I am sunbathing on the roof of my new flat, 10 Simpson Street, previous home of Hache. It's really rather lovely, and although I've mostly been making sure to fill up my evenings with plans, it's nice not to have to do anything much today. Well, nice and scary. It's been over six months since breaking up with Fish, I've realised now. It's got a lot better, like everyone says it does. Moving in with friends helped, plus meant that I got to stay friends with the Durham lot, which is nice. The problem is, I'm not really sure what to do now. Single, 28 nearly 29, in a now much better paid job that sadly I don't really enjoy,.,My two best friends are getting married this year, which has mostly been very nice, however probably adds to my general sense that I stepped off the usual track at a rather unfortunate time. Happily, I'm not wishing to get married or instantly have children or anything, but I am just a bit worried about the future. Which does no good, of course. In fact it's actively detrimental unless I have some plans to put in place. Other than maybe wanting to become and agent and at some point wanting to live somewhere with more green, I don't really. And maybe to manage to write a book, though that would entail a) having some ideas b) making time to actually write them and c) why does there always have to  be a c), I  wonder? I don't have one, so there. 

A submission came to our non-fiction team a few weeks ago, called 'Surviving Your Twenties'. The book explained that actually, far from being 'the best years of your life' they are rather tricky to navigate at times, maybe especially so if you haven't settled down in the accepted fashion. It feels as though decisions that you make will have Repercussions, heavy lead like things that you'll look back on in your 60s and shake your head with regret at. Luckily my memory is pretty crap, so maybe that will help. I'm fairly sure that this is pretty normal. I also think it hits women at this age rather than men. Maybe being married with kids would help - I do think that anything where you feel you are serving a higher purpose than looking after your own needs and that limits the time you have to think about yourself  is helpful in dealing with this odd sense of malaise, while I'm surrounded by everything women fought for over the years. Obviously, it's also important to look out for yourself (I know this as I wasn't very good at it for quite some time) but I think that the simple truth is that a life lived only for your own pleasures just isn't that satisfying after a while. If you enjoy your job and feel you're doing worthwhile things then that would work - sadly, since Little, Brown reduce publishing to a strange, soulless, earnest machine, my job satisfaction is correspondingly less. Still, I bought a lovely author the other day, so went to a proper publishing lunch with an absolutely adorable agent, who I fairly sure will turn into an absolute monster if the books don't do well. It's strange, that being much more under my responsibility than it used to be - don't think I'm a fan and do rather miss M&B's space, which meant that if the profit margin was looking a bit low you could just whack out a republi\shed anthology called 'Brutal-but-sexy-Billionaires' and sell a comfortable 5000 copies. 

He didn't make me feel good, and I stumbled out of our relationship feeling older, tireder and generally stupider. Now, a lot of the time, I'm just sad. It's horrible, this sadness, though on the plus side it's much less desperate than before - definitely better out of the relationship, I just wish he'd bugger off to Australia so I could graciously wish him well from a distance and not have to see  him looking happy and watch myself still trying to look attractive to him even though, and this really is true, I don't want to be back with him. I just want to win. I'm very bad at accepting that sometimes things don't work out and it isn't because either person was 'wrong' (though obviously it was him) (you see). The mean side of me would like him on the floor, wailing at his own stupidity. The thing is, he got close to doing that a bit after he broke up with the new girl because he 'missed me too much.' He was drunk and a mess and everything I thought I wanted him to be but actually it made me really sad. So I told him I forgave him about Lindsey and still loved him but knew we were better apart. I always used to do that - say it was ok because at that moment it would be, only to have several furious conversations with myself later on after he took me at my word. And even as he sat there telling me he was a mess and no one cared, I realised he was still completely focussed on himself. He had been an absolutely shit boyfriend for months, totally absorbed with shutting me out of his new life and even more so with not having to feel like he was expected to do anything and now he was totally focused on his own sadness - I realised there still wasn't any space for me in his head at all. This was good as I realised once again how deeply glad I was that we finally broke up. but sadly means that in some twisted way I still hadn't won. I wanted him realising how stupid he'd been to lose ME, not mourning his own emotions and lack of close friends. Sometimes I wonder if I'm just not that nice. I have amazing parents who bought me up feeling (without ever really realising it) that I was really special (in a good way, not in the having a different school bus kind of way). One of the harder things about both breaking up with someone and beginning a new job is that you start to realise that maybe you're not. On the other hand, most of the people who have fulfilling lives have a core of solidity - an I Am. Maybe the trick is worrying less about being 'special' and more about who you are and actually want to be. You live in the best, most honest way you can without driving everyone around you (or yourself) bonkers. Maybe I'll call that a mannafesto. God I'm hilarious. 

Also, gchat with my friend Adam the other day:

Adam: 'guess who's coming to dinner?' 

Me: 'Who? Ooh - the girl from last night? did it go well then?'

Adam: 'Me!' 

Me: 'oh'

Adam: 'And no. I made her cry a little.' 

Dates can always be worse. :) 

Well, this is a weekend that I am glad is over. Cleaning the old flat wasn't fun, to put it mildly. Low point of yesterday:
Me: (after more sensible earlier refusal to do the following, the various hours having erased my ability to ignore the pain of what we're doing) "maybe we should just give in and get professional cleaners in" Him: "no, we're nearly there now"
Me: (tearfully) "maybe, but I still won't have a home, or a boyfriend who I love"
Him: (practically) "how will a professional cleaner help with that?"

Low point of this morning (final defrosting of freezer and giving back keys):
Him: "Anna, there's something I should..."
Me: (doom)
Him: "I've been seeing a bit of Lindsey" (all-dancing, all-singing, all-coding, all-dark-haired-and-skinny-work-girl-who-had-nothing-to-do-with-our-breakup) "We're going to the opera next week"
Me: (doomconfirmed. silence. ouch)

So, after a spa with my lovely friend Lucy, I'm veering between rage (a month and a half after a seven year relationship is pretty fast, but then she was around before), tears and a sense of relief that my jealousy of her over the last six months was justified. Also, it helps to be allowed to be a bit angry with reason. And plus I have an excuse to get another glass of  the nice white wine I bought.

*goes to get another glass of wine

I now have a tidy room, aching legs and am watching Big Bang Theory. New flatmate man just got back - ironically having just discovered that his ex has also started dating someone new!

2013!

2013. It sounds so futuristic. Also, for the first time in a while I have no idea what it will bring, which is both terrifying and exciting. New job, no boyfriend and new flat - having come out of the latest black hole, I'm looking forward to the world again! Last night and day actually turned out to be wonderful. The big party was no such thing and I'm now reassured that I will stay friends with them too. It's such a relief to feel less bitter! I also explored my very first rave party (I gave the Primrose Hill canape-and-couples evening a miss). It was strange, both the lighting and people,  and made weirder by my giving in and wearing a white overall thing - felt like a druggy version of American Psycho. I'm glad I went though - it was good to see it, even if I did feel a bit like Dances with Wolves (which I'm currently watching) exploring a brand new tribe. Have spent the day very hungover, packing and happy. Seeing Fish was fine - in fact, it was nice without being painful. I do wish I could bottle the feeling I have at the moment and take a sip when I descend into the downward slope again.

Right, am going to go back and continue admiring Kevin Costner's deliciously blue and predatory eyes.

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.

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

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.

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.