The War

It really is a battle.  I'm a war the time.  I’m inspired to write.  Hell, I woke up at 7 am last Sunday and started a short story; but the time just slips away and by the end of the day, I go to bed and realise I didn’t even think of writing.  Well not markedly; quite often I open my story and leave it sitting here but that doesn’t actually achieve anything.

I’m absolutely determined this weekend!  I’ve got the day off today and I’m going to cover off the cleaning that I didn’t think about last weekend and then its writing time!  I started a short story last weekend… I’ve got my book to do.  All I have to do is sit down and let my brain run wild!

How hard can it be?

The Comfort Zone...

I’ve basically spent my whole life living in a comfort zone; and in the scheme of things, maybe “safe” isn’t as safe as I figured it was.  I decided that this was the year of change.  I’m looking for a new job; have lost over ten kilo and last week, I joined a group of random writers…

Okay.  Let’s face it.  Joining a group of writers online is a whole world apart from actually turning up at some writers gig and opening my mouth to speak to them.  We all knew that was never going to happen.  Hell, the ex-Squeeze and I went to a million writers things.  When we got there, we were so socially inept we spent the whole time talking to each other and then leaving.

So I was never going to go.  Right..?

Wrong.  Today, I got up and dressed… Packed my laptop, leather journal and fountain pen in my Oroton briefcase and stepped outside my comfort zone.  Firstly, I drove to the city.  As a general rule, I’d train it… Fearful of getting lost; not knowing where to park… not being able to find my car at the end… Getting a hundred dollar bill for an afternoon of parking!

The year of change means doing it differently.  I marched out to the car and took off for the city.  I’ll admit, about half way in I was beginning to think I should turn around; but there was no time by then.  I was meeting my best friend and her sister in Chinatown for breakfast – so I persevered.  I hit the city and saw a sign so turned into park at Federation Square – which is about sixteen bucks for 24 hours.  Okay…  I can do that.  I can even find my way back there!  Everyone on the planet knows where Fed Square is so even I could find my way back there!

I had made it.  I was in the city.  My car was parked and I was off for breaky.  I put maps on my iphone and marched off to venue number one making it only 5 minutes late due to a wrong way. We had a great time (I’ll ignore how much damned seafood stuff was on for breakfast in Chinatown) but the vegetarian stuff was pretty good and it was about the company as opposed to the breakfast anyhow.  Then we went shopping for a few hours before I trekked off to the Giraffe Café for an afternoon with strangers to write.

Luckily, my best friend came for a coffee prior to flying off for Prague.  Basically, it meant that when I turned up; I was the coolest person there – because I bought an actual writer with me.  The guy running it nearly choked on his spleen which was pretty amusing.  Everyone else bought pads and pens; a few bought laptops.  I bought fountain pens, leather journals and a real, bona fide, paid... writer.

And at the end… I’d written two brief stories and spent hours talking to a table of strangers.  And I was okay.  No one died; no one called me out.  The year of change was actually turning out to be the "year of change".

I came home and cooked before having an idea for a short story.  I talked to my best friend before she flew out for Prague and we laughed our heads off over the writers she’d left gob smacked.

All in all.  I’m having a good time.  I’m inspired.  

I’ve remembered those things I forgot over the last few years.

I'm actually kind of interesting.  I'm not fat and horrible.  I'm funny; and I’m a writer.

Am I going back?  Yes.  Next fortnight.

Finally! Yay!

So far this year I have list 10.1 kilos.

Go figure!  I can't believe I actually did it!

Still kind of blown away.  10.1 kilo's is pretty good.
No wonder all my clothes are swimming on me!

Catchy....

He He - I may be struggling with the Bonnie Raitt song on piano; but now I've got my brother trying to learn it on guitar in Synday :)  Soon his household will be fed up with it - which is a thing of beauty really... I mean children whining in the house means you know you're committed to learning; right?

If he get's his arse down here anytime soon, we could almost be the Von Trapps!
Of course this also means I'll have to up the ante of practice because he is more advanced than I am (and we can't have that...)

