So, it's New Year's eve. I've begun the day bracingly with a bout of crying (still rather in shock about what turns out to have been a big party last night), now me and my latent rage are going out to spend the day as planned with these 'friends' of mine. It's going to be great, I'm sure. Then the evening shall be the scary couples party so that I could escape before having to spend the New Year next to my ex. Not that he sees it as a problem - he's fairly jolly about the whole thing - he gets to see me occasionally without any emotional investment - basically been his aim for the past year.
I'm dreading the whole affair and if I had a flat of my own I think I'd go and spend the night in it with a bottle of whiskey. Anyway, I'm going to attempt to scotch the self-pity and total fury at the bastard, bastard Durham group ('we'll look after both of you' - bullshit) and also anger at Adam for expecting me to be so fine with my not being invited. And for then expecting hangover sympathy this morning. To be fair, he's spent way more weekends with them than I have and would never normally have minded, but feels a bit different when Fish is invited, while I'm stuck in happy-couple-hell ("gosh, isn't it great how well-balanced our relationship is").
On the good side, a storm is actually brewing (what's that called - dramatic something - where the scenery mimics the characters' emotions), so I'm going to buy some breakfast and try to stop feeling so crap. It's one day and one night. I can do it. I feel like the little choo choo train from Dumbo. Here's hoping 'I-think-I-can' becomes 'I-thought-I-could' before too long.
Happy New Year, satsumas and black tea.
Monday 31 December 2012
Sunday 30 December 2012
The Break-up Blues (probably part one of many)
So, it's now been just over a month since we broke up. Turns out the duvet and sobbing was yet to come (oh joy). It's been a tricky few weeks. Whereas Fish has carried on living in the same flat for the duration (which, to be fair, has its own problems) I have been in Farringdon, staying with my best friend who is about to leave the country and live in New York for two years. Tonight, the members of mine and Fish's 'mutual' friend group are out with him for final drinks in a pub we used to go to lots. NFI, alas. It really hurts (poor old Maisie's seen enough of me sobbing on her to last for some months) but realistically I always knew he fitted into that group better than me, I just enjoyed being part of it. I've never been very good at groups, but there's something seductive about them - the blissful loss of responsibility, even though it often ends up making me feel a bit miserable. My friends tend to be closer, but sadly also are more emotionally intelligent and functional than many people in the Durham lot, and thus are now all in committed couples. Basically, bugger. This is going to be very hard. I have almost no single friends, and those I do have are mostly better friends with my ex.
I'm not really sure what to do now, but thought I'd write about it in case it helps. I'm thinking of developing a hobby, perhaps? Something other than reading and writing. Knitting? No, too spinstery and also I'm very bad at it. Perhaps jewellery design? I could start selling my stuff in my spare time and then go and live in Notting Hill. Or sports? It worked for my other friend, though admittedly she did discover she was gay after bonding deeply with the female football team. Although I'm open to that option in theory, in practice it's scuppered by a) my appalling hand-eye co-ordination and b) my total failure to fancy women. Anyway, whatever hobby it is, I won't have to keep it up for too long. Soon people will start getting divorced - maybe I'll get a better one on the second go around and then I can pour all my love and hope and energy into him once again, leaving me drained and less attractive, laying the ground for our inevitable break-up. An excellent plan, no?
So, I'd decided to try my hardest not to be bitter. It's proving tricky in the face of tonight's friendship fail (even though I wouldn't have actually gone, hearing about it second hand is a bit of a kick in the teeth at a time when even the slightly autistic but loveable Durham lot must be able to realise kicks are unhelpful). Also that I'm still so confused as to how it all got fucked up. I know we were miserable, and that I'd been quite miserable on and off (mostly on) for a year, however I don't really understand why/how it happened. Perhaps it's easier for the person who found they weren't able to give enough than the person who wanted more. Or different. Eugh. I don't know what I wanted, but I know I wasn't happy with him - and that he did try at the beginning to make it better. Still want to kick him a bit though - I could have broken up six months ago, still had my best friend in the country for longer and be a bit saner by now if he hadn't continued to insist he loved me and wanted to stay in the relationship. Plus, wouldn't have had to get through Christmas and the killer limbo days in between. It's a lesson, perhaps, in not handing all the power over the ending to the other person.
