A Friend Indeed....

Well. What can I tell you. I'm having a coffee down town.

I've picked my things up from Linny's...all one bag of it...and am waiting for another friend, Maxine, to meet me here. She's lending me her place for the week while she's away on some kind of a course. She's a Career Girl.

So, Linny gets her place back....and I move on to borrow someone else's bed.

I can't go on like this.

You know, it feels like I'm holding myself back. Like I'm scared to start living my own life, with just me to take responsibility and me to make the choices. I'm a grown-up woman, not a 16 year old! How ridiculous is that?

Anyway, I was scribbling a list of things on the back of the Sunday newspaper....

'I AM strong'
'I AM confident'
'I AM brave'
'I AM independent'
'I AM capable'

I was just getting to the 'I AM starting my new life today' when Maxine sits down opposite me, peers over at what I'm writing and says "Oh! I thought you were Alex?"

Now, I would normally call her a Smart***, but as you can see, I've joined the 'Kind Blog' group today and so, this New Me is going to be Nice.

I attempted a laugh in reply but needn't have bothered, she laughed loudly enough for both of us.

Slinging her keys down on the table just hard enough to knock my coffee over, she peered over at me, too close for my liking.

"Hmmmn. For someone who's just been to Mauritius, you're horribly pale. Too self-conscious to bare some flesh, were you?"

I smiled through slightly clenched teeth.

"Pale's beautiful, don't you know? Skin cancer and all that....Thanks Max, I owe you", and I was gone.

About this 'KIND' thing.

I don't want to be angry or bitter anymore. I don't want to waste my energy thinking horrible things about HIM (except I do hope it rained every day in Mauritius), I just want to move on and concentrate on me and my new life. I'm finding alot of kind people are out there, so I'd rather give my time and energy to them instead. This is the new good, kind, strong, confident me!

Oh, and about Maxine.

Yes, I'm sure she knew all along I hadn't been to Mauritius. She just likes to score points. But- she's lending me her place for a week, and that's a nice thing to do.

Oh, and did I mention that she's actually His friend?

This could be complicated.

I promise- by Wednesday next week, I'll have a job.

Really.

'The Moving Finger Writes, and having Writ..'

I've just come across a great blogger I want to share with you-Having Writ.

Well, firstly, her name caught my attention, because 'Having Writ' is part of my very favourite quote, one that my dad taught me when I was younger...

'The Moving Finger writes, and Having Writ, Moves On....'

'See?' my dad would say. 'Once you've said something, or written something to soemone, it's really hard to take it back, so think before you speak...'

I was about 8.

Really excited, I read on- and what do you know, Having Writ has the very same quote, right there in her profile!!!


'The moving finger writes, and having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.'


Someone else loves The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam as much as I do! I'm sold!


So, just for 'Having Writ', these are some of my favourite verses of his:


'How long, how long, in infinite
Pursuit
Of This and That endeavour and
dispute?
Better be merry with the fruitful
Grape
Than sadden after none, or bitter,
fruit.'

'Indeed the Idols I have loved so
long
Have done my Credit in Men's Eye
much wrong:
Have drown'd my Honour in a
shallow Cup
And sold my Reputation for a Song.'

Ah Love! could thou and I with
Fate conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Would not we shatter it to bits-
and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's
Desire!'

for Carmi...

This is especially for Carmi....




I hope I got it right!

Blogging is Good For My Health

I’ve been back for a few days now but too depressed to write. Couldn’t think of anything to say except how lousy I feel right now and how well….. how lousy I felt…and where’s the fun in that?…

But then I remembered that this is the point of the blog. I can write anything here that I want. He won’t see it! And if He did, I probably wouldn’t know. And if I do know, I refuse to care.

Blogging is Officially Good For Me.

I can get things off my chest, express my fears,
Moan and groan, offload, chew things over,
I can make plans, confess secrets, talk about my hopes for the future.
And I can laugh.

It’s a hell of a lot cheaper than the £80.00 an hour therapy session He thought I should try.

What a cheek. Believe me, He needs it more.

In case you’re looking for an update -on Him- ….I can’t give you one. I have no idea where he is or what he’s doing, and I don’t care.

In fact, until I imagined you to be asking, I hadn’t even given him a thought.

Well, ok. Maybe only a tiny one. It’s just that I’d like to go back and get my earring and I need to figure out how and when. I don’t want to have to see Him, so I’ll have to be creative.

While I was at Celia’s, I went to see an old friend of my mother’s. His name’s Robert and he’s about 84 now. He lives in a tiny little cottage overlooking the sea, he’s lived there all his life as far as I know. His memory’s going a bit now and he kept getting me confused with my mother.
Not that I minded.
She once told me that Robert had rather fancied his chances with her, and almost proposed. They met during the war, and when it was over he came to see her and sort of hinted at marriage. My mother had to tell him- gently- that she’s just got engaged to my father. But they kept in touch and stayed friends, and it was always rather sweet.

I noticed a picture of him on the piano- him in his soldier's uniform.. looking proud, all handsome and serious. Then I saw the woman just to the left of him, slightly behind as if hiding from the camera. It was my mother in her Wren's uniform, smiling shyly at him. Her hand nestled in his elbow. Taken during the war I suppose, maybe he brought her home on leave, to meet his family. They did those things, back then.

