Pause

I have no idea what's going on. I'll get back to you when I've had time to think about it. On its own. Because all of a once again I seem to be thinking about numerous things, simultaneously, in that pissed jockey and crap hoss way (see Hoofs per Minute).

In fact, it is worse than that. It is hoss and jockey galloping round Escher's Relativity. Going nowhere. Fast.

Yours in hope & fear, AJ x

F*cking Fantastic

Hard to believe I know, but apparently I lucked out with Mr TGTBT. All too easily pleased I popped on the rose tinteds and settled for what I could get. Which is what I thought was the jackpot. It transpires that I merely got five numbers and the bonus ball because MR TGTBT is not the hottest bit of tottie on the planet. Nor indeed even in the place of his employ.

How do I know this? Because a colleague of Mr TGTBT told me so. Well, he implied it with his suggestion that three T's and a GB were nothing compared to said colleague's Double D Double G status. "That would be Drop Dead Gorgeous Guy" aforementioned colleague reliably informed me, modestly.

Being a Double F myself I can assure you, that while a Double D may be nothing to write home about, there is absolutely nothing modest about a Double G. Well, not at Agent Provocateur anyway.

Yours in hope & fear, AJ x

Heterographic Confusion

I had to meet with Him Formerly tonight. It wasn't pleasant and there were a lot of unpleasantries, my particular favourite being his comment about my no longer single status. "It didn't take you long" he sniped. I wanted to smack him round his stupid head with one of those pots that call kettles black. WTF? He didn't even wait for the relationship to end before lining up a reserve. Pfft.

I also rather liked the point at which he informed me that I shouldn't call him in the evenings (see Lead Poisoning) because Her is there. I should call him during the day when Her isn't there. Unable to resist I laughed at the fact he has ended up with someone he already has to hide things from. He stoically defended his corner and said it was merely for my own good as she just wants to give me a piece of her mind. A piece of her mind indeed. I think with a mind as small as that she is at risk of losing it altogether.

I do have it on good authority however that my mind is the size of a small planet, which means I have plenty to go around. What's more, as evidenced by this blog, I have no qualms about sharing it. So let me share this thought:

If you are going to fall in love with a man who leaves his previous relationship and isn't even allowed to pass GO before he gets to you I would suggest you make room for a little baggage. I think I mentioned that somewhere before (Nobody Solves a Problem Like ... ). In the case of Him Formerly that will be about 15 years worth of baggage.

Now, many years ago myself and Him Formerly were in a bar where we bumped into my ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend. New girlfriend was another of those am-dram green-eyed types and whilst I was chatting to ex-boyfriend she began whining to Him Formerly, "Doesn't it annoy you that she is talking to him?".

Him Formerly replied, "No. They slept together for 5 years, I am sure they have plenty to talk about." Now my maths isn't great but I do know that 15 is 5 x 3. Three times as long. Three times more to talk about.

Aaah. But then I realise the issue isn't the talking. The issue is how awfully, dreadfully, horribly, appallingly, terribly, what-the-fuck-everly, I treated poor Him Formerly. How I ruined his life. All on my own. Because he wasn't there to help. I feel another Pfft coming on. So 'Pfft'. There are two people (sometimes more) in every relationship and therefore two sides to every story.

I think just maybe I should give Her the benefit of the doubt. Just maybe Him Formerly misunderstood. Just maybe she wasn't talking about a piece of her mind but her peace of mind. Something she will find very hard to come by with a man who keeps hiding his baggage.

Yours in hope & fear, AJ x

Lead Poisoning

I don't know why I did it. But I did. I caved and gave Him Formerly one more chance. One more chance to prove me wrong, to prove that I am mistaken. I'm not. He really does have a lump of lead where most of us have some ventricles and an aorta. And I have for too long endured the symptoms of chronic exposure.