I do really hope that I find somebody else. I can't imagine who that would be as he's the only person I've been in love with. Somehow, by the end, his personality became stronger and clearer and mine went all weird and wishy-washy and needy. I feel like my world has collapsed and every horrible belief I had about not being that interesting/clever/important to him turns out to be true. It still isn't entirely real. Sometimes there is relief too, and I certainly don't want to be back with him as it was - it was Horrible. But I wish very, very much that I didn't have to lose so much about my life, especially since he seems to have lost so little. Just me, and that feels like very little indeed. I feel so stupid for sticking around until my last bit of power, dignity and pride had been dragged through the dirt. I should have trusted my instincts - why had I lost the confidence to do that? I suppose I just so desperately didn't want what they were telling me (he has lost interest, you aren't clicking, he isn't the one for you) to be true.
Anyway, I'm going to try and write a bit every day. Mostly this has just depressed me, unfortunately. Let's end with a list of positive things:
1. I had some really good Beef Rendang this evening (Banana Tree)
2. He was a truly crap boyfriend for most of the last year - you shouldn't be made to feel like a nuisance when asking for support. Hmm. Slight fail on the positive there... I'm no longer with him?
3. It's raining quite awesomely outside
4. I'm regaining some measure of self-control
5. I have a new flat, with a balcony, which I get to move in to on the 6th.
6. I have very, very good friends, even if their lives are horribly complete and perfect
7. I have a brand new job to explore in the New Year
8. My brother is awesome
I'm not really sure what to do now, but thought I'd write about it in case it helps. I'm thinking of developing a hobby, perhaps? Something other than reading and writing. Knitting? No, too spinstery and also I'm very bad at it. Perhaps jewellery design? I could start selling my stuff in my spare time and then go and live in Notting Hill. Or sports? It worked for my other friend, though admittedly she did discover she was gay after bonding deeply with the female football team. Although I'm open to that option in theory, in practice it's scuppered by a) my appalling hand-eye co-ordination and b) my total failure to fancy women. Anyway, whatever hobby it is, I won't have to keep it up for too long. Soon people will start getting divorced - maybe I'll get a better one on the second go around and then I can pour all my love and hope and energy into him once again, leaving me drained and less attractive, laying the ground for our inevitable break-up. An excellent plan, no?
So, I'd decided to try my hardest not to be bitter. It's proving tricky in the face of tonight's friendship fail (even though I wouldn't have actually gone, hearing about it second hand is a bit of a kick in the teeth at a time when even the slightly autistic but loveable Durham lot must be able to realise kicks are unhelpful). Also that I'm still so confused as to how it all got fucked up. I know we were miserable, and that I'd been quite miserable on and off (mostly on) for a year, however I don't really understand why/how it happened. Perhaps it's easier for the person who found they weren't able to give enough than the person who wanted more. Or different. Eugh. I don't know what I wanted, but I know I wasn't happy with him - and that he did try at the beginning to make it better. Still want to kick him a bit though - I could have broken up six months ago, still had my best friend in the country for longer and be a bit saner by now if he hadn't continued to insist he loved me and wanted to stay in the relationship. Plus, wouldn't have had to get through Christmas and the killer limbo days in between. It's a lesson, perhaps, in not handing all the power over the ending to the other person.
I do really hope that I find somebody else. I can't imagine who that would be as he's the only person I've been in love with. Somehow, by the end, his personality became stronger and clearer and mine went all weird and wishy-washy and needy. I feel like my world has collapsed and every horrible belief I had about not being that interesting/clever/important to him turns out to be true. It still isn't entirely real. Sometimes there is relief too, and I certainly don't want to be back with him as it was - it was Horrible. But I wish very, very much that I didn't have to lose so much about my life, especially since he seems to have lost so little. Just me, and that feels like very little indeed. I feel so stupid for sticking around until my last bit of power, dignity and pride had been dragged through the dirt. I should have trusted my instincts - why had I lost the confidence to do that? I suppose I just so desperately didn't want what they were telling me (he has lost interest, you aren't clicking, he isn't the one for you) to be true.