The thing is, he never married. I don’t know if it was because he’d only loved my mother, or whether he’d just never found anyone else; but he seemed quite sad about it. It suddenly struck me how lonely he seemed now, and that got me all upset.


Is this was I’m destined for? Having been chucked away, like a piece of garbage; am I going to spend the rest of my life alone and lonely?

Then I told myself not to be so bloody stupid, and felt a bit guilty. How could I possibly compare Robert’s 64 years of being alone with my few weeks?

PERSPECTIVE- girl- PERSPECTIVE!

Keep it, and use it, don't lose it- that’s what I say.

Down by the sea...

I’m away at the minute, looking after my friend Celia’s flat while she’s in Spain, and as I didn’t bring my laptop I’ve had to wait until I could find an Internet Café. This last week has been really hard. I have too much time on my hands to think, I’m bored, I’m lost and I don’t know what to now. I can’t keep staying with friends, I know that; it’s not realistic. I need my own space, and god knows they do; but I need to be independent again and be responsible for myself. Four or five days is about all I can manage in someone else’s place, before I start feeling ‘in the way’ and noticing that the sofa’s not bug enough for 3 of us to squeeze on to.

It’s very scary though. I don’t know where to go to, what to do, who to be. My moods swing from feeling excited and optimistic about the future, and proud of myself for making this change, to feeling so scared at being alone, and feeling useless. No job, no money, no home, no career, and no man. Although I don’t mind that last one. Jeeez! What the hell have I been doing with my life?

Don’t think badly of me, but I admit, there have been moments, fleeting moments; when I’ve missed him. Not him, so much, but what I had with him. I don’t mean that I lie awake in bed at night, sobbing into my pillow because I’m so heartbroken; but sometimes something reminds me of a place we went together, or a holiday we took, and for a few seconds there I miss it. Which makes me sound shallow…like it was the lifestyle I loved, not him.

And maybe that’s the truth. We lived a lie together, brought together by a need to belong to someone; totally unsuited to each other but hiding behind the façade of money and wealth. By dumping me, he’s done me a favour. The difference is, I’ve woken up to what was really going on, the people that we both were. He’s just oblivious. He’ll never be able to change.

I’ll be here until Thursday, then I’ll be back at Linny’s. I’m supposed to be thinking about a job, but it’s too relaxing down here by the sea. I sit on the beach, just watching people. Making up stories in my head about who they are and what they’re doing. I love it, but I suppose I’m hiding away here.

I hope your week has been good so far.

What's a Girl to do?

I’ve been a bit bored the last couple of days, at a loose end I suppose. Usually my diary is packed with things but there’s nothing in it for the whole of this week. Or next week. Then I remembered why....I’m meant to be in Mauritius.

I went down to see Max, my friend who owns the café on the corner. I really went for a bit of a chat but the place was busy and Max was buzzing from table to table like a little bumble bee with a big smile. He let me sit at the corner table though, and threw in a free coffee for me, which cheered me up a bit.

I half-wondered if he’d offer me my job back- it doesn’t matter that it years ago, I could do it standing on my head! I was almost considering asking him, subtly of course, when a large, buxom blonde with a squeaky voice appeared out of the kitchen with a tray of doughnuts for the window.

That answered that then.

Had a browse through the job section in the local paper but became more disillusioned by the minute. Everything requires experience and references and qualifications. Apparently you need a degree just to be a rocket scientist.

I thought I’d better look as if I was being productive, at least, and started to make a list of the jobs I’d had. The list wasn’t going to be long. It was so long ago that I worked in the shop; I can’t even remember what year that was. Then there was the café job; that was a bit dodgy back then, what with being paid cash under the table.

I don’t have much to add to my CV then, other than the nanny jobs I’ve done. And somehow, when I’m trying to put a really shit-hot CV together, ‘nannying’ doesn’t really cut it.

A smartly-dressed woman came in to get a ‘latte to go’ and I realised it was my old doctor. Haven’t seen her for years. I should have been a doctor or something. Something with a career, something important and guaranteed to always be needed, then I wouldn’t be in this predicament.


I wondered, wistfully, what it would be like to be needed, to be valued and to know that I could walk into a job anywhere.

I suddenly don’t feel very useful.

Sandals On A Shelf

You won’t believe this, but he’s sent me a postcard from Mauritius.
How it got here so quickly I’ll never know, he must have sent the damn thing by courier.

‘Shame you’re not here’ it said. The worst of it is, I don’t know if he’s being sarcastic or not.

Anyway, I don’t care, I’m glad I’m not there. What would I be doing except shopping endlessly by day and being paraded on his arm like a possession, by night. I feel sick now when I think of how he called me his ‘eye candy’.

No, I’m glad I’m here, not there; even if I am homeless and living like a pauper now. I’ve learnt more about myself in the last few days than I have in the last few years and I like this new person I’m getting to know. This is reality, this is me.

About the sandals though…..I’m keeping them. I’ll never wear them, but when I get my own place, I’m going to give them pride of place on a shelf. They will be a reminder that prosperity doesn’t always bring happiness.