Sadly, so very sadly, I am struggling with a decision I don't even want to think about, let alone say out loud. A heartbreaking decision that is turning me inside out as it goes against something I have believed in all my life, made famous by the Dog's Trust phrase 'A Dog is For Life'. That is the closest I can get. I spoke with Juicy and Big Cuz because they have had to go through it - albeit with little sympathy from me because I never believed it was possible to reach such a stage. I mean, people don't give their children away because things get too difficult do they?

Well in a way I guess they do. If things are too difficult for parents the can end up destroying that which they love if they can't find whatever kind of strength is needed to give them up voluntarily. Arguably most people couldn't even begin to understand how a parent could give up a child. I couldn't even begin to understand how anyone could give up their dogs.

I do now ... it is because I want them to be happy. I want to stop feeling guilty that they have missed a walk, or been on their own, or had dinner late. Because those things make me feel guilty and that kind of guilt makes me tense. Which makes me snappish and impatient. Which makes those beautiful, loyal and devoted companions of mine drop their ears and look at me with questioning eyes. And my heart aches because I love them so much.

So. I thought for one brief but monumentally stupid moment that Him Formerly might understand. I called him. Now if you or I receive a telephone call from someone who is clearly distressed do we speak in monosyllables and put on a slightly bored tone? Do we try our hardest to be as cold and disinterested as possible? Do we make sure we don't let one kind word of sympathy, understanding, care or compassion pass our lips? Do we disinterestedly and arrogantly ask of someone who is clearly upset in the here and now, "Can we talk about this tomorrow"? No we fucking don't. Not even if we don't like them.

Because empathy as a rule is such a fundamental feature of being human it overrides our baser emotions, even against our will. That pulsing, warm, life giving, ventricle and aorta thing is one of the reasons we humans survive the onslaught of nature and life as we do. Through cooperation and compassion, our ability to imagine ourselves in someone else's shoes.

Those who reveal they are without it often end up behind bars, labelled accordingly due to their unfortunate nature or nurture which has led them to abuse either themselves, others or the society they live in. Those who manage to maintain a semblance of social integration have very different bars. Barred from the ecstasies of life's deeper connections they live behind the kind of bars you can't see. They live in a prison of their own making.

What was I thinking? Looking for empathy and understanding in a place I know full well to be an emotional Strangeways. I'll never make that mistake again.

Yours in hope & fear, AJ x

Bloody Washing Machines

I think my house is working towards an audition for a remake of Demon Seed as various bits of kit within it appear to be taking on a life of their own in order to make my life a misery. Like the washing machine. Like all three washing machines. Like all three of the buggers who today chucked caution to the wind and and threw a swim party in my utility room.

Number one. Sulking. Obstinate. Reprimanded and placed in the garden to think about its behaviour. Number two waited in the study ready to take centre stage while the Crockabilly and Con-Con prepared the set. On the final unveiling washing machine number two became unbecomingly attention seeking and spewed water all over the floor.

There was, despite there being both Crockabilly and myself in the vicinity, a strange calm. Not a perfect calm as neither of us are famed for our patience under pressure from inanimate objects (and in the case of the Crockabilly that also extend to animate ones on occasion) but there was definitely a gritted teeth sort of calm and even a few jokes. Brave faced, the necessary arrangements were made and Number Two was heaved back from whence it came. In a big white van. Duly exchanged by some animate objects at Tesco Direct that even I felt able to lose my patience with, Number Three joined us for its maiden adventure.

Which comprised copying Number Two. At which point I started talking in capital letters whilst trying to control my wobbly bottom lip while the Crockabilly tackled the floods and Con-Con searched the internet, looking for something that might prove helpful. He should have typed "why are the powers that be still picking on AJ?" into the search engine.

Clearly, all washing machines are in the employ of Him Formerly.

Yours in hope & fear, AJ

Custard

It's been one of those days. One of those days where you emphasise the 'those' with an extended vowel sound and raised eyebrows. After the day. During the day you haven't even the energy to wiggle an eyebrow, let alone raise two of them, because any energy you once possessed has been used to beat the custard. To fill the gap where your brain once was.