Anyway, I'm going to try and write a bit every day. Mostly this has just depressed me, unfortunately. Let's end with a list of positive things:
1. I had some really good Beef Rendang this evening (Banana Tree)
2. He was a truly crap boyfriend for most of the last year - you shouldn't be made to feel like a nuisance when asking for support. Hmm. Slight fail on the positive there... I'm no longer with him?
3. It's raining quite awesomely outside
4. I'm regaining some measure of self-control
5. I have a new flat, with a balcony, which I get to move in to on the 6th.
6. I have very, very good friends, even if their lives are horribly complete and perfect
7. I have a brand new job to explore in the New Year
8. My brother is awesome
Friday 7 December 2012
You're supposed to cry for days, I understand. Curled up in a duvet, sobbing and forgetting to shower. For me it's more like being on hard drugs. I'm up, overwhelmingly relieved to be free, then down, surrounded by the detritus of our life together and unable to believe the devastation we've wrought. It's my last night in the flat tonight before moving out to Maisie's spare room for a month. Fish and I finally split up. Four years of living together and such an entangled life. We were really miserable though, it was the right decision but god I miss him. He wasn't ultimately to give me what I need, nor I him, but I love him so much and right now, wrapped in a duvet that smells like him, there's nothing I want more than for him to suddenly come through the door and cuddle me and the whole horrible thing to have been a dream.
Logic tells me that he hasn't come through the door and cuddled me for a long time since we've been together. Frankly, tonight, last night and all, having been on lovely Flo's sofa for a week, logic can go fuck itself. And I'm going to have some of Fish's lovely whisky.
Logic tells me that he hasn't come through the door and cuddled me for a long time since we've been together. Frankly, tonight, last night and all, having been on lovely Flo's sofa for a week, logic can go fuck itself. And I'm going to have some of Fish's lovely whisky.
Monday 5 November 2012
Chapter One
I remember learning about the shiny girls. They had strong, athletic brown legs, all the better for sweeping the netball high into the net. Also swingy hair (even the ones with short hair somehow swung it) and white teeth. They looked somehow brighter, more defined than me and my brown frizz and hated glasses. Even at eleven I was aware that they seemed to know who they were, seemed to embrace their personalities wholeheartedly, untroubled by my fears, totally without my secret worry that deep down, where a nice firm core of central 'me' should have been, sat a mound of colourless jelly, endlessly grasping at surrounding personalities in order to borrow something solid. Nothing stuck though. Not then, not now. I'd make a vague gesture at adopting a set of values, only to back away from the full statement - mine was an adolescence spent hovering palely at the edge, watching and jealous of the freedom the others seemed to have just to be themselves.
Now, from the outside I probably looked pretty sorted. Nice job in editorial, living with a boyfriend, lots of going out in London. Unfortunately, inside I still felt exactly the same - it took the Autumn of 2013 to make me realise why.
'Are you going to shut that cupboard?' I tensed slightly at my boyfriend's voice. Of course I was going to shut the cupboard. Bastard. Just... later. I got up and shut it with a controlled movement, meant to express my maturity and injured feelings that he might have ever thought I'd forgotten it.
Yes. Things were going great. I bit back a sarcastic 'hello, my love', aware that 1) it would be quite dickish and 2) it wouldn't help. He walked past me to the computer and switched it on, while I fought my fairly common urge to bash the computer brainless with my pestle and mortar. I never thought I'd ever live in a house with so many screens. Never thought I'd have so many conversations about smartphones either. Well, listen to so many conversations about smartphones, anyway. Somewhere, in a beautifully peaceful parallel universe, a stronger-willed, more decisive, cupboard-closing version of me lives in a small, internet free cottage in Wales. I write for a living, have a dark, intense, hunting sort of a boyfriend, who ravishes me on a daily basis and brings home venison, several alternative-style friends and remain blissfully unaware of Twitter. Probably there's a local pub too, with really good pies.
