Ode to albatrosses

When I set out on my path to find true love I never considered that I could find it so soon. Falling in love seemed like the difficult part. In reality life doesn't work like that; falling in love for most people is remarkable easy, its the not getting your heart broken once its taken the leap that is the problem.

My sister regularly has her heart broken. When I see her I try to understand her need to put herself out there but I just don't get it. She falls in love, has her heart totally trodden on, mopes, whines and begs, and then when things are so totally over even she starts to admit it, she falls in love with someone else.

Someone asked me once, if you and your fiancé broke up, you wouldn't be like that, you would survive wouldn't you? I guess the implication was that she couldn't survive a break up. I could survive a break up, I wouldn't want to, but I could and I'd move on. I'm a survivor, my heart gets hurt less because even when I'm in love, my heart is still closed.

We argue and he says horrible things, and I say horrible things and I can't cry. I cry afterwards, on my own, when I'm sat in an empty room after he's left our flat in anger, but I cant cry in front of him. If he broke up with me I wouldn't do the usual female litany and beg or stalk or cry and scream. I did all that once when I was seventeen and too young to know better. I learnt from my mistakes. But sometimes I wonder if I could be too closed off.

Right now he hates me and I don't blame him. I'm pushy, aggressive and demanding. I hold all the power in the relationship and right now I'm stressed out and making him miserable. I'm terrified that I'm leaving him behind and I can't talk to him about it because he just won't listen. I'm just about to get my BSc and he hasn't got anything to show for the last three years together. We adore each other when we have any time to ourselves, but he has to work full time in a crappy no hope job just to pay the bills and I have too much coursework and revising for exams at the minute to find time for dates and being loving.

Everybody has faults, I more than most. Someone once offered me a bracelet that apparently would give me good luck in love. I told him that thank you, but no thank you, I don't need luck in love. I am lucky in love, I've found the perfect man for me and there's nothing that is so wrong with him that I need to worry about my relationship. Unfortunately there's a lot that is wrong with me.

I would survive a break up. He wouldn't survive as well. I don't worry any more about our relationship ending, I worry that if it does, would he survive it and retain his innocence? If I could go from a whiny pathetic regular girl to a callous bitch in the space of one break up, I don't think I could live with watching something I did do that to him.

Labels: Being the Duck

How do good relationships fall apart? Maybe we fall into ruts, get tired of doing the same things, the same people, again and again. Maybe we fall in love with someone else- we don’t mean to, but sometimes you can’t help when you fall, or who it happens to be for. Maybe life gets in the way, a far away job, an illness, even a death. Maybe you’ve just forgotten who it was you fell in love with, and realise that the person you’re waking up next to every morning isn’t it anymore. Honestly I don’t know, if you love someone, why let them go?

I never intended to fall in love. I asked him how it felt to be loved by me once, he replied, “how does it feel to have broken the girl who couldn’t love, who didn’t want to, and who loved being single? It feels awesome.”

That’s how he sees it- he broke me, changed me into someone slightly different, someone maybe slightly better. But I never asked to be broken; it’s just something that happened accidentally along the way. And, occasionally, I wonder what it would have been like if I hadn’t been broken. I wonder what it would be like if I were allowed to kiss other boys, to act a little more my age, and to shake off the ties that are currently holding me back from doing those things.

We have a good relationship. I have a white gold commitment ring that promises, and reminds me, that I am promised to him, and that I must stay faithful. I love him more than I ever imagined I could love anything, or anyone. I don’t think I could ever love anyone more than I love him, but sometimes I wonder if we found each other too young.

Once I made the comparison of love to flying, once I thought love a myth similar, just out of reach, like I were built to love like I’m built for flying. And now that I’ve had experience of one, I think I wouldn’t be able to handle the other. As soon as you think you’ve got it sussed, suddenly something happens to make you think that you don’t know anything.

So how do good relationships fail? They fail when one person wants something slightly more, when everything is no longer enough. They fail when someone like me looks around and thinks that it might be nice to kiss another boy, when someone like me makes the biggest mistake of her life because she thinks there’s a better time for love.

Labels: Being the Duck

When I think about life just for thinking’s sake, I envision a sea of sand. Endless piles of shifting sandscape, orange, and dry in the unrelenting heat of the sun. I don’t know why that’s what I think of. It seems such a contradiction when you consider how much life there actually is in a desert. A rainforest would be more logical. But I guess it’s a reflection of my life rather than just life in general. And that is somewhat worrisome.

Why do I envision my life as a desolate wasteland? Nothing grows in sand. Yeah, sure, on a beach you’ll get some marram grass and a few bugs and stuff, but that’s right next to an enormous body of water. There aren’t any oceans in my images, its just desert, and deserts are devoid of life.