We do have a shared love of music and it's handy to have a brother in Sydney I discovered this week while planning a Christmas present for my best friend.

It was suddenly there in my inbox.  Nick Cave.  Doing a gig in Melbourne.

Of course when I think of Nick Cave, I think of the Boys Next Door doing "Shivers" and how unbelievably cool he is.  So I immediately sent an email off to my best friend to say "hello!!!  Nick Cave!  Want to fly in to Melbourne that night..?"  She was a guest along side him at some writers thing and had a tiny little crush on him (you'd have to be dead not to, let's face it!).  She replied to say "better idea; let's meet in Sydney for our Christmas present to each other!"

So it was decided and tickets were snagged.  She will fly in from Brisbane.  I'll fly in from Melbourne.  We'll have a night out in Sydney...  And catch up with my brother; talk music and writing.

Seriously; can't wait.

The Little Shop of Dating Horrors

It is astounding to me how any man I know that puts his ass on a dating website; is inundated.  It appears that women are virtually leaping out at them.  Fifteen or twenty a day; and trust me, some of the people that have said that to me were barely making it out of the “maybe… If I shut one eye and squint with the other” pool!

Several of them have mentioned that it is basically a full time job and then they have been snapped up two seconds later.  And it is always by younger, more attractive women.  Hmmmmm.  My spurt of wishing a pox and potentially, a dose of impotence upon the ex-Squeeze is mollified slightly.  I guess that explains how he can start “seeing someone” while I lose 10 kilo; am 8 years younger than he and yet I am still doing the dating cycle which is in a word; freaking hard.

I’ve taken to showing my potential dates as they contact me to the guy I share an office with.  Suffice to say this awards us hours of amusement as I spy one aging Elvis and then next, move to Captain freaking Stubing from the Love Boat (I kid you not there).

Then we have the ones that on the surface appear relatively okay; I mean I’m not shuddering or rolling around the floor laughing – but then they go and ruin it as per one did today…

This was the end part of his profile:

Ok that said I certainly wish to have a healthy sex life with my princess,, I certainly don't want it every second Saturday night with the street lights turned off and missionary position only, that is definitely not me.. fun exciting romantic sexual sensual is what I am after. So if that is not you don't bother to chat with me. a polite refusal is the nice thing to do.

WTF????  Seriously!!???  What a total TWAT!

Then in his “what I’m looking for section”, we go again….

Intelligent easy going, fun loving, witty, sensual, sexy, attractive, caring considerate, girl who is also fairly active and if she is a cyclist that would be a real bonus.. ...She must also have to enjoy a healthy sexual appetite. I am not a monk and don't want a nun for a partner.. A sense of humour is a must also

Too right she needs a sense of humour to put up with this tool!  I was going to reply to say “thanks for the email; but I require sex every single morning – always; and twice on Saturday.  If you’re not up for it, F off!” 

But what is the point!  And to make it worse, the fool was wearing lycra in several shots.  Pity he doesn’t know that when I am ruling the world via my land of Secret Women (www.secretwomen.org) – ALL LYCRA WEARERS ARE DEAD!

J

Welcome to ‘Singlehood’

Yesterday I caught up with the Scottish Lab Manager.

I thought I’d be clever and ensure that I chose a place near me, so selected the rooftop bar on the corner.   I wouldn’t have to think about drinking; I could basically stagger down the laneway to home.  It was an afternoon gig because that is less “date-like”; more relaxed…  And I selected an acoustic gig that I figured most twenty year olds wouldn’t bother to turn up for.

All good until the Scot texted to say “this is a private function”…   Well, they didn’t have that written on the sign!  Still, apparently he had created the hydroponic garden up on the rooftop so we got to slink in there anyhow – and what a fantastic afternoon it was.  Very cool place which has an eclectic mix match of ‘stuff’ in every available corner of floor and walls.

There were a couple of different guys singing and playing guitar and a room of “not too young” people there to raise funds for a girl who had thyroid cancer and needed drugs that weren’t on the list so basically cost you a house to pay for it.