'Good day?' I ask instead. He turns, smiles and nods. Then turns back. I head to the sofa and sit down, a now familiar ache forming at the pit of my stomach. Too young for this only twenty-eight too young. Should be laughing and shagging and kissing and delighted with each other still. I stamp down on the Mills & Boon inside my head and try to remember that we've been with living with each other for four years now.
'You're asking too much,' said Sarah bluntly. 'That's what happens to relationships. You can't just keep staring googly-eyed at each other all the time - it'd be exhausting. Sometimes you just need to come home, nod at each other and be in the same room.'
I grunt, probably fairly unattractively and take another sip of my ill chosen chilli cocktail (sometimes my inability to choose the same thing on a menu twice has its downsides). 'I know it changes, but I just don't know if I can be happy with the way it is at the moment - I see him and I melt, because I find him adorable still, but it's like he looks straight through me. I could be doing salsa naked and he'd just shake his head indulgently before turning back to the computer.' I've had a couple of cocktails now and am aware that tears are hovering. Sternly, I tell myself to change the subject. Unfortunately, I've never responded particularly well to authority. I want Sarah to tell me what to do. She's far more logical than me, with a glorious lack of empathy that makes it possible for her to give ruthless, totally unintuitive solutions to even the messiest emotional outpourings. Even I'm not prepared this time though.
'How about a break up regime?'
'A what?'
'Get yourself fighting fit - it's a tough world out there in the single market - you've got big boobs but frankly otherwise you're just not ready to take it on. You should get yourself ready, then once you're prepared you can leave, but with a rock hard body, hobbies and all that other stuff that single people have to fill up the time that isn't taken up with ferociously resenting their partners.'
I had to admit, as an idea, it had merit. And so the break-up fitness training began.
Now, from the outside I probably looked pretty sorted. Nice job in editorial, living with a boyfriend, lots of going out in London. Unfortunately, inside I still felt exactly the same - it took the Autumn of 2013 to make me realise why.
'Are you going to shut that cupboard?' I tensed slightly at my boyfriend's voice. Of course I was going to shut the cupboard. Bastard. Just... later. I got up and shut it with a controlled movement, meant to express my maturity and injured feelings that he might have ever thought I'd forgotten it.
Yes. Things were going great. I bit back a sarcastic 'hello, my love', aware that 1) it would be quite dickish and 2) it wouldn't help. He walked past me to the computer and switched it on, while I fought my fairly common urge to bash the computer brainless with my pestle and mortar. I never thought I'd ever live in a house with so many screens. Never thought I'd have so many conversations about smartphones either. Well, listen to so many conversations about smartphones, anyway. Somewhere, in a beautifully peaceful parallel universe, a stronger-willed, more decisive, cupboard-closing version of me lives in a small, internet free cottage in Wales. I write for a living, have a dark, intense, hunting sort of a boyfriend, who ravishes me on a daily basis and brings home venison, several alternative-style friends and remain blissfully unaware of Twitter. Probably there's a local pub too, with really good pies.
'Good day?' I ask instead. He turns, smiles and nods. Then turns back. I head to the sofa and sit down, a now familiar ache forming at the pit of my stomach. Too young for this only twenty-eight too young. Should be laughing and shagging and kissing and delighted with each other still. I stamp down on the Mills & Boon inside my head and try to remember that we've been with living with each other for four years now.
'You're asking too much,' said Sarah bluntly. 'That's what happens to relationships. You can't just keep staring googly-eyed at each other all the time - it'd be exhausting. Sometimes you just need to come home, nod at each other and be in the same room.'
I grunt, probably fairly unattractively and take another sip of my ill chosen chilli cocktail (sometimes my inability to choose the same thing on a menu twice has its downsides). 'I know it changes, but I just don't know if I can be happy with the way it is at the moment - I see him and I melt, because I find him adorable still, but it's like he looks straight through me. I could be doing salsa naked and he'd just shake his head indulgently before turning back to the computer.' I've had a couple of cocktails now and am aware that tears are hovering. Sternly, I tell myself to change the subject. Unfortunately, I've never responded particularly well to authority. I want Sarah to tell me what to do. She's far more logical than me, with a glorious lack of empathy that makes it possible for her to give ruthless, totally unintuitive solutions to even the messiest emotional outpourings. Even I'm not prepared this time though.