Lately I’ve had the same vision when thinking about love.

I asked a question today that I hadn’t even realised was really a question. I used to be so depressed. Maybe it’s just from habit, but I’ve always thought of myself as a happy person. I’m not. Outwardly happy, yes, but I’ve spent a lot of time depressed, unhappy, or just not particularly happy.

But lately it’s been better. It hasn’t just been better, it’s been wonderful. And I guess I made that observation. I might have even phrased it as a question. Whatever I did, the response was that it was Dave’s fault because he fucked me up. And that response shocked me somewhat. It shocked me a lot really.

I don’t blame my relative happiness or unhappiness on the men in my life. I don’t blame it on my friends; I won’t even blame it on my mother. In the end, yes, they’re factors. If I change one then it will make me happy for a day possibly, but it’s like teaching a man to fish, I have to know how to be happy with myself before I can be happy with everything else.

If you’ve read this blog before then you may have heard of Dave referred to as “the ex,” “Him,” or maybe even by his name, though that’s less likely as I tend to avoid names as much as possible to retain a certain amount of anonymity. If you haven’t read it before, then he’s simply a boy I fell in love with for a while. But for those of you who know of him, and have made judgements about him based on whatever I’ve said, I want to make a few things completely clear.

For a while I was messed up about him, but that was less to do with what he did to me, and more to do with the way I am. He didn’t treat me badly; he didn’t ever give me any false illusions of who he was or what he wanted from me; and he didn’t force me into anything or take anything I wasn’t more than willing to give. I want to make this very very clear, he was a bastard, yes, but not to me. He treated me better than I deserved considering some of my antics during the relationship, and we’re still friends. I still talk to him; I still get on very well with him. It wasn’t a bad break up in the end; it was the more than logical conclusion. And it was mostly my fault. If I’ve cried or whined on here about it, ignore that, I have cried and whined on here about it. But it’s my blog, that’s what it’s here for. To take the things I’ve said as fact proves that it was a very bad idea for me to ever write them down in the first place.

I can’t go back and unsay them. I can delete them to an extent, but how many people browse through the archives anyway? All I can do is tell you now that he isn’t a bad kid. He didn’t hurt me, I hurt me. Blaming him was the easiest way for me to feel better at the time, but it isn’t an accurate representation of what really happened.

I have a very unhappy life. I’ve tried, but sometimes it’s hard for me to work out a way to be happy with who and what I am. I’m not insecure, I just dislike the way I live, the way I act, and a lot of my personality in general. For a while I was extremely depressed, and yup that was during and after my break up. That wasn’t him “fucking [me] up,” that was because I did a very intelligent thing which was best for everyone and inevitable anyway, but just happened to take away the small amount of happiness that I’d recently acquired. He fucked me up by being the one person who actually did make me happy. My fucked upness wasn’t him, it was circumstantial.

I guess what I’m trying to say is simple. Yes, in a way he fucked me up, but that was just by being what I needed to make me happy at the time. I was constantly depressed before him, even a little bit when I was with him, and again after him. He made me happy, and I loved him. Here that seems incredibly important as I try to write more about relationships than my life as a whole as that is the purpose of the blog. But my life doesn’t revolve around men, not even him. I was unhappy because my home made me claustrophobic, I argued with my family constantly, I had no job or income, I was more than stressed out with exams, and my friends were utterly sick of me being unhappy and “moping.” Yes, I moped for him sometimes, but just to come and make it better.

I’m not in love with him anymore. And I’m not miserable. My home is more of a relief than I ever thought it could be. My family argue, but I find it hard to argue with people that I’ve missed so much it hurt. I don’t have a job again, but for a while I’m solvent, and I’ve had more than enough of work for a while, I’m happy just to relax for a few weeks. The exams are over, the results are back, and I’ve done better than I should, and will be leaving for uni on the 23^rd. My friends… they’re the best people in the whole world. They care about me, they disagree with me, the call me names, and they let me be me without complaints.

But I love him. I love him in the same way as I love Stacey and Hayley because all make me happy. All stave off the parts of me that want to curl up into a ball, cocoon myself in a duvet, and wallow in my own misery. And yes, there is a much higher likelihood of me sleeping with him than Stacey or Hayley. But I’ve dreamt a dream so vivid that it took me until seven o clock in the evening the next day to work out that it wasn’t a memory; it was only a dream, in which I slept with Hayley. And I’ve pretended to be a lesbian so many times with Stacey that I wouldn’t even attempt to count them. I’m not interested in women, but if I were then I’d fall head over heels for both of them.