Yours in hope & fear, AJ x

Undone

I complained yesterday that I didn't have anything to blog about. Big Cuz suggested that as I now have myself a toy-boy (well, he is nearly two years younger than me) I must "be getting some". So I should blog about it. In keeping with my commitment to telling the truth. I suggested Big Cuz was barking.

Really. Expecting me to hold forth on original sin in public. In front of my family and friends. In front of my Mum. My initial reaction was akin to the response he would have received had he suggested I actually do it in public ... only doing it in public might be less embarrassing as I could claim asylum on the grounds of diminished responsibility. Writing about it demands less diminishment and more responsibility. Only a crazy person would do such a thing. Big Cuz raised his eyebrows and flopped a sympathetic smile in the direction of the crazy person. There was no-one behind me.

So having established I am more than qualified to comment I would like to take this opportunity to talk about sex. S. E. X. It might only be three letters but start thinking about it after some lengthy abstinence and suddenly the French ones loom large in your mind's eye as you begin to wonder if you can remember how to deal with them. That and getting your knickers off gracefully. And whether to fake it or not. And whether to ... gulp ... erm ... well, I am sure you get the idea. S. E. X. suddenly feels remarkably similar to O. M.G. the only difference being that the former is less challenging for an amateur ventriloquist.

So OMG I have of late found myself in the rather unexpected position - and no pun intended - of having to consider getting down and dirty with a stranger. Okay, okay, so Mr TGTBT isn't technically a stranger. But he was. He was one of those strangers that make you go all weak at the knees as you find yourself needing to hold onto something to stay upright. One of those strangers you find yourself making friends with and, checklist to hand, giving extra ticks to in boxes you didn't know existed.

'GSOH' is a prerequisite on most checklists, but I found myself ticking 'GSOH with a smile to die for and come to bed eyes'. Der. W.T.F? Whose checklist have I picked up? Oh and look, instead of ticking 'Good talker' I put a big fat tick next to 'Good talker with lips that demand you kiss at first opportunity'. Not to mention the even bigger, fatter tick next to 'Good looking with a little dip at the base of his throat that makes you want to pour honey in it and ... ' well, I am sure you get the idea. Sometime after our first meeting it was clear I had become all undone. And he sent a text to Little Blister announcing he was too. So undone in fact he sent it to the wrong sister.

Sibling dyslexia aside, I liked his undoneness. It made mine seem ok. It suddenly felt ok to wander around feeling real and sensual and fleshly and human and animal. To feel physically alive and wanting to physically connect with another person. All of those things that all of us are, from where each and every one of us came.

SEX in upper case is in fact not an acronym. It is just a headline, there to attract attention. Something for some people to laugh at as they try to hide their embarrassment at needing something so fundamental. Something for some people to cry at as they try to cover the deep wounds received when it is used as a weapon against them. Something for some people to be shocked at as they try and deny the existence of such an instinctive right with prudishness and intolerance.

If those are the kind of headlines you are looking for I suggest you move along now, because for me sex is more precious and more primal. It is dark, it is mystery. It is light, it is life. It is our human birthright and without it we cease to exist.

The best headline you'll find here is one called Undone, because that's how I want to be. And preferably by Mr TGTBT with his smile to die for and come to bed eyes.

Yours in hope & fear, AJ x

Shiny, shiny

I saw someone in the pub tonight. Someone who was once very dear to me and whom I knew from the moment we met would always hold a very special place in my heart. I heard my name being called by a voice that was at once intimately familiar and yet somehow so very distant. A sort of life, flashing, eyes moment.

That someone was my first love. The first person I wanted to give the whole of me to and who for a short time I think I did. That someone was also the first person to break my heart. Into bits. Tiny bits and horrible pieces that I thought at the time would never, ever fit back together again. But those first bits and pieces did in fact mend quite well. Well enough that to see the cause of that heartbreak again was a joyous moment. A moment to delight in that seemed filled with genuine warmth as two people reconnected through the shared memory of something once so very wonderful that even the pain of its loss couldn't destroy.