'How about a break up regime?'
'A what?'
'Get yourself fighting fit - it's a tough world out there in the single market - you've got big boobs but frankly otherwise you're just not ready to take it on. You should get yourself ready, then once you're prepared you can leave, but with a rock hard body, hobbies and all that other stuff that single people have to fill up the time that isn't taken up with ferociously resenting their partners.'
I had to admit, as an idea, it had merit. And so the break-up fitness training began.
Lukewarm
It's the 5th of November today and fireworks are exploding all over Finsbury Park. At least, I hope they're fireworks. It did cross my mind that there's never been a better time for a gang hit...
We are inside, in the warm(ish - I'm determined to leave the heating off til the very last moment). Fish is listening to his course videos, strange code-based things narrated by a very monotonous but reportedly brilliant German man, and I decided to come online and attempt to pick up my poor, discarded blog. We've just eaten delicious Cottage Pie, courtesy of Delia's new Waitrose recipe http://www.waitrose.com/content/waitrose/en/home/recipes/recipe_directory/d/delia_cottage_pie.html. Definitely worth a go, if anyone stumbles across it - though would consider adding some cheese to the mash.
Fish update (feel free to skip):
We remain horribly lukewarm, after many dramatic scenes. I veer between sadness at the idea of leaving, to anger, to fear of becoming a bitter, childless 35 yr old. However, we are chatting more and even occasionally (gasp!) having sex, so I suppose that's something. Still, for the first time I am really seeing the merit in tall, expressive Greek Tycoons with a Dark Past who Sweep a girl Off Her Feet, Out The Office and to a mansion somewhere hot. Somehow, cottage pies and monotonous German men don't quite have the swoon factor of a fictional Mediterranean principality. Especially when Fish tends to forget to actually kiss me. On the other hand, sometimes working in romance fiction can be dangerous and very few of those Greek Tycoons have a sense of humour. And Fish did buy me a balloon ride for my birthday. With champagne. So there's still romance, just less of it in everyday life. Meh. Anyway...
Boyfriend section over
November is National Novel Writing Month, where the aim is to write 50,000 words in one month. http://www.nanowrimo.org/en/regions/europe-england-london. I thought maybe I'd give it a go, shout it out to the nicely anonymous web and see if I can get to 50,000. However, that does make it fairly likely that a large percentage of the words will be gobbledegook (isn't that a lovely word - I'll do my best to use it as much as possible).
We are inside, in the warm(ish - I'm determined to leave the heating off til the very last moment). Fish is listening to his course videos, strange code-based things narrated by a very monotonous but reportedly brilliant German man, and I decided to come online and attempt to pick up my poor, discarded blog. We've just eaten delicious Cottage Pie, courtesy of Delia's new Waitrose recipe http://www.waitrose.com/content/waitrose/en/home/recipes/recipe_directory/d/delia_cottage_pie.html. Definitely worth a go, if anyone stumbles across it - though would consider adding some cheese to the mash.
Fish update (feel free to skip):
We remain horribly lukewarm, after many dramatic scenes. I veer between sadness at the idea of leaving, to anger, to fear of becoming a bitter, childless 35 yr old. However, we are chatting more and even occasionally (gasp!) having sex, so I suppose that's something. Still, for the first time I am really seeing the merit in tall, expressive Greek Tycoons with a Dark Past who Sweep a girl Off Her Feet, Out The Office and to a mansion somewhere hot. Somehow, cottage pies and monotonous German men don't quite have the swoon factor of a fictional Mediterranean principality. Especially when Fish tends to forget to actually kiss me. On the other hand, sometimes working in romance fiction can be dangerous and very few of those Greek Tycoons have a sense of humour. And Fish did buy me a balloon ride for my birthday. With champagne. So there's still romance, just less of it in everyday life. Meh. Anyway...
