When a relationship is dying, but you are still in love and try to hold on to whatever is left, does the comfort of each other's company help, or does it just protract the agony?
Failures are never easy to admit. Whether it is a job, a friendship or love, to accept being wrong, or, worse, in the wrong place at the wrong time, is a struggle. Starting all over can be exciting, but detaching yourself from the old, before the new sets in, is, to say the least, painful.
Married Friend #2 had a major breakdown this week. To an incredulous husband, she admitted the unbalanced, unhappy nature of their relationship and just bust into days of unstoppable tears. To love someone you can't fully have, who doesn't love you back the way you want them to can transform perfectly functioning, successful individuals into self-doubting, self-loathing idiots. Basking in the martyrdom of unrequested acts of sacrifice and self-flagellation.
There is a time when one needs to stand up and walk away. Usually when the balance has tipped. When the grief outweighs the joy.
But what about the practicalities of relationships that keep people together? The visible as well as invisible ones? The habits? The closeness? The secrets?
As I said, not easy. Trouble is, when you realise that there is no curative option, there is no turning back. And if you wait too long, more life will have passed by without a resolution.
Somehow, it is almost easier to be dumped. But then, whose choice was it in the first place, once power of negotiation is lost?
Thursday 24 March 2011
Wednesday 23 March 2011
Elizabeth Taylor - random blog post
Oh my.. I just looked over the shoulder of the guy sitting next to me on the train to read on his newspaper that Elizabeth Taylor died today.
Who cares? I care. Well, in a very wide sense, I care. Because, you see, in the past year I found myself quoting, yes, quoting, Ms Taylor a strangely high number of times. With eight (eight? Not sure, didn't read the full article, the owner wasn't interested and turned the page too quickly) marriages behind her, she is the EI queen bee, the model of all EI behaviour. My role model? OK, now we are taking it a little too far.
Although.. You have to admire the courage, the persistence, the relentless optimism. The insane belief that next time it will be better, that it will be worth it. That, despite opposing circumstances, two people who are meant for each other will eventually be together. Hmmm.. I know, I am not very convincing.. I am not even persuading myself here. I am back sitting on the fence these days. Not taking a stance on the pros and cons of love. It has to be said, though, one most certainly needs to be slightly deranged to fall in love. Not afraid of risk, of gambling. Of losing, or, more scarily, of winning. And to do it so many times.. Respect.
So, goodbye, Elizabeth Taylor. You gave me some good words I cannot remember anymore. Good words you couldn't live by. Will I?
PS
On a very different note: can someone please hijack Donald Trump's head and cut all is hair off?? It is embarrassing to even look at..
Who cares? I care. Well, in a very wide sense, I care. Because, you see, in the past year I found myself quoting, yes, quoting, Ms Taylor a strangely high number of times. With eight (eight? Not sure, didn't read the full article, the owner wasn't interested and turned the page too quickly) marriages behind her, she is the EI queen bee, the model of all EI behaviour. My role model? OK, now we are taking it a little too far.
Although.. You have to admire the courage, the persistence, the relentless optimism. The insane belief that next time it will be better, that it will be worth it. That, despite opposing circumstances, two people who are meant for each other will eventually be together. Hmmm.. I know, I am not very convincing.. I am not even persuading myself here. I am back sitting on the fence these days. Not taking a stance on the pros and cons of love. It has to be said, though, one most certainly needs to be slightly deranged to fall in love. Not afraid of risk, of gambling. Of losing, or, more scarily, of winning. And to do it so many times.. Respect.
So, goodbye, Elizabeth Taylor. You gave me some good words I cannot remember anymore. Good words you couldn't live by. Will I?
PS
On a very different note: can someone please hijack Donald Trump's head and cut all is hair off?? It is embarrassing to even look at..
Tuesday 22 March 2011
Monday 14 March 2011
M&S or S&M?
A mini survey among people in a relationship indicates that most really big arguments and sorry disagreements revolve around two main issues: sex and money. (Preferably, not together, i.e. money for sex)
Although not a real deal-breaker, and certainly not a cause for end-of-the-line discussions, shoes, yes shoes, may sometimes polarise opinions and feed the modern-day man/woman divide. How?
It is a well-known fact: most women have an obsessive compulsive desire for shoes and handbags. One of the reasons: they will always look good on you, regardless of the size of your butt. It used to be quite improbable that a man understands and cherishes the unstoppable need to purchase tens of dozens of possibly salary-defying shoes. Some of which are never to be worn, but just gazed at in lust and admiration for days and months. However, in this day and age of metrosexuality, chances are men spend just as much on covering their extremities and demand their companions to be perfectly cladded too. In high heels.
Let's face it, heels are wonderful and gorgeous and make your legs look longer and leaner. If you skipped the long-leg queue on Creation Day, they also take you up to kissable height, without having to stretch your neck like a ring-bearing African tribe woman. But, unless you can drive or be cabbed around all day, they are also a major cause of pain and tears. I am not joking. I insist on wearing a pair of fairly new shoeboots that literally make me sob half way to the office every single time. The obvious solution and compromise would be elegant, cute, comfortable flats. So fashionable, so on-trend, so walkable. Too easy... As this is where Venus and Mars collide. For most men there are No. Good. Flat. Shoes. None whatsoever. Forget it. They are 'just flat shoes', undeserving of any adjectival connotation. Like an M&S tee-shirt, which, no matter how they may try and spin it, is just a tee-shirt. It does its job, end of story. Not much else to say.