And it was pondering on that moment that brought clarity and calm to some vaguely upsetting thoughts I have had of late, namely the mulling and pondering and dallying over the question of why, in spite of having spent 15 years of my life with Him Formerly, I can't scrape up even a hint of a tickle of fondness for shared memories. Not a smidge.

I do try because evidently there was a lot of fondness in the relationship for it to last 15 years. A lot of love at some point too, a lot of passion, a lot of laughter. Yet while I am able to recall that those emotions happened I can't relive them, I don't feel them. I feel just kind of empty. Wasted. It's like I am watching a film and failing on the suspension of disbelief: as if all the mechanics and techniques are to the fore, the plotting too contrived and emotional engagement therefore impossible.

Of course I hope this feeling too will pass, as all the others have done. Yet this feeling has been accompanied by some of those doubts they call nagging that constantly suggest it just won't happen. And if it doesn't ever happen I now understand why. An understanding reached through the memory of my first love and my first heartbreak. An understanding of honesty.

My first love broke my heart. Yes into tiny bits and horrible pieces. Yes it was painful and yes it hurt terribly. But it wasn't broken with anything other than honesty. I grant you that in innocence and youth relationships are perhaps less complicated, but we only know that through the benefit of our useless hindsight. At the time of our experiences they are as real and hurtful and complicated as we can ever know or ever imagine. And the imprints stay with us always.

With my first experience of heartbreak there was no malice aforethought ... no sly deceits to tarnish the memories and no spite or cruelty to taint them. When in time all the bits and pieces were finally put back together my heart was able to shimmer forever in the afterglow, having been buffed by experience and polished with the truth.

Sadly my most recent experience of heartbreak bears little resemblance to my first. It started off with a glimmer but then slowly but surely each bright moment was pinched out by the discovery of another lie, each new lie extinguishing the flickers of truth I still held onto. Finally I reached the point where the lights went out on my memories and they seemed real no more.

So if the time comes when you know you must break another's heart, dust down your conscience and do it honestly. A heart that is honestly broken honestly can get better. And your memories will shine with more brilliance if able to share in the reflected glory should you meet them unexpectedly in the pub one night.

Yours in hope & fear, AJ x

Dawn Chorus

Wow. So this is what life feels like when you're awake. I like it. With more of the figurative sleeping and a bit less of the beauty I feel like I have been out of circulation for quite some time. Lucky me that I finally got woken by a prick when he managed to grow some balls and put me out of my misery. Phew! Just in time - that Unicorn might have trotted right past the window while I was busy snoozing in my self-deluded bed of roses.

However. On awakening the initial reaction was understandably one of consternation. To put it mildly. Big consternation. And big loneliness. There I was, the dreams of absent friends fading fast as bleary eyed and blurry visioned I was faced with the daunting prospect of getting on with rest of my life on my own. So I thought.Until the troops arrived.

An army of Fairy Godmothers and Princes, Gentle Giants and Guardian Angels descended right on cue to prove me wrong. And much as I hate to be wrong, on this occasion I am honoured to be so. Because not only have all these kind hearts, helping hands, strong shoulders, loaned ears and open arms shown me I am not alone, they have done so with such genuine grace, warmth and humanity that it … well, it brings back those bloody tears!

So, Dear Little Blister and B-in-Law, H, Munchie and Mum, Crockabilly, Big Cuz and Juicy, Little Cuz and Popey, New Male Friend and Kate, The Steamking, Irish, Nana Choclat and Dad, Pop-Pops, Pagan Pal, Pagan Queen …and Con-Con and Tin Tin ... thank you for your wake-up calls. Thank you for helping me see I am not alone.