Boyfriend section over
November is National Novel Writing Month, where the aim is to write 50,000 words in one month. http://www.nanowrimo.org/en/regions/europe-england-london. I thought maybe I'd give it a go, shout it out to the nicely anonymous web and see if I can get to 50,000. However, that does make it fairly likely that a large percentage of the words will be gobbledegook (isn't that a lovely word - I'll do my best to use it as much as possible).
Thursday 2 August 2012
Hello, rather neglected diary. Sorry. I haven't really felt like writing. To be honest, I don't really feel like writing now, but I had a Thursday night in and it seemed wrong to not at least try. Besides, I have something to record:
I have made a pact with myself to not nag Fish for a week. I swear that, until this time (20.30) next Thursday, I'm going to stop the reproaches and stop expecting anything from him. We are pretty awful at the moment, and finally nearly did break up, but both decided that we don't want to. But I'm now very scared simply by how much it was on the table. Seriously thinking again about your relationship makes you have to face how much of yourself is defined by it. And it was more than I had thought. Bit like having the rug pulled out from beneath you - the world suddenly looks different when you're on your arse. And now our house makes me cry, because I keep seeing all the stuff we collected and how safe I used to feel in it and instead I feel wretched and angry and scared. I really, really loved the fact that I felt he saw the best in me, that in spite of my lack of general effort and irritating qualities he saw me as someone desirable and I miss taking that for granted so much. And now I watch myself tip-toeing around, alternating between nervousness and spiky little comments and I don't find that person loveable either. Hard to blame him if he's lost the spark in his eyes when he looks at me. Though of course I do. I blame him for making me less as a person, for knocking down my confidence by seeing me as smaller, but I blame me more for fitting myself into the person he sees me as. It just seems like such a waste not to love each other with more freedom than that. It's like it's gone sour and I don't know how to get it back. I feel so stupid.
Eugh. Cheerful stuff, this. Sorry, internet, there's probably more than enough of this at the moment. I'd write a bestselling novel instead, but there's enough of them around as well. Besides, currently it would have to be a Mills & Boon in bondage-style hiding and no one wants to see that.
Let's think of some other news. I am currently doing/failing to actually do and pretty much just reading Course RA https://www.coursera.org/, which is an awesome, free thing where lecturers post courses and set essays - it's incredible. My course is on Science Fiction and Fantasy, and as I was watching a video lecture, the lecturer recommended a particular edition of Grimm's Fairytales. While listing to the lecture, I opened up another tab and downloaded it, all the while thinking: it's happened! I'm actually in the future! It was very exciting.
And shit. That went all to hell. Just had a row with him on the phone. He rung to say he was going to an art installation. Not to invite me. I thought he was and got excited but he wasn't. And then I got upset. It's just so strange. I would never be able to get him to go to an art installation - to be frank, who is he going for? It increasingly feels as though I'm not welcome in his new Guardian life. Which is bizarre, as ironically I'd have thought I would like them very much. If we ever met, of course. Oh dear, satsumas and black tea. He's now coming home instead and I'm horribly afraid he will officially want to break up. The thing is, that is better if he doesn't want to be with me. I'm so messed up and needy and desperate at the moment that I can't even take the step back to look at what I actually feel for him. Ah, the joys of relationships.
Thursday 26 January 2012
what to cook?
So, I'm still half-reading a manuscript (not bad, might get bought!), but really I've been thinking for the last hour about what I'm going to eat. We're going skiing tomorrow (well, Sat morning at 4am, but that's basically tomorrow), and so I'm trying to use up everything I've got. This is:
- fresh Basil, in a half pint glass, drooping
- Carrots, slightly bendy
- Four radishes (3 - 2 - have eaten the radishes, so never mind about them)
- Two celery stalks
- possibly mice (keep seeing little whirrs of movement)
- Three peppers, one orange, one red, one yellow (they might last)
- An opened Camembert (mmmm)
I also possess a craving for comforting, not too fatty soup. The obvious soup to go for is the carrot, apple and celery soup that is obligingly sitting in my basic soup book - to be extra annoyingly perfect, it even requires a tablespoon of fresh basil. But it's cold and dark - I want something more velvety and obliging, not shouty and zingy. Am therefore going for Tom Conran's White bean and carrot soup from my posh, utterly delicious soup book, and adding celery (meh - it doesn't taste of that much anyway, if we're honest). I am therefore off to the shops and let's see how it goes...