I won’t end up in a relationship with any of those three, as much as I love them. I can’t regret any of the things that have happened with them, and I won’t blame anyone at all for my happiness. It’s mine, you have no right to take it away and tell me that someone else gets to dictate when I am or am not allowed to have it. I told you at the time that I’d always love him. I meant it. But you’re wrong if you think that my love for him is so frivolous that I wouldn’t be more than happy to settle with simply being friends with him. I can’t change the things that brought us here; I can’t regret them or wish that they would change. I’m happy with my life for once, and it is only I who will dictate the terms on which I live it.

Labels: Being the Duck, Falling, Past tense

He said: Yeah, I get leave in two and a half weeks. When will you be back?

She said: I don't know- I haven't booked yet. Sometime around the 26th.

He said: Well we should go out sometime when you get back. I need to catch up on some serious drinking.

She said: lol me too. This trip has put a serious dent in my plans to become an alcoholic good for nothing.

He said: I know, I haven't been drunk in nearly seven weeks! If I get drunk I can be kicked out! Think I'll enjoy getting drunk with you again, it usually ended quite well : )

To which, in the end, there was simply no way for me to reply. I'm a drama queen and an outspoken idiot, but I'm not good at showing my actual feelings. I guess I'm the female equivalent of those macho fools who keep their emotions locked in a box never letting anything show. And anyway, I'm not sure how to slap someone across the face by text.

Assuming that "ended quite well," means sex rather than falling over drunk a lot and laughing at each other, I have to wonder when "going out" was equated with sex. I'm also quite curious as to whether I even agreed that I would go out sometime with him. I don't think there's a "yes" in there anywhere. Though I can't really object that much to that one considering there was definite room for improvement in the clarity of my refusal. Personally I think I just avoided answering the question directly in order to leave my options open, and avoid conflict.

But the assumption that I will sleep with him is barely veiled, if at all. And that makes me wonder. What exactly does he want? Actually, that's a stupid question. I know exactly what he wants. But what? I'm just expected to sleep with him? Like there's just no chance of me rejecting him. I can reject him! I did it once (though only once and it ended up making me much more miserable than him) and I can do it again. Definitely.

I don't know why on earth this bothers me. The casual assumption that I will sleep with him whenever he wishes is irritating, but not entirely new. In fact, it's pretty much the story of the last six months. Or so. It's slightly more irritating now because we aren't together, and until now he hasn't actually said anything so completely impossible to ignore. "Going out sometime," is so easy to take the wrong way. You can debate whether it means "date" or "friendly gathering," for hours. But I know how everything ended with us; that isn't so easy to debate.

Basically he's a twat. I'm easier than I should be, but I'm not going to sleep with someone purely on their whims. I'll admit, I'd love to on a purely... animalistic(?) level. But letting him walk all over me isn't fair trade for an orgasm.

Labels: Being the Duck, Falling, Pleasure

What was the quote? Ah yes, "Nature abhors a vacuum," by the Colonel on one of the many letters that I posted on here rather than actually posting. Therapy via unsent letter writing. If you're reading me, and think that you would prefer something less serious, more funny, and significantly less self obsessed then I would reccomend the Colonel to you. In fact, the mood that I'm in, it's probably better to read anything else other than me. But, if you're hardcore and as obsessive about my life as I am, then sit back, relax, and get ready to hear me whine.

Right. A few nights ago I put the monster to bed. I was just leaving the room and he called out, "night night, love you," sleepily then closed his eyes. A kid on the verge of dozing off. I quietly said, "Night, love you too," like my grandmother used to before she left me to sleep when I was really little. I shut the door. Took one step, and sank down with my back to the wall and cried. Quietly so I wouldn't wake either of them up, but silent tears are the same as every other type of tear, except more frustrating because you know you must stay silent, share your pain with no one.

I can't say "love you." I can feel it the same as everyone else, but I can't act it or let it show. And until that moment when I closed the door on that sweet little kid who has been driving me utterly crazy for the past two weeks, I didn't realise how much I needed to be told that. When everyone thought that I was pregnant they said stuff like, "it'll be good for you," and how a baby would bring me out of myself, etc. And kids do that. They make me cry, and they make me realise that though they aren't my kids, I still really do love them. I live with them, I feed them, I bath them, I change their icky nappies, and when they tell me they love me I say the same right back.

