I try to be honest when I write. But I’m also very conscious of people I write about or reference. Although I can count the people who read this without needing my toes, I’m careful not to make people obviously identifiable; while my “inner circle” might know who they are, the casual reader wouldn’t. I also attempt to be balanced and acknowledge that my feelings and views aren’t the only possible perspective and be sensitive to other peoples’ feelings and situations.
I’ve been particularly aware of that recently as, although I haven’t seen or heard from the boy (or “the fuckwit” as he’s now known to my friends) since our final meet, I know he’s active on Twitter (it was “our space” for a brief period) and still follows me. This blog is linked to my Twitter account so it’s possible he may read it.
He also blogs. Mainly poetry or political prose and I’ve consciously not looked at it since we ended things. However I was tipped off that there was a new post that I might want to read. I wish I hadn’t. It’s a recounting of a night out with a friend. From the headline that’s all good. Time with friends is precious and can be a much needed restorative.
Bearing in mind we parted ways because, although he allegedly cared deeply about me, he felt he needed to give his 25-year relationship one last attempt at resuscitation, even though it had apparently been dead in the water for over a decade. Imagine therefore my joy at reading about his evening of chatting up various barmaids and handing out his contact details. Yep. You got it. He clearly doesn’t have the same ethics or cares about his potential readership as I do. More fool me.
From deluded idealist to complete player in one fell swoop. I definitely got played and I’m an idiot for believing anything he said. And blokes wonder why women have trust issues! There must be one decent single bloke out there, surely. Someone prove me right, please.
Generally if things appear too good to be true it’s because they are. My fledgling relationship didn’t make it out of the nest, sadly.
I thought because we’d known each other so long things would be different, but I was wrong. I received a “Dear John” text. Usual excuse, “it’s not you, it’s me, I need space”. Whatever.
I don’t have a particular issue with that, if I’m honest. Everyone deals with things differently. Has daemons to battle and mountains to climb that others can’t see and don’t know about. If it’s not right, it’s not right.
What stung for me was the method of delivery. A text message. Not a face to face conversation or even a phone call. Just a text message in the early hours when he presumably thought I’d be asleep and not able to respond. I found that really disrespectful and pretty cowardly. Clearly being the first love/muse counts for nothing.
So I’m dusting myself off, trying to undent my pride and restore my dignity and self-esteem to functional levels. One day I shall be that old lady who wears purple, talks to trees and hoards cats. But not today.
2018 is still unfurling itself. I am determined it will be my year. My trust may be low and my cynicism high but hope still abounds; you never know what – or who – is just around the corner.
So we’re at the first day of the year again already. 2017 was a challenging year, but not without its rewards. I spent far more time in ICU wards than I would have liked and, although one of the OAPs pulled through and is restored to good health, we lost another earlier this month.
Through that turmoil, some big work changes and the start of a fledgling relationship, I’ve been surprised by the reactions of some. You think when you hit this age that friendships are set but this year proved otherwise. I’ve been humbled by the support and love given by many, and saddened by those who stepped back or away completely for whatever reason. Others have reconnected and new friendships have also been forged. On balance my circle is healthier for it.
All the best for 2018. Grasp it, enjoy it, live it. It’ll be awesome, it’ll hurt, you’ll laugh and you’ll cry. Submerse yourself in it and do the best you can. Life is short; don’t waste it, make it count.
As my favourite group of Swedes would say (and did say, way back in 1979) Happy New Year.
No more champagne
And the fireworks are through
Here we are, me and you
Feeling lost and feeling blue
It’s the end of the party
And the morning seems so grey
So unlike yesterday
Now’s the time for us to say…
Happy New Year, Happy New Year
May we all have a vision now and then
Of a world where every neighbour is a friend
Happy New Year, Happy New Year
May we all have our hopes, our will to try
If we don’t we might as well lay down and die
You and I
Sometimes I see
How the brave new world arrives
And I see how it thrives
In the ashes of our lives
Oh yes, man is a fool
And he thinks he’ll be okay
Dragging on, feet of clay
Never knowing he’s astray
Keeps on going anyway…
Seems to me now
That the dreams we had before
Are all dead, nothing more
Than confetti on the floor
It’s the end of a decade
In another ten years time
Who can say what we’ll find
What lies waiting down the line
At the end of eighty-nine…
Well, hello again. I hadn’t realised it had been quite so long. I’ve not even got a good excuse for being so neglectful. If any of you thought I’d finally met my Prince Charming and been swept off my feet in a romantic whirlwind I love you for that, but sadly not.
Two of my favourite folk, who amazingly met on Tinder about 3 years ago, got engaged at Christmas (and married last weekend, but that’s another story). I’ve started working as a sessional Registrar and officiating at weddings at weekends, and other people have also been coupling up which has brought my lack of a significant other into stark focus. I decided I ought to be a bit more proactive about this as, while I’m happy with my own company, I would far rather have someone to share life’s adventures with. At the same time I’ve been losing weight and so have a bit more self-confidence, although I am still rubbish at reading any “I’m interested signals” from the opposite sex.
I decided to dip my toes back into on-line dating in June this year after getting back from Glastonbury and the constant reminders that it would be much more fun with a plus one. A friend of mine is a social media guru and I did ask her for a recommendation of a dating site that would be less “shaggy” than others in London. Tinder, Love Struck, Plenty of Fish and My Single Friend all seem to be full of guys looking for a hook up or a bit on the side. No thanks; been there, done that.
She thought eHarmony might be a better option so I signed up for 3 months (see, no commitment issues here!) and dutifully read through the profiles they matched me with, sent smiles and comments. Nada. Zilch for the first couple of weeks. A few responses started trickling through, but were either from people in different continents (helpful) or guys wanting a hook up. Hmmm. I decided not to renew my subscription, and just before it expired a couple of chaps not too far away made contact – one in Kettering the other in Bedford. Marvellous I thought, a date may ensue. However not yet. They are both very chatty – message me on WhatsApp every day – but no suggestion of meeting. Sigh. I shall have to take the lead on this I guess, which I don’t really want to do as I have to do that all the time at work.
When I was posting before about my (lack of) dating activity, there was a guy at work who was seemingly interested (CSG). After cycles of interest and absence, then being taken for a night out at the Shard (fancy!) and then him being an arse, he left the organisation we both worked for. Probably the best outcome in reality. He has tried to contact me once since he’s been gone, but I’m not interested in his little power games any longer.
There are a couple of men in real life that I am interested in, but as usual am paralysed by overthinking the possible outcomes of everything going horribly wrong if I let them know I like them. I shall have to work on that. I’ll update you on progress!