeting an ex-colleague for dinner after not seeing them for months, especially one whom you think -and it’s just a smidgen of a possibility here - likes you, is a lot more difficult that you think, especially when said person also happens to be an ex-boss.
I met him last night for what was meant to be drinks and then turned to dinner, (at a ridiculously expensive restaurant), in Soho.
Having hibernated in my secluded flat for months, the first outing of this nature required an enormous amount of effort on my part, just to appear effortlessly smooth. I bought fat-burning creams, did hundreds of push ups, new make-up, new better-fitting jeans (whose hems had to be hand-sewn after the sewing machine needle broke on me, mid jean leg), layers of sexy knitwear as opposed to chunky, warm clothes (I am so glad that for some unexplained reason I did not freeze), and a fake, totally-at-ease, joie de vive attitude.
It turned out alright, I guess. The food was scrumptious, the service commendable, the company a bit laboured, but good conversation flowed and for a change I felt really comfortable.
Don’t get me wrong, I, do not fancy him, but would like to keep the friendship which, with these type of men, is very difficult, because we are very compatible, in many ways, and that old saying about men and women not being able to be friends without sex getting in the way makes me wonder about whether it relates to people like us.
I got a text from him today saying how much he enjoyed last night and we should do it again sometime.
Verdict? I don’t effing know! Not a clue.
I met him last night for what was meant to be drinks and then turned to dinner, (at a ridiculously expensive restaurant), in Soho.
Having hibernated in my secluded flat for months, the first outing of this nature required an enormous amount of effort on my part, just to appear effortlessly smooth. I bought fat-burning creams, did hundreds of push ups, new make-up, new better-fitting jeans (whose hems had to be hand-sewn after the sewing machine needle broke on me, mid jean leg), layers of sexy knitwear as opposed to chunky, warm clothes (I am so glad that for some unexplained reason I did not freeze), and a fake, totally-at-ease, joie de vive attitude.
It turned out alright, I guess. The food was scrumptious, the service commendable, the company a bit laboured, but good conversation flowed and for a change I felt really comfortable.
Don’t get me wrong, I, do not fancy him, but would like to keep the friendship which, with these type of men, is very difficult, because we are very compatible, in many ways, and that old saying about men and women not being able to be friends without sex getting in the way makes me wonder about whether it relates to people like us.
I got a text from him today saying how much he enjoyed last night and we should do it again sometime.
Verdict? I don’t effing know! Not a clue.
Tuesday, 19 February 2008
32 things about me
Jumping on the bandwagon...what the hell, here goes...
32 things about me
1. As far as I can remember I have always wanted to be a writer (and to be somehow involved in film), however I buckled under pressure at 17 and chose to study finance instead, a choice I have sorely regretted ever since.
2. I am a dog person
3. My favourite foods are quiche, wors and roast lamb
4. I prefer (good) sex to shopping and chocolate
5. Actually I hate shopping unless I am having a good-figure phase and everything looks good on me
6. Like every other woman I know, I love shoes
7. I had braces for 5 years when I was a teenager and I still, sometimes resist the urge to cover my mouth when laughing, because of that
8. My teeth are still not completely straight
9. I was an extra in a movie once, at 19
10. I can’t play that DVD on my player here in the UK, because it is not compatible
11. I have a fear of water
12. I left Johannesburg at 26 for London and have been here ever since
13. I once dreamt of being a millionaire by the age of 22, I eventually stopped smoking that stuff
14. I can kind of understand German, if spoken slowly and clearly
15. At 6, my father wanted me to become a doctor, at 16 he wanted me to become a beauty queen, I always had other plans
16. I learnt piano for about 3 years when I was about 7, I’m still a junior at it
17. The greatest feeling in the world, to me, is freedom, the worst, feeling trapped or stagnant with no direction, hence my mid(ish)-life crisis right now
18. I don’t have a favourite colour
19. At 19 again, I trained in Latin and Ballroom for about 4 hours a day, 6 days a week, for 6 months. I believe I can dance now.
20. I love rich, old... cabernet sauvignon wine
21. Most of my best friends were Leo
22. I wrote and directed 2 plays in high school, and began to see the genius in others, from them
23. I still hold out the hope that I will one day direct or produce something meaningful and well-received
24. I love the smell of freshly baked bread and jasmine at the start of spring
25. I don’t particularly like living in London, hence this blog
26. My best friends live in another country
27. My first proper car was a powder-blue Toyota Tazz, I had it for 5 years
28. I am an aunt to 2 beautiful little nieces, from my only sibling, my brother
29. I am not a morning person and can’t wake up until my morning shower/first coffee/first breath of fresh air from outside
30. I used to have a really tight, pert, curvy ass, but now, I have literally worked my butt off
31. I make a mean roast dinner
32. I love being in love, romance, the softer side of life and smooth jazz
Happy Monday y'all, oh and I passed my previous set of exams!