And I'm turning my phone off. I can't think of any other way to do it. Just for a few days. I thought that a platonic relationship in which we talked occasionally would be fine. When He initially started texting me I was irritated, and confused. Then we talked about a lot of stuff, I wasted a lot of money, and I started to remember what it was that had drawn me to him in the first place. The attraction wasn't the first thing with us. When we met I was so drunk and basically sick to the teeth of men who were after me that I really didn't give a shit about the attractiveness of any fucking male in the place. Yet somehow I still managed to leave with him. You work that one out. I told him to go away, I left him twice to go and talk to my friend who was... otherwise engaged. I didn't want a guy, I'd already vowed that I was celibate and off men for good earlier that night.

Okay, I'll admit, our relationship ended up being a lot about sex. Can you fault me? I'm at the age where while I'm not still completely an adolescent ball of hormones, I'm still youthful, etc. But that first night I wasn't drawn to him because of any chemistry between us, the next morning I had absolutely no idea what he looked like, I couldn't even remember if he'd been attractive. I was drawn to him because of the way we talked to each other, the way he treated me, and the way he was persistent while still not acting like it mattered if he got me or not.

Yes, I know. Nature abhors me right now. But I don't like myself either. I've let him talk his way back in when we both know that he isn't in it for anything other than sex. And that's fine. With anyone else male then that accomodation suits me nicely. But not him. With him I guess it's either all or nothing. And I realised that when the kid told me he loved me. I want someone to tell me they love me. But better, I want the man I love to tell me he loves me. But we both know that he can't do that. And while with anyone else I'll do the one night stand, or the meaningless affair that lasts a fortnight or so, with him I can't.

So instead of continuing to promise something that I've just realised I had no intention of ever doing, even when I thought I actually would, I'm turning my phone off. No one else is interested in phoning me since I left the country anyway, it won't make any difference. Because thats what he expects. He expects sex because it's me, and he knows that I'll do meaningless. And I expected that too. It doesn't hurt anyone, we both know how to make each other happy, and we can both wake up the next morning and get on with everything else without really thinking of it as anything more than fun. But I now know that it would hurt me. I've just realised how much it's already hurt me. So I'm stopping.

Labels: Being the Duck, Falling, Introspection, Theatrics

Men. You fall in love with them, get cruelly rejected after however many months, despise them, finally manage to say goodbye, and then watch them leave, you think, forever. I said goodbye! It wasn’t even a “hey, have fun, see you when you get back,” type goodbye. It was a full on, melodramatic, “This is it, au revoir.”

Then on Monday night I receive a few texts. Just letting me know, “hey, I’m good, the navy rocks” type thing. Yeah, fine, I can deal. So I said goodbye, I was in a ratty mood when I said it, and being friends with your ex really isn’t so bad. I mean, yes, “I’m bigger than everyone else so no one is going to arse-rape me,” seems slightly strange overall as something to text your ex, but he is strange. I adore crazy people; I’m so damn insane myself. So I sent back a “hi, that’s nice,” and avoided further communication.

And, as always, he was completely and utterly unperturbed. Ten thirtyish last night, thinking of possibly going in search of something to eat (yes, I know, eating late at night is a VERY bad habit, but I can’t help when I’m hungry). Check my phone, “Have to get up at quarter to five tomorrow and no sex for the next six weeks!” Great.

When I want him to talk to me all I can get out of him is one argument, and a lot of pissed of texts along the lines of “go away.” Then, when I get over it and move on, he starts texting me about the various aspects of his sex life. If there is a god, he is seriously taking the piss.

A month ago I would have gladly replied with something cheeky and verging on flirty. A month before that I would have sent back something along the lines of, “Hah! I definitely don’t have the same problem”. I was really quite bitter for a while. But now… I don’t know. Now when I look back, I’m looking back at everything. I don’t just see the good and blank out all of the shit. And I also know that there’s no point to any of it as it is highly unlikely that I’m going to see him before Christmas, if even then.

God knows how often he’s going to be on leave and back up here, but I’m leaving in a weeks time for two months in Germany, then I’m going down to London as soon as I get back into the country. When I finally get back home I’ll have about two weeks before I’ve got to leave again for Edinburgh. Whether he’s considering some sort of booty call, or simply friendship, it doesn’t really matter.

But it isn’t fair. No one from my past seems to just stay in the past. There are always echoes, repeat incidents, and I always get messed up by them. I know, I’ll probably still be getting random crap of various ex’s when I’m thirty and still not contemplating settling down. That’s how they work, and I guess that’s sort of how I work too.

I don’t know. I’m confused, and annoyed, and amused all at the same time. I want him to go away and leave me alone because all he does is cause trouble. But I missed receiving all the crazy crap that he used to send me. I’ve missed the stupid conversations, and everything else that made up the relationship.

I don’t miss him. But the texts make me miss him. So they piss me off and I want him to leave me alone. But I still don’t want that really. I know I don’t want him back, and I know that I do want his friendship. So really, they’re a blessing. Until he starts talking about sex.

