The splitting truth

I have been a little tied up these days, so Single Friend #1 had to narrate her latest misadventures over the phone. She had just started seeing this guy, when, on Saturday evening, he called a last-minute rain check, cancelled their date and left her watching endless repeats of Criminal Minds in full make-up, hair and LBD. (BTW, she is happy for me to tell the story because she wants everybody to know 'what an a-hole this guy is') At 3am, after she had finally dozed off (with a slight terror of serial killers bursting into her apartment), he texted to inform her that it was all over. He couldn't wait until the morning, as, 'walking down the night streets on his own, he thought of her and realised they had no future'. In a way, it was a brilliant move. While half asleep, one is hardly in the right state of mind to ask pertinent questions or make a scene. He then screened calls, so SF#1 is never to find out: 1) What future? 2) Why didn't he tell her before messing up her evening? 3) Couldn't he wait for six more hours? 4) Had she done/said something wrong? 5) Was he seeing somebody else? 6) WTF was he doing 'walking down the night streets on his own'???
I am happy to report that my friend is fine and not really bothered. But I am even happier she gave me the opportunity to recall some of the worst break-ups I experienced, from school days to adulthood.

There was the guy who asked his brother to get rid of me over the phone because the poor lad 'had to concentrate on his studies and could not afford to spend time with a girlfriend' (truth: he had found an older girl with big tits).
The one who couldn't go out with me because I was 'too cerebral' (truth: he had hooked up with a classmate on a school trip. Entirely my fault, I was already at University and should have known better).
My first big love, who split up with me the day I left the hospital after life-saving surgery because it was getting 'too intense' (yes, a near-death experience can be pretty intense and scary.. We did get back together after two weeks I spent crying uncontrollably).
The guy who, three weeks after moving in, announced he took a job in another country. News delivered on Saturday morning, car packed and on its way on Sunday evening (rush much?).
And my very own favourite - how could I forget. This bloke was in such a hurry to dispose of me, he decided to do it on the way to a fancy-dress party. Where he was going as a 'lady of the night'. Picture this: me, sweet 16, trying to keep a straight face while an olive-skinned six-footer with a blond wig, heavy make up, a tube top and a miniskirt informs me that he is way too young for a serious commitment and needs to be able to have multiple girlfriends. And BJs. Yes, I was dumped by a man in drag because I wasn't giving him head. How could I not laugh??

Good cop, bad cop – a.k.a, who’s in charge of the remote control?

Is it true that in every relationship there is the natural formation of a dominant/submissive arrangement? That one person leads and the other follows? That one has slightly more power?

There may be a couple of different factors at play.

First, personalities. Some men and women are natural leaders, they make decision, they like to be in control. Others can’t really be bothered, are happy to go down a beaten path and don’t appreciate confrontation. As my dad used to say, if two people are pulling a rope from either end, nobody is going very far.

Second, mosaic behaviour (not sure it exists, I may have just made it up). That is to say, we are all both pushy and pushovers, just in different areas of our lives. For example, I may be the indiscussed remote-control hogger and general stuff-arranger around the house, but adjust easily to main life decisions.

Third, unbalanced affection. Love is a bitch, we all know that. And - forgive me Dante for quoting you on this blog - it is not true that ‘amor a nullo amato amar perdona’. Being in love with someone does not make them love you back. Or, at least, not necessarily in the same measure. There is usually a chaser and a chased, an obsessed and an obsession, one who can face the idea of a break-up and one who doesn’t sleep at night worrying about it.

Good news is, I don’t think these patterns are set in stone. Au contraire, they are highly volatile. You can be a follower in one relationship, and a leader in another. Because you grow up, get fed up, or just need to complement your past or your present. Sometimes you are just fooled, by entering a relationship convinced of being chased, and then ending up chasing mercilessly after you are in too deep to get out.

Again, as my dad used to say, sometimes you just have to keep trying, until you get it right.

Wedding rings

One of the differences between men and women: a woman notices and remembers if someone is wearing a wedding band, an engagement ring, the tan mark of a ring that was once there. A man, unless he is Sherlock Holmes or another fictional detective, won’t have a clue. As part of our biological predisposition to map out relationship networks, we like to ‘figure people out’, to create a narrative for strangers, acquaintances, friends.

I find the statement that rings on the left fourth-finger make quite intriguing. How many meanings can they have.. ‘I am taken’; ‘You are mine’; ‘I made a promise’; ‘Please, don’t get anywhere near me/my beloved’; ‘I need a reminder of my marital status’; ‘You and I wear the same ring – we are on the same team’; ‘You singles suck’; ‘I am a tough guy, but this is my soft spot’; ‘I love bling’; ‘I am in love’; ‘I like to look at my hand and think of you; ‘I am throwing it out of the window – that’s what I think of our marriage’; ‘Please, take it back, I don’t love you anymore’; ‘Your divorced, dead mother’s engagement ring? I don’t think so’; ‘This is not what you were supposed to buy!! Go out and start looking again’; ‘Wow, you shouldn’t have to, it is huge (yes, you should have, all my friends will be green with envy)’; 'Geez, I am married, will it ever sink in?'; 'I like being married; marriage suits me.. for the fourth time'; 'I am unconventional and will wear what I fancy'; and so on...      

And yet, there is nothing as private and unique as a relationship between two people who are or have been in love. And that’s why rings startle me every single time: they are a public expression of a personal status. But then, what do I know?

The dog ate my blog

It is not that I am being lazy these days. I am mainly confused. And kind of sad. And when I am sad, I am incredibly grumpy, and then negative, and a drama queen. And in general, I don't like to write moody posts that don't mean much to anybody but me.
Hopefully this won't last long.. Otherwise the blog is kaput!

Zippo

Knock knock
Hoohooo!! Ue'!! Ohi!! Hey!!

Nothing.
Lights on, but nobody at home.

My mind is a desert.

The great escape

Running, as usual, on my way to the station from work, tonight my proverbial clumsiness led me to miss a step and twist my ankle. Nothing serious, but it forced me to slow down considerably; and miss my train. Which begs the question: where are we rushing to all the time? To better jobs, better selves, better relationships? ENOUGH. That's it, I give up. What's the point anyway? At my sweet old age, do I really have a chance to improve?
A friend recently wished me a Happy New Year of emotional competence.. I appreciate the thought, I really do, but there isn't a chance on earth it is going to happen. Not for lack of trying. But for lack of spots left on my coat to try and change. As another friend once said, if it all goes tits up, c'est la vie!

Never mind the bollocks

Bollocks to New Year resolutions, changes, self help and improvements.
Bollocks to the future, brilliant ideas and progress.
Bollocks to legacies.
Although I did have a minor panic today. If I died, how would I be remembered (if remembered at all)?
So I destroyed 18 years worth of diaries, of notes and random thoughts. And deleted quite a few blog posts.
This one will probably follow shortly. Until then, so long.
PS
Having thought about it a bit longer, I don't give a toss about how I will be remembered. But bad writing is never going to be pleasant to find.