And thank you for being such a caring and loving and crazy dawn chorus of family and friends heralding the start of a new chapter in my life. I hope you enjoy the read.

Yours in hope & fear, AJ x

Fizms

Oh Pants. There was me thinking I had at one time been loving Him Formerly when, Little Blister announces I haven't. She said I had been doing that thing, "You know," she said " that word that ends in fizm that you do to the dogs." Initially I didn't follow. "You mean anthropomorphism?" I queried, thinking that couldn't be what she meant. After all, the definition of said word is 'Attribution of human motivation, characteristics, or behavior to inanimate objects, animals, or natural phenomena.'

On the second think I realise she actually has a fair point.

Yours in hope & fear, AJ x

Not Very Interesting Progress Report

Knowing I was somewhat overdue on blogging up a general progress report I decided tonight was the night. Only I couldn't remember what it was I am meant to be reporting on the progress of, at least not without referring back to earlier blogs. How. Embarrassing. *Blush*. In itself that will undoubtedly explain why in some areas things haven't been going to plan.

Namely Getting Thinner hasn't been going to plan. I got all over-excited when I weighed in under 13 stone for the first time in about 178 years and that feel good feeling made me come over all taking my eye off the ball and I now weigh in at 13 stone and .... four ruddy pounds!

Aaargh. Well. It was 'aargh' for a little while and then I realised I wasn't looking on the bright side. Clearly it has nothing to do with bagels and wine and baked brie with redcurrant sauce and black pudding mash and lemon posset and shortbread biscuits. It is because happiness weighs more than sadness. *Big pleased with self grin*.

However, as happiness is evidently a little heavier than sadness - and I currently have a pretty good stash of happiness to hand - it will require a slightly more impressive commitment to the 4 x 10 activities in order to get back on track. Starting with 4 x 10 bicep and tricep thingies in about half an hour.

Getting Out More - I am pretty successful on this front as I am enjoying getting out more. Even if you include the visits to the launderette I now have to make because it would appear I have ruined the washing machine's life too. Pfft.

Learning to Drive - This one is on hold. For a bit. After Nice Man became a little less nice I got scared and felt I needed a break. Of course, that in turn made me feel a bit like a bit of a failure. Fortunately The Crockabilly was to hand with a pep talk and suggested I shouldn't be taking driving lessons as if they were some kind of medicine - all thoroughly unpleasant but necessary for survival.

He suggested they might be regarded as fun (Really?) and that driving might just be something to look forward to rather than something I must do or else! Interesting concept. So I discussed it with Nice Man who implied that The Crockabilly might be on to something. I can now be found in the launderette muttering "driving is fun, driving is fun, driving is fun ...."

Considering a Career - A career? At my age? I can hear a Ricky Gervais cackling "You're 'avin' a laugh" in my head. A freakin' career. I am categorically decided I am not the career type. Obviously. Otherwise I would have one already.

What I do have is a bloody vocation. It's always been there and I really want it but it is still proving difficult to spit it out and admit it. Because to admit it will mean I have to try it and if I try it and fail then surely is game over. You know. I don't even want to talk about it. So I won't.

In the meantime I will be flouncing up my CV for the fallback position in case I can't find where I put that courage I wrote about yesterday.

Yours in hope & fear, AJ x

No Guarantees

Having gone public with gone fishing I have heard reports of a strange phenomenon called The Rebound, my understanding of which leads me to believe it would be a less than peachy experience. Seeing as I am not up for anything that falls short of peachy in my current frame of mind methought further investigation would be required.

As with all things that require further investigation, I googled it. And evidently The Rebound is quite a well understood phenomenon as Google took only 0.51 seconds to return 63,000,000 results. I didn't feel inclined to check them all so I ignored 62, 999, 995 of them. From the rest I gained some useful insights. And some not so useful ones too.

Useful: "If you spend most of your time thinking about your previous relationship, feeling sad and questioning where things went wrong, you are probably experiencing a rebound relationship."