I think I’ve learnt to separate love and lust a bit too much. If they were as intertwined as they are with most people, I’d be as wary of the lust as I am of getting even a little bit involved with him again. Unfortunately, I don’t love him, but there are still a few aspects that I miss.

Right. I have succeeded in not only utterly confusing myself, but also completely wasting my time thinking about him. Again. Typical.

Labels: Being the Duck, Falling, Theatrics

Everything is about him. My hair colour, my lucky charm necklace, the way I still check myself whenever I walk past the pub. He’s in my thoughts, my dreams, and the way I refuse to delete him from my phone book. He’s in my memories, and the perfume I wear. He’s in the eyes of other’s, and he’s the reason I have to grow my hair.

I know that I don’t love him; the intensity isn’t there. But he will forever be my Peter Pan; the boy who can’t grow up. He is my first love, my biggest obsession, and the one I gave the most to. He was a good lover, just not such a great love. He fit my requirements perfectly, he fit me perfectly, but sometimes things just don’t work.

I’ve survived. It killed me to, and I think the last time I cried that hard was at my grandma’s funeral, and that was seven years ago. I can’t pretend that it didn’t hurt me, and it took me longer than I’d admit for me to move on. I still missed him when I was dating others, and no man measured up when I was in bars. And not just because of his height.

When I was given a week to make my decision about Germany, there were many things that I thought about. One of them was him. I found the idea of sticking around here, where there are so many memories, frankly horrifying. I’ll admit that were it not for him I would not have been as anxious to leave the country. My family, my friends, my own stagnation, and the increased opportunities were I to go were taken into account too. I made my decision not because of him, but I won’t lie and say he wasn’t a factor.

Were I given the choice now, I would have made the same decision, but for different reasons. He wouldn’t have been a factor. In my mind I’ve said goodbye to him. In my dreams I’ve talked everything out with him rationally, and we both moved on. I don’t need to actually go through it anymore; that would cause more harm than good.

And the pregnancy thing helps. It’s made me realise that the idea of being tied to him in such an absolute way, even if we were not in a relationship, scares the hell out of me. I love him because he’s my Peter Pan, I won’t love the adult, and I don’t want to have my children with him. Yeah, I know that if it turns out that I am, and we haven’t yet established that, then he’ll know. I don't want him to, I don't want him there, and for him alone maybe I wouldn't tell him, but I guess for his family, for everyone, for everything, I'll have to. Though I still don't believe that I can be, and he really won't want to know.

After that I realised how pointless it would be were I to get my wish and we got back together. If we drew it out longer I’d grow to hate him. Better to keep it short and keep only the nice memories. I can never regret a minute of it, even the times when either of us made drunken idiots out of ourselves. But I don’t need to keep reliving every painful second. I don’t need to keep him in my heart; he’ll last longer in my memory.

So I say goodbye my love. You are no longer held in the confines of my heart; I set you free. When my memories fade, and my pulse grows slow, another shall be at my side. My heart will belong to someone else, but I will always have room in my memories for you. It would be impossible to forget the crazy boy who always dreamed of flying.

You’ll fly, that I promise. You’ll get the beauty who wishes to carry your slippers. And you think that you’re immortal. You’re right; to me you are. Even if emphysema and alcoholism claim you as I always promised they would, your memory will be immortal, and it’s something I shall cherish.

Labels: Being the Duck, Flying

• Holding hands
• Sex
• Phoning up and boasting about how brilliant I am because I've had a great interview, etc.
  
• Having someone tell me I'm sexy.
• Acting smug around my friends (who are now getting it more than me, so returning the favour).
• Looking into their eyes and thinking "I love you."
• Kissing in the rain
• Kissing over the bar
• Kissing anywhere
• Laughing at him for loving his car too much.
• Telling him you'd love a threesome: does he know any men who'd be interested?
• Getting Valentine's cards (though I know it's not February).
• Having to put heels on to kiss him.
• Falling off the bed and him pulling me back up with one hand because I'm so light.
• Being carried home on a saturday night because my feet are all cut up from my heels.
• Having arguments about which is better: Guinness or Southern Comfort?
• Him criticising me for reading Terry Pratchett, me criticising him for his inability to read the DaVinci code without falling asleep.
• Drunkenly both singing along to Wheetus "Teenage Dirtbag", and Guns 'n Roses "Sweet Child of Mine".
• Being hit on the head by my friend for acting indecently in public.
• Having someone hold me round my waist and putting his head down on mine so we're nose to nose and looking into each other's eyes.
• Being kissed at the base