32 things about me
1. As far as I can remember I have always wanted to be a writer (and to be somehow involved in film), however I buckled under pressure at 17 and chose to study finance instead, a choice I have sorely regretted ever since.
2. I am a dog person
3. My favourite foods are quiche, wors and roast lamb
4. I prefer (good) sex to shopping and chocolate
5. Actually I hate shopping unless I am having a good-figure phase and everything looks good on me
6. Like every other woman I know, I love shoes
7. I had braces for 5 years when I was a teenager and I still, sometimes resist the urge to cover my mouth when laughing, because of that
8. My teeth are still not completely straight
9. I was an extra in a movie once, at 19
10. I can’t play that DVD on my player here in the UK, because it is not compatible
11. I have a fear of water
12. I left Johannesburg at 26 for London and have been here ever since
13. I once dreamt of being a millionaire by the age of 22, I eventually stopped smoking that stuff
14. I can kind of understand German, if spoken slowly and clearly
15. At 6, my father wanted me to become a doctor, at 16 he wanted me to become a beauty queen, I always had other plans
16. I learnt piano for about 3 years when I was about 7, I’m still a junior at it
17. The greatest feeling in the world, to me, is freedom, the worst, feeling trapped or stagnant with no direction, hence my mid(ish)-life crisis right now
18. I don’t have a favourite colour
19. At 19 again, I trained in Latin and Ballroom for about 4 hours a day, 6 days a week, for 6 months. I believe I can dance now.
20. I love rich, old... cabernet sauvignon wine
21. Most of my best friends were Leo
22. I wrote and directed 2 plays in high school, and began to see the genius in others, from them
23. I still hold out the hope that I will one day direct or produce something meaningful and well-received
24. I love the smell of freshly baked bread and jasmine at the start of spring
25. I don’t particularly like living in London, hence this blog
26. My best friends live in another country
27. My first proper car was a powder-blue Toyota Tazz, I had it for 5 years
28. I am an aunt to 2 beautiful little nieces, from my only sibling, my brother
29. I am not a morning person and can’t wake up until my morning shower/first coffee/first breath of fresh air from outside
30. I used to have a really tight, pert, curvy ass, but now, I have literally worked my butt off
31. I make a mean roast dinner
32. I love being in love, romance, the softer side of life and smooth jazz
Happy Monday y'all, oh and I passed my previous set of exams!
Sunday, 17 February 2008
Drought
It has been a very long time since I have fallen in love. The sweet surrender of the heart seems like centuries ago in my life.
A friend of mine once said that people only have so many chances of falling in love, and once you’ve used up your particular ration, it doesn’t happen again. Sounds a bit too cynical and simple to me. The only thing is, strangely enough, I haven’t really felt ‘in love’, since a certain point in my life, when at one stage I remember saying to myself that I don’t feel as if I’ll ever really experience that ‘in love’ feeling again. Self-fulfilling prophesy?
I think the answer may be more rational though. There are certain factors missing in my life right now that prevent me from falling in love. Not the least of which, is not being in proximity of like-minded, compatible men with whom I have more chance of discovering mutual chemistry.
Also, having more responsibilities and troubles in my life right now, and let’s face it, just being mature, often prevents me from truly letting go and being in touch with my feelings.
Another scary thought, some of the few times I have discovered real chemistry, have been when I was rather chemically-altered myself, which never happens anymore and now I am left questioning, was it really me, back then, falling in love?
Astrology offers an answer: once every 12 years, and a few more minor incidents in between. Now if this is the case, then I have been between the in-between incidents for a long time.
Social structures have so much to do with chemistry too. I can honestly say that I am usually attracted to guys who have shy smiles and soft voices, and a bit of a quiet intellectuality about them. Now that’s pretty rare in my current neck of the woods.
These guys used to be called SNAGS (sensitive new age guys) in the nineties but seem to have died out now (along with the dried tomato and chicken a la king).
They’re the kind of guy that would agree to go out for coffee and listen to your troubles, rather than drinks and premature too-drunk-to-realise bonking. They would visit you if you were ill (with chicken soup!) and remember your special occasions. And if you weren’t originally that interested in them (physically), they would be your friend in the hope that one day things will change.
Now, chemistry + a SNAG would certainly be the perfect match for me.
But unfortunately, the chances of that happening here and now are pretty much zilch.
What is a girl to do?