I met new people.  The pub owner who gave off a “coolish” vibe; and his partner who was dressed rockabilly style with a little skeletal hand clutching her hair back.  She had a little dog with a diamond collar that followed her everywhere.   There was a tall bald guy with a thick neck who proceeded to flirt with me…  This gave me a little spring in my step considering he would have been lucky to be forty; but the spring fizzled as I watched him try the same approach on every old broad in the room.

One girl in particular I felt an instant connection too which doesn’t happen often and I have collected similar people over the years; they now make up by best friend circle…  I have a theory; well I was told a theory when I had my past lives read.  I had gone there looking to be a lady, with someone wearing my colours at tourney and instead, found myself a Frenchman on submarine that sunk before the war.  She told me that I would meet people in life and feel and instant connection to them; they were on the submarine also…  Oh I know its all crap, but still, I was intrigued by the story.

Our chat started with her saying “you look like Hugh Jackman’s wife!”  Which made me laugh; I mean I haven’t heard that for a couple of months at least and prior to that, it was basically all the time.  We talked for ages and then throughout the night, we would look up and catch each other’s eye and wave.

She hunted me down at the end of the night and I’d already written my number on a serviette as I was going to hunt her down and tell her that if she ever feels like getting out for a drink over this way; call!.  I’ll be interested to see if she actually contacts me.

The date.  Still undecided.  My passions are a slow moving beast I’m afraid.  When it hits, get out of my way; but first I have to find someone prepared to wait for me to catch up.  I’m not in a hurry; not at all.  In fact, I'm quite liking being single.

Bonnie Raitt...

Love this song..  The neighbours, alternatively, must hate it.  I've been trying to learn it on the piano lol which means playing it over and over again.

Given the fact that they are the loudest people in the morning; I'm okay with torturing them with this!

I Can't Make You Love Me

Where did it go..?

Seriously…  Every so often I look around and think “what the Hell!  Where did those hours go?”

It can be utterly perplexing; this weekend is almost half way through and I’ve achieved nothing.   I’ve stripped my bed and washed the bedding but that’s about it.  The bare pillows and doona are lying in a haphazard heap in the centre of the bed.  I’ve walked past and looked several times (pausing twice to spray Frebreeze) but I haven’t even fished out clean linen yet.  Worse, the clock is ticking and I hate making it just before I go to bed so I’ll need to get to it at some stage!

I had such high hopes and plans too!  Not about making the bed because let’s face it; the house is always neat and pretty much clean.  I could switch off doing housework for a week and no one would even notice.   It’s not even the lack of the vacuum cleaner echoing across the floorboards that is upsetting me.  It is the writing; or lack thereof.  And I promised myself…

Still, promises or no; sometimes there just isn’t anything left over!  Life gets in the way.

For example; I’ve decided to start job hunting.  And there was my first big mistake.  It’s been ten years since I’ve done any real job hunting so there was an edit and refresh of my cv required.  Then any job that you want to submit an application for these days, somehow requires about four hours of addressing ‘key selection criteria’; which of course means you agonize over every single word.  It takes hours!  They should have to pay you to do that!  Read the damned CV to cull people; don’t expect me to do your work for you!

Two job applications and a phone interview later seemed to take out most of Friday.  What was left of the afternoon had me debating the pros and cons of a new job and actually moving out of town…  Then before I’d even had time to throw my coat off and head upstairs, a friend called over with a bottle of red.  That ended any move towards the computer Friday night; instead we drank steadily and debated the realities of life while eating cabana.  I was going to say we are very different personalities, he and I; but in all honesty, I think everyone on the planet is different to me.

The gist of our conversation was around my blog and he wondered out loud, how the ex had just allowed me to write all of that…  (Allowed..?  Really..?  You really want to go there..?)  Actually he may not have said the word allowed, but I got the drift.  Either way, he couldn’t understand how there hadn’t been humdinger rows over what I wrote.  In fact, if we ever argued over my blog, I don’t recall it but I’m sure we did occasionally.  Generally when his slow boil of outrage got too much to handle, I received one of his scathing, cruel, put down emails.