All delicious looking so far - bubbling away...about to attempt pesto to use up the basil leaves. Hold onto your seats, people, clearly, this Thursday night's going to be a wild one... (it's actually amazing what I will do to avoid reading a manuscript)
- fresh Basil, in a half pint glass, drooping
- Carrots, slightly bendy
- Four radishes (3 - 2 - have eaten the radishes, so never mind about them)
- Two celery stalks
- possibly mice (keep seeing little whirrs of movement)
- Three peppers, one orange, one red, one yellow (they might last)
- An opened Camembert (mmmm)
I also possess a craving for comforting, not too fatty soup. The obvious soup to go for is the carrot, apple and celery soup that is obligingly sitting in my basic soup book - to be extra annoyingly perfect, it even requires a tablespoon of fresh basil. But it's cold and dark - I want something more velvety and obliging, not shouty and zingy. Am therefore going for Tom Conran's White bean and carrot soup from my posh, utterly delicious soup book, and adding celery (meh - it doesn't taste of that much anyway, if we're honest). I am therefore off to the shops and let's see how it goes...
All delicious looking so far - bubbling away...about to attempt pesto to use up the basil leaves. Hold onto your seats, people, clearly, this Thursday night's going to be a wild one... (it's actually amazing what I will do to avoid reading a manuscript)
Thursday 12 January 2012
Hello world
Happy New Year, oh blog of mine. It has been a fraught Christmas, to say the least. Tricky family issues leading directly to boyfriend's depression leading on equally directly to me drunkenly dumping him on New Year's. We're still together now, and I have apologised, he's apologised, yada yada, but it's all still rather tense, to be honest. It's not easy to forgive somebody not being there for you when you need them, especially when that person is your boyfriend, well partner really, who you have been considering buying a house with. It does raise fears for the future, considering I'm only likely to need more support, rather than less. Anyway. Think we've reached a point where either he goes to get help, or we will break up, but since I do love him very much that isn't an ultimatum, just a prediction. I can't deal with the fact that when something really bad happens, there's a chance he won't be able to be there for me. Equally, can't deal with his total inability to consider my feelings as being affected by his own. On the other hand, we still get on really well, the sex is ok, but feels like he's in total denial and like I'm making all of the emotional running. Meh.
you are in every textured moment
feels like I'm woven into you so the idea of
parting seems impossible
perhaps what we made was always fragile
easily breakable and with sharp edges
bad enough to lose years of work
worse still to believe it was always flawed
all those hours of creation... not worth finishing
Anyway, I'm currently making this: , and have been accidentally not doing work at some points on my work at home day (hence the fact I'm still going now), and it is almost unimaginably delicious so far. Am very excited indeed. I love sitting on the sofa when something is simmering. :) Also, I'm learning to code! It's this brilliant little project :. Since my publishing career is going precisely nowhere, it seemed a good idea to learn some more relevant skills than what exactly makes a good alpha hero...
you are in every textured moment
feels like I'm woven into you so the idea of
parting seems impossible
perhaps what we made was always fragile
easily breakable and with sharp edges
bad enough to lose years of work
worse still to believe it was always flawed
all those hours of creation... not worth finishing
Anyway, I'm currently making this: , and have been accidentally not doing work at some points on my work at home day (hence the fact I'm still going now), and it is almost unimaginably delicious so far. Am very excited indeed. I love sitting on the sofa when something is simmering. :) Also, I'm learning to code! It's this brilliant little project :. Since my publishing career is going precisely nowhere, it seemed a good idea to learn some more relevant skills than what exactly makes a good alpha hero...
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