A friend of mine once said that people only have so many chances of falling in love, and once you’ve used up your particular ration, it doesn’t happen again. Sounds a bit too cynical and simple to me. The only thing is, strangely enough, I haven’t really felt ‘in love’, since a certain point in my life, when at one stage I remember saying to myself that I don’t feel as if I’ll ever really experience that ‘in love’ feeling again. Self-fulfilling prophesy?
I think the answer may be more rational though. There are certain factors missing in my life right now that prevent me from falling in love. Not the least of which, is not being in proximity of like-minded, compatible men with whom I have more chance of discovering mutual chemistry.
Also, having more responsibilities and troubles in my life right now, and let’s face it, just being mature, often prevents me from truly letting go and being in touch with my feelings.
Another scary thought, some of the few times I have discovered real chemistry, have been when I was rather chemically-altered myself, which never happens anymore and now I am left questioning, was it really me, back then, falling in love?
Astrology offers an answer: once every 12 years, and a few more minor incidents in between. Now if this is the case, then I have been between the in-between incidents for a long time.
Social structures have so much to do with chemistry too. I can honestly say that I am usually attracted to guys who have shy smiles and soft voices, and a bit of a quiet intellectuality about them. Now that’s pretty rare in my current neck of the woods.
These guys used to be called SNAGS (sensitive new age guys) in the nineties but seem to have died out now (along with the dried tomato and chicken a la king).
They’re the kind of guy that would agree to go out for coffee and listen to your troubles, rather than drinks and premature too-drunk-to-realise bonking. They would visit you if you were ill (with chicken soup!) and remember your special occasions. And if you weren’t originally that interested in them (physically), they would be your friend in the hope that one day things will change.
Now, chemistry + a SNAG would certainly be the perfect match for me.
But unfortunately, the chances of that happening here and now are pretty much zilch.
What is a girl to do?
Friday, 15 February 2008
Valentine's days past
When I was in my early twenties I used to wish that someone special would send me flowers or cards or take me out to dinner at valentines. I didn’t want to pre-empt anything so as not to ruin a surprise. My love interests were always on that border of not quite committing to a relationship and therefore not quite comfortable about celebrating a day like this with me.
Sometimes I thought that they were all just pretending to have better plans and ended up lonely.
The few valentines days that stood out were both impromptu. A Sunday lunch with an old friend who was also dateless (he bought me a rose, which was the sweetest thing in those days) and we pretended that we were a couple for the day to keep everyone guessing. Turns out, years later, after our friendship based only on meeting up about 4 times a year for a movie and coffee, he hinted at a marriage proposal and I stopped meeting up with him for good.
The other really nice Valentine’s happened when I was not expecting anyone at all. I had made myself a singleton dinner (potato bake) and was going to resort to watching TV and drinking a bottle of red by myself when a guy I had just started sort of dating (and whose relationship with his current girlfriend, who lived on his property, was still being resolved) popped by. We had the loveliest time and he didn’t once mention valentines. We ate out of the casserole dish, drank the bottle, laughed, joked and had some serious conversation. It was so special and real and I was equally confused especially when he said goodbye. He had created, for me, one of the most perfect goodnight kiss moments and then turned around and walked away without doing it.
The story with him is that I found out he was gay soon after (although he, himself, may still be in the closet). This, explained a whole bunch of things...not worth mentioning right now.
Valentine’s within dysfunctional relationships, to me, feels more of a waste than a disappointment. Disappointment is: dashed expectations. But when your partner buys you flowers, cards and takes you out to dinner (which is all you ever wanted years ago), and there is no spark, it’s like doing an obligatory duty. You appreciate it, you don’t enjoy it.
And you realise you would much rather (actually) have earth-shattering, mind-numbing, heart-thumping Luurrrvvve, than all the valentine’s surprises in the world.
The message on yesterday’s blog was not for FW. Bless.
Sometimes I thought that they were all just pretending to have better plans and ended up lonely.
The few valentines days that stood out were both impromptu. A Sunday lunch with an old friend who was also dateless (he bought me a rose, which was the sweetest thing in those days) and we pretended that we were a couple for the day to keep everyone guessing. Turns out, years later, after our friendship based only on meeting up about 4 times a year for a movie and coffee, he hinted at a marriage proposal and I stopped meeting up with him for good.
The other really nice Valentine’s happened when I was not expecting anyone at all. I had made myself a singleton dinner (potato bake) and was going to resort to watching TV and drinking a bottle of red by myself when a guy I had just started sort of dating (and whose relationship with his current girlfriend, who lived on his property, was still being resolved) popped by. We had the loveliest time and he didn’t once mention valentines. We ate out of the casserole dish, drank the bottle, laughed, joked and had some serious conversation. It was so special and real and I was equally confused especially when he said goodbye. He had created, for me, one of the most perfect goodnight kiss moments and then turned around and walked away without doing it.