Still, to my wine guzzling friend, I pointed out that our lack of rowing was due to his lack of care and common sense.  That and the fact that he read my blog as though he was reading about another person; that “damned Moodle” wasn’t him… It was some other poor sap dealing with this ranting witch. 

And then, my ill-fated and somewhat stupid wine infused friend uttered the words, “you are very opinionated you know…” before guzzling his next glass of red.

WTF!!!  Opinionated!  Me???  I already knew I was about to give him my opinion!

But maybe he was right…  And no wonder none of my relationships work!  By this morning, I was tossing and turning, wondering how I could make myself less opinionated.  Was that even possible?

I got up and went to a pump glass and then came home to research (there goes cleaning and writing!).  The first and most interesting site I came to was an advice blog and I speed read through the first letter and I had to admit; this girl did sound rather vaguely like me.  And surprise surprise; her letter was due to the fact that her boyfriend was going to dump her because she didn’t “validate his thoughts” or some such crap.  The blogger’s reply was rather delicious; long and full of descriptive words regarding the said boyfriend with non validated thoughts…  Words like “feewing”…  “Did your opinion hurt his feewings…  Poor baby!”

And suddenly; I got a second wind and realised that yes… I am opinionated; maybe even overly so.  And there were even some websites dedicated to guiding people in abolishing that shocking trait.  It’s easy. 

All you need to do is be INDIFFERENT!

Oh.  My.  God.  And the blinkers fell away as I realised just how ‘chalk and cheese’ the ex and I really were.  He lives in a haze of apathy.  I want to rush to my sword at the first sign of injustice!  Chalk/Cheese.  Oil/Water.  It doesn’t come bigger than us.

So yes.  I can be loud and opinionated.  I call and spade and spade; if I think it… I say it.  And he is probably correct, it was probably hard work for the ex to hear repeatedly that he was a Moodle, or that his kids were ungrateful or ill-mannered or selfish.  I know he spent years hearing about the Harridan and her unbelievable velvet wearing selfishness!  Then again, he could have just fixed it if he wanted me to shut up.

And at that point, I realise a fact that I had missed up until now.  The ex had once ‘loved’ (if that is what he calls it) the Harridan – because she is an overbearing, opinionated bitch.  Then he loved me…  Another overbearing, opinionated bitch.  And let’s face it; he isn’t the smartest tool in the shed (he is just a tool) so the chances are….   You guessed it….  His new lady love will be a “overbearing, opinionated bitch” because that is what he likes!  His body chemistry is protecting him; because it knows he is a balless wonder, so it deliberately looks for a Joan of Arc!

So...  Comfortable in my opinionated skin, I emailed my friend this afternoon to tell him I think I’ll just be staying exactly the way I am and if someone doesn’t like it; they can lump it! Okay... Okay... he suggested I attempt to be a little more subtle; and maybe I will... Try it that is.

Dating update:  Tomorrow is date two with the Scottish Lab Manager.  How perfectly he is playing it.  Not ‘in my face’ or ‘stalking/contacting’ all the time; but answering pretty quickly when I contact.  Not making out he is sitting there pining for me and awaiting my contact; but open and pleased to receive it.  Yes, he is playing it so perfectly that I’m almost looking forward to it. 

Hope he likes ‘overbearing, opinionated bitches’ lol

How is that working for you..?

My sister emailed me this week to ask how I was going.  I think she knows I’ve struggled over the last week or so.  In true Gemini fashion; and because I’m scrupulously honest, especially with myself, I answered with exactly how I was feeling.

My epiphany bought on a weird combination of relief, sadness and jealousy.  Yes, I said it was weird.  You couldn’t imagine those things all rolling around to create their own emotion, but there you go.

