Friday, August 26, 2016

Ages, stages, and broken fairy tales

A new meme known as "love your husband" has emerged on Facebook with people posting pictures of themselves and their partners over the years. It is galling like baby pictures are to the infertile. But is also underscores for me how mid-life women need their partners for affirmation, it is a time of life more than any other when having a partner is a security blanket. Ah well.

Maybe this is another home truth about my crush on George (well since reciprocated at some point maybe a little more than a crush). I knew deep down it was my last hurrah. It is very hard for me to find the "love your husband" sort of love at this stage. It is hard not to become discouraged.

For the first time this week George posted about going out with his best friend/girlfriend this week. I cried a little (absurdly) when I read the post. But there it is, proof positive, finally. I obviously want him to be happy. If this is a great as he thinks it is, let one (or two) more people in the universe be happy. Let them. I don't want that not to happen. I guess what I would like is not to be sidelined/disappeared myself. The one thing I do find galling is how she has held out  on him and tormented him for so long. If this is a strategy of feminine guile, I deplore it. But again Ah Well.

The fairy tale that tells it best

George is Price Eric to my little mermaid but there will be no happy ending. I wanted to be where the people are. I wanted to see them laughing, but I got sent back I couldn't find my voice, and George/Eric took the next beautiful princess that crossed his bow. Prince Eric is an antihero he is basically a jerk. But Ariel really wanted the lifestyle not the prince didn't she? Which is what I told myself at some point, I wanted a catalyst for change

Wednesday, August 17, 2016

100 Days

When we met in town in January I was staying at the Hilton. I am still immature enough to steal the bathroom condiments, and so I took this bottle of shower gel back across the world with me.

Although nothing happened between us, each time I used that shower gel it somehow brought back that lovely evening we spent together. So 100 days passed, as you assured me that we had a connection and that I had nothing to worry about. And as you seemed just as keen to see me again as I was you. I mentioned the shower gel one time and you said, "to think I could've come back to your hotel room and used that shower gel"

By coincidence this thing was still in my wash bag when I met you again 100 days later. When I met the inert you. The one who humored me,  and somehow implied it was all in my mind "I would never have done that" you opined " I would never have had a one night stand" and as for the connection "but you hardly know me!' what did you think would happen? that we would walk off into the sunset!"

Well I spent 100 days pining for you and now I have spent 100 days getting over you coincidentally around the same 100 days that Sadiq Khan has been mayor of London.

The other day I walked out on my balcony and saw tiny shoots forming on the tree outside my window. That tree was being lopped one day as we chatted endlessly on Whats-app about our lives
and our plans and our excitement of seeing each other again. Well those tiny shoots are now a sign that I have moved on. They are the tiny shoots of recovery.

And another rather obvious thought came to mind. Beyond "I planned a gorgeous retreat with you and got a horrible rebuttal" the thought was three fold. One: basically you are all talk and no
trouser. It was all very well at a distance, and maybe you felt something for me at the time, but you didn't have the guts or the will to follow through with it. Two: I was nothing but a teenage
fantasy gone bad, or three: we are quits.  Yes we are. You got a Winter of interesting fantasies to warm your cold nights and I got some free accommodation in the Spring time. Very transactional is
point three.

But more obvious still, and in the real world, why did I ignore this particular fact of the case...?. You moved out from your marital home in September, you asked your lovely gorgeous perfect and
compatible-in-every-way friend to find a place with you in "oh I dunno around erm..October" (and she stalled you). I turned up in January and somehow filled a void. There is a real possibility that you left your wife for her and your new love didn't (at least not immediately) work out and you were sad and frustrated, and in walked me. I ignored this fact for days 1-100 because I didn't know it. It was drip fed to me on about day 130 after I came back to see you. I was so inclined to think the best of you, or to believe that you and I did have a connection and were friends that I didn't give it credence until about day 180. But, yes the transactional point three is probably the truth of the matter. I was caught in the vortex of your mid-life crisis. I have come out bruised and battered but increasingly less confused.

In a less monumentally hurtful and life rocking way this same thing happened with Seamus. He left his wife for a colleague who then didn't work out, and in walked me.

Which is why I simply laughed when I received an email from Ex23.

I think you are are the biggest missed opportunity of my life. No doubt, you hate this, but there it is.


I dream of no body but you

No No No I am way to fragile to go round that loop again.

Sunday, August 07, 2016

Reality check

Today I told myself a simple story that has been consoling about George. I know I have already said that I need to give myself time, and that he seems to have the need to come up smelling of roses and be beyond reproach.  However,  the simple fact of the matter is that I was looking forward to something lovely, and I got something horrible, and he did not accept his role in this. So I have been left holding this metaphorical baby of disappointment and hurt. Despite his superficially gentlemanly behaviour this was a cruel thing to do.