What to do then? To be honest, I don't have an answer, I really don't. I personally refuse to carry spare pairs or hide them under my desk. It somehow feels like a final fashion defeat. Also, I already constantly carry a house-worth of handbag content (see previous posts) that any addition needs to be highly justified. Therefore my shoe collection is split in two: shoes to be driven around in, and shoes that can safely take me from A to B. In the meanwhile, I carry on looking for the perfect catch: the comfortable and yet beautifully sexy heels.. I am sure my unstoppable optimism will some day be rewarded.
Although not a real deal-breaker, and certainly not a cause for end-of-the-line discussions, shoes, yes shoes, may sometimes polarise opinions and feed the modern-day man/woman divide. How?
It is a well-known fact: most women have an obsessive compulsive desire for shoes and handbags. One of the reasons: they will always look good on you, regardless of the size of your butt. It used to be quite improbable that a man understands and cherishes the unstoppable need to purchase tens of dozens of possibly salary-defying shoes. Some of which are never to be worn, but just gazed at in lust and admiration for days and months. However, in this day and age of metrosexuality, chances are men spend just as much on covering their extremities and demand their companions to be perfectly cladded too. In high heels.
Let's face it, heels are wonderful and gorgeous and make your legs look longer and leaner. If you skipped the long-leg queue on Creation Day, they also take you up to kissable height, without having to stretch your neck like a ring-bearing African tribe woman. But, unless you can drive or be cabbed around all day, they are also a major cause of pain and tears. I am not joking. I insist on wearing a pair of fairly new shoeboots that literally make me sob half way to the office every single time. The obvious solution and compromise would be elegant, cute, comfortable flats. So fashionable, so on-trend, so walkable. Too easy... As this is where Venus and Mars collide. For most men there are No. Good. Flat. Shoes. None whatsoever. Forget it. They are 'just flat shoes', undeserving of any adjectival connotation. Like an M&S tee-shirt, which, no matter how they may try and spin it, is just a tee-shirt. It does its job, end of story. Not much else to say.
What to do then? To be honest, I don't have an answer, I really don't. I personally refuse to carry spare pairs or hide them under my desk. It somehow feels like a final fashion defeat. Also, I already constantly carry a house-worth of handbag content (see previous posts) that any addition needs to be highly justified. Therefore my shoe collection is split in two: shoes to be driven around in, and shoes that can safely take me from A to B. In the meanwhile, I carry on looking for the perfect catch: the comfortable and yet beautifully sexy heels.. I am sure my unstoppable optimism will some day be rewarded.
Tuesday 8 March 2011
Brief encounters
I once spent an afternoon with Best Friend's Little Sister in the Selfridge's lingerie department, in the desperate attempt to find something sexy (while still retaining a crotch), practical (how on earth am I supposed to put on a 30-clasp corset? Who am I, Scarlett O'Hara??), feminine (is it just me finding slippers with pink, fluffy bits something that either cocottes or old aunts would wear?), slightly naughty (without dangerous, poky, metal bits) and available in bra sizes above an A-cup. What did I leave with? An anti-shock gym bra. The first and only item to catch my attention. And the strengthening of my conviction that non-matching underwear is perfectly acceptable. OK, maybe not all the time.
However, to my surprise, a not too different experience awaited when, Father Ted style, I found myself dazed and confused on the men's floor of a clothes retailer. When did life get so complicated for you boys too? Sure, if you own big white pants, and you are not Sarah Jessica Parker wearing them ironically, ditch them now! What to buy instead.. your guess is as good as mine. The obvious answer is shorts. But, how short? How tight? Cotton, lycra or silk? Exposed or sawed-in elastic band? Patterns? And in the summer? Thongs are a no-no, but budgie smugglers? (He he, don't know why, but the words 'budgie smugglers' make me giggle every time..) Too much information at the wrong time, like watching a CSI autopsy while having dinner?
This may seem a superficial concern, but I will need to face my fear of underwear fitting fairly soon. According to my mum, as a woman hits her late 30's-early 40's she is enraptured by the unstoppable need to buy colourful clothes and extravagantly expensive lingerie. The female, less costly version of a Porsche. What am I going to do? How will I enjoy my well-deserved middle-life crisis? Please, let me have one, I don’t want to miss out..
Sunday 6 March 2011
Brain freeze
I don't know what's going on with me, but somehow I am not able to string more than two sentences together.
There are plenty of notes and half-written posts in my Drafts, but I don't have enough neurons going about to actually finish a...
There are plenty of notes and half-written posts in my Drafts, but I don't have enough neurons going about to actually finish a...
Saturday 5 March 2011
Wednesday 2 March 2011
The vanishing act - Part 2
What is it about? Some of you have asked.
About me being too busy to live? Or going on a very brief holiday? About friends who don't reply to my messages? The Sunday paper insert always finding its way out of my bag? WW points that are never enough? Night sleeps that are often too short? District Line ghost trains getting lost underground? Friends who are or will be far far away? Little persons to be returned to their parents? George? Hopes, silly dreams and good looks? Resolves, strengths and good intentions? Good ideas, inspiration, half sentences? Love?
Maybe all of the above. Maybe none.
But if you keep disappearing, I am going to flog you senseless. Yes, you.
About me being too busy to live? Or going on a very brief holiday? About friends who don't reply to my messages? The Sunday paper insert always finding its way out of my bag? WW points that are never enough? Night sleeps that are often too short? District Line ghost trains getting lost underground? Friends who are or will be far far away? Little persons to be returned to their parents? George? Hopes, silly dreams and good looks? Resolves, strengths and good intentions? Good ideas, inspiration, half sentences? Love?
Maybe all of the above. Maybe none.
But if you keep disappearing, I am going to flog you senseless. Yes, you.
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