"What relationship?" I queried. Fifteen years with Him Formerly might count as a relationship on a technical level and yes, as evidenced within these blogs I have done a lot of feeling sad and questioning where things went wrong. However, during my time of my soul-searching, anguish and recovery, Him Formerly has made it a whole lot easier for me to get over the shock by revealing a whole host of colours I never knew existed. Or at least didn't see. Him Formerly is not The Bear I started a relationship with. No, no. The Bear left the scene a long time ago - he just neglected to tell me and I had my fingers in my ears anyway.

Not Useful: Send off $39.99 for your Guide to Avoiding A Rebound, Guaranteed.

Useful: "Check your compatibility with anyone you want to embark on a new relationship with."
"Ok" I replied and got out my checklist.

Good looking. (No, I am not that shallow but a certain amount of physical attraction or chemistry is important if you intend to swap body fluids with someone. Otherwise you might gag. Or retch. Which could prove embarrassing for both parties.) Check. In fact, C.H.E.C.K.
Good talker. Check.
Emotionally intelligent. Check.
Good listener. Check.
Good listener (well, I talk a lot so it's better to be doubly sure.) Check.
Trustworthy. Scary as it might seem, Check.
Good sense of humour. Check. PMSL. Check. Need a Tena Lady. Check.
Good with dogs. Check. Check. Check.
Creative. Check.
Intelligent. Check.
Too bloody intelligent for his own good. Check.
Knows he's too bloody intelligent for his own good. Check
Good at knowing what you're thinking before you say it. Check.
Good at being an all round good guy in a too-good-to-be-true-so-it-probably-isn't-so-take-off-your-rose-tinted-specs-kind of way. Check.

Not Useful: Send off $39.99 for your Guide to Avoiding A Rebound, Guaranteed.

There are no guarantees. I can't promise you I am not experiencing The Rebound. I can only promise you I have gone into it with eyes wide open and scale free. And I can't promise Project: Life Changing won't see any more tears. But there is always the possibility they might be tears of joy.

Like those shed when Mr Too-Good-To-Be-True witnessed me stamp my feet and shout "I want a pony." He heard what I said and handed me a Unicorn.

Yours in hope & fear, AJ x

Gone Fishing

I thought I was suffering from writer's block, even though I suspect there isn't really such a malady. Then I realised I was just suffering from liar's block. I have been struggling to write my blog because I have been struggling with what to say and what not to say. Not strictly lying, but not strictly telling the truth either.

The truth is I think I have fallen a little bit in love with someone. Which doesn't seem to fit with with the plan I had laid down for Project:Life Changing and certainly makes a mockery of the sentiments expressed in earlier blogs. So it seems. But then again, perhaps someone was making a mockery out of me.

Someone was pretending to love me, saying they loved me and yet I didn't feel it. If I dared to question the lack of affection, the lack of physical closeness, the lack of communication, in fact, the lack of anything, my questions, my concerns, were refuted. Point blank. So for years I stood frozen in point blank range, a target immobilised with lies, connivance, masquerading and pretence. All because someone lacked the courage to tell the truth.

It is the lack of courage, the cowardliness of covert affairs at the expense of someone else's faith that I find, quite frankly, loathsome. (The lovers of the cryptic among you might like to check out the etymology on that word.)

So why the frick would I behave in the same way? Why the frick would I become secretive and coy in the very medium where my honesty has brought me so much joy? Erm ... I am hazarding a guess it's a bit to do with courage and a lot to do with its lacking.

I'll be damned if I am going down that route. When it comes to my heart I have never been a coward, it has always sat comfortably out there on the end of my sleeve. But of late, as I tried to tuck it up my sleeve and keep it hidden, things have become a lot less comfortable. A discomfort compounded by the fact there has been another heart on another's sleeve waiting for me to rediscover my courage.

And you know what? I think I found it when I went fishing. I am indeed hook, line and sinkered.

Yours in hope & fear, AJ x