The ‘relief’…   My brother in law’s ex-wife is a lesbian.  We are talking plain faced; spikey haired, seriously manned up lesbian wearing bib and brace overalls.  They aren’t attractive on a hot guy, so I don’t know what she was thinking.  I’m missing my point.  I remember saying to my sister once “that must be so much easier for him!  I mean he has to know there is absolutely nothing, short of waking up, looking in the mirror and discovering he was a woman; nothing was going to make that relationship work!”

As far as faults go, that is a get out of jail free card.  No amount of shared household chores or giving space or romance was going to change the mechanics of that.

My epiphany telling me that the Squeeze had never loved me meant he was gay.  Or may as well as have been in my mind.  He didn’t love me!  There was nothing I could do to change that.  He didn’t love me.  He tried; he faked, whatever – but he did not love me.  Not my fault.  It wasn’t that I didn’t love enough; didn’t cook enough; didn’t put out enough (in fact in the end, he was the one not putting out – a sure sign!)  He just didn’t love me.

The ‘sadness’ is because I lost my best friend of fifteen years; and I’m pretty sure I’ll never get him back.  That he has shut me down now that he is dating is a pretty good sign of what is to come.  And if I am shut out because he is dating; odds are I will slam the door when I am.

In truth; that sucks because he is my only male best friend.  He is the only one I can bounce thoughts and ideas off.  He is the only one I can ask “is that normal?” when talking about some freak I went out with the night before.  And now, it is gone.  All because in a moment of loneliness he thought he could have a fling with a friend.

I have been married three times.  He should have known I don’t do flings.  I marry.  That’s what I do.  I love.  I meld.  I join.  I’m probably fricking scary now that I read that lol and oh my, how much worse is that for an emotionally bereft person such as the Squeeze.  And bereft is what he is.  I always knew that I guess; but stupidly, I figured that if he was really loved… it would change.  He would change.  Just as I’m sure the next fool will.

My sister once said to me “in all the times we have spent time together, I never once saw him hug you; or hold your hand… Or kiss you.”  She was correct.  I was emotionally skeletal, so suppressed was his ‘touch/romance/love gene’.    I saw it as flaw, or condition in him.  For it wasn’t just with me.  In five years, I never saw him hug or kiss his kids.  More than once I mentioned that I never heard him; or them, say “I love you”. 

I finish most conversations with my parents or kids by saying “love you!”  They don’t doubt it; have never doubted it.  I have often wondered if the Squeeze, for all of his “give my life for you” father act; was just that… An act.  I’m not sure if he feels the love; or if he fears becoming his father, so he plays a role he figures he must play.  I guess that isn't something I need to worry about anymore. 

The ‘jealousy’…  I told my sister I am going through “toy train” syndrome this week.  I have survived our separation quite easily until the last week or so.  I didn’t have to think.  There was my Dad dying (love you Dad!) which consumed my every waking moment for months.  My siblings and I became ghosts of the people we were in the face of losing Dad.  Now we are ghosts that fear; ghosts that hold conferences and share email to ensure my mother is as “fine” as she can be.

Walking to the car park tonight with a guy from work; he said out of nowhere; “I just can’t believe I’ll never see my Mum and Dad again…” I knew exactly the emotion of which he spoke.  I can’t imagine a life without my Dad in it.  I don’t even want to.

But I regress…

From the minute the Squeeze emailed to say he was seeing someone; it was like someone had picked up my train set.  It didn’t matter that I hadn’t played with it for eons.  It didn’t matter that I didn’t even think about that train set… it was mine.  It belonged to me.  And now some other (probably fat) kid at the park had taken my train set home!  I wanted it back!  It was mine!

I went from barely a thought; to unable to sleep or concentrate on anything else.  All I could think about was my train.  My train in the hands of someone else.  

When I mentioned this theory to my sister, she, of course made some ugly analogy about Puffing Billy and the Orient Express; lol and riding them.  The ex was, you guessed it; Puffing Billy.  I followed up with the fact that it felt like the only thing left on the planet was the Fat Controller – and he was probably wearing socks and sandals!

The epiphany made me admit that it was never really my train in the first place.  It never had been.