The story with him is that I found out he was gay soon after (although he, himself, may still be in the closet). This, explained a whole bunch of things...not worth mentioning right now.
Valentine’s within dysfunctional relationships, to me, feels more of a waste than a disappointment. Disappointment is: dashed expectations. But when your partner buys you flowers, cards and takes you out to dinner (which is all you ever wanted years ago), and there is no spark, it’s like doing an obligatory duty. You appreciate it, you don’t enjoy it.
And you realise you would much rather (actually) have earth-shattering, mind-numbing, heart-thumping Luurrrvvve, than all the valentine’s surprises in the world.
The message on yesterday’s blog was not for FW. Bless.
Thursday, 14 February 2008
You are always with me
To the only person in the world that made my heart flutter, sing and be constantly alive.
Wherever you are, you will always be with me.
Thank you for giving me the gift of knowing that no matter what happens in my life, I have experienced true love, a love that transcends time. It fuels me everyday, to go on, to be me, to make you proud.
xxx
Wherever you are, you will always be with me.
Thank you for giving me the gift of knowing that no matter what happens in my life, I have experienced true love, a love that transcends time. It fuels me everyday, to go on, to be me, to make you proud.
xxx
Wednesday, 13 February 2008
No. 92 rings my bell...
Sometimes, not often, just sometimes, I have a day that makes me feel like this place isn't so bad after all. Today was one of those days.
I had a dental appointment that proceeded flawlessly for a change, on time, no waiting, good clean-up, twenty minutes and out the door. The dentist is on the high street about a 3 minute drive down the road, so it was really convenient.
Also had a doctor's appointment which is a more convenient 3 minute walk up the complex and it has a pharmacy attached. Another trouble-free appointment, my doc actually listened to me for a change and chatted a bit, and so now I happily realise that I need physio on my right knee, and possibly acupunture, and all of this is just a 5 minute drive down the road. Oh and it seems as if my testosterone levels are too high. Not surpised really, considering my 'partner' is such a twat.
Anyway so, our neighbour from no. 92 rang our doorbell today, not the woman that spies on us but rather her 'boyfriend', or so I suspect. He wanted to speak to my 'husband' and I thought it was to do with opening the electricity meter box again so I promply called FW and left them outside the door talking.
Turns out he wanted to discuss the royal f.u. that our incompetant management company has caused and FW of course gave him exactly the wrong information. So 10 minutes later FW asked me to do some damage control and re-advise him.
I felt like a right idiot, I tell you - explaining (in a nice way) that actually as much as FW pretends as if he owns the flat, I do. I think it came out as: 'Hi, I own the flat you were just at and FW just asked me to clarify some things with you as he seems to have the wrong information.'
The poor kid, he looked young, sort of around 26 and he was so nervous talkng to me that his hands were shaking along with his voice and he seemed as if he was trying to create a good impression. Bless, bless. I did what I could. Lovely guy. Not bad looking actually...and I could hear his girlfriend shifting behind their door, listening...what is a neighbour to say about that in these circumstances?
I had a dental appointment that proceeded flawlessly for a change, on time, no waiting, good clean-up, twenty minutes and out the door. The dentist is on the high street about a 3 minute drive down the road, so it was really convenient.
Also had a doctor's appointment which is a more convenient 3 minute walk up the complex and it has a pharmacy attached. Another trouble-free appointment, my doc actually listened to me for a change and chatted a bit, and so now I happily realise that I need physio on my right knee, and possibly acupunture, and all of this is just a 5 minute drive down the road. Oh and it seems as if my testosterone levels are too high. Not surpised really, considering my 'partner' is such a twat.
Anyway so, our neighbour from no. 92 rang our doorbell today, not the woman that spies on us but rather her 'boyfriend', or so I suspect. He wanted to speak to my 'husband' and I thought it was to do with opening the electricity meter box again so I promply called FW and left them outside the door talking.
Turns out he wanted to discuss the royal f.u. that our incompetant management company has caused and FW of course gave him exactly the wrong information. So 10 minutes later FW asked me to do some damage control and re-advise him.
I felt like a right idiot, I tell you - explaining (in a nice way) that actually as much as FW pretends as if he owns the flat, I do. I think it came out as: 'Hi, I own the flat you were just at and FW just asked me to clarify some things with you as he seems to have the wrong information.'
The poor kid, he looked young, sort of around 26 and he was so nervous talkng to me that his hands were shaking along with his voice and he seemed as if he was trying to create a good impression. Bless, bless. I did what I could. Lovely guy. Not bad looking actually...and I could hear his girlfriend shifting behind their door, listening...what is a neighbour to say about that in these circumstances?
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