He had never allowed himself to be.

The things people can’t say…

I often wonder why we put so much emphasis on failure; or what other’s think of us.  I’m an expert at it.  I feel as though I’ve spent my whole life measuring myself by how others perceive me; mostly, they were ideals by people that had no real concept of who I was.

I don’t want to do that any more.

Last night, I had an epiphany.   A single moment of clarity that I hope can change my psyche.

I have spent five years agonising over why the ex-Squeeze couldn’t see the world through my eyes.  Wondering why he couldn’t ever put me first; love me.  What was I doing wrong?  Why was I always last; continuously on the bottom rung of the totem pole? 

Then, last night, with a simple one line email exchange, I finally figured it out.   He didn’t love me.  He never loved me.  I was his best friend and that morphed into a relationship during a period of loneliness for him.  And once in; he couldn’t figure out how to get out.  At least he couldn’t get out with the friendship intact.

My world changed.  I allowed some psychotic, selfish, velvet wearer and her teenage puppet to manipulate me and change my world.  I sucked in the continuous subliminal message that I didn’t measure up; and the not so subliminal messages, such as “shared” friends that were forced upon me.  Dianne; who when I went to sit down at a restaurant, rudely made me stand and get out of my seat to sit and the end of the table with a “Not you!  I want to sit next to…” so that the Squeeze could sit next to her.

Last night, I woke up thinking about that moment as being the single most defeating fragment of our relationship.  For if anyone in my world had treated him in such a fashion, I’d have grabbed his hand, turned and left.  Instead, he sat in the position I had been pushed from; and I sat for the entire dinner quietly at the end of the table; segregated as the interloper that I always had been.  The interloper I was meant to feel; and as I was left to feel many times throughout our relationship.  A feeling I might add, that he never, ever experienced at the hands of my children, family or friends.

But the truth is, he didn’t love me.  So why did he persevere for five long years; causing us both pain?  That makes him sound selfish; yet I don’t mean it like that.  I know well what he felt; for the ‘my best friend’; that person who knows me inside out… That guy I can talk to about anything with, or hug, or laugh, or tease…  I didn’t want to lose that either.

I guess the difference is that I loved him; and after a life time with the Harridan, pushing his obvious inadequacies down his throat, that love was comforting. 

Sometimes, I wish he could have seen how amazing our lives could have been if he had loved me too.  Instead, we were left with a constant struggle that threatened to sap our sanity.  The only winners were a hidious ex-wife and a manipulated teenager.

Mocking...

Oh scales; why do you mock me!!!

I promised myself 10 kilo by July.  Today is July 2; a Wednesday and weighing day. 

Where am I at..? 9.8 kilo! 0.2 short!

Still, does 'by July' mean the start or the end of July..?

I guess now it means the end!

A little bit dead…

Today while walking, I paused to call my mother.  She had actually been a ‘Squeeze’ fan and so it was nice to get a different view…

I told her that the ex-Squeeze was seeing someone and rather than immediately bag him out as everyone else has done, she suggested that he was probably lonely and if someone had dropped in my lap, I’d probably be seeing someone too.

This is potentially true however; he was the one that said he was retiring from the dating pool to concentrate on the toad of a kid.  What happened to that idea..?

And what the Hell is with this man drought?   I’ve lost 9.4 kilo!  I’m feeling great!  Writing…  And yet I’m scratching around for someone who isn’t three seconds away from popping their clogs or zooming their wheelchair around Chadstone!  Stuff that!

And the ex-Squeeze, by his own words hasn’t been able to diet; which means he still looks like a circle!  Yet he can find someone?  WTF!

The only pleasant thought in all that is that if she can cook, then when she cooks a roast she’ll be looking at this…   And when I miss him; then I'll just look at this...

I kind of think I’m better off alone; even if he did enjoy my cooking  :)

Either way, I said to my mother that I don’t wish him unhappiness.  In fact mostly, in my controlled waking thoughts, I wish him happiness; and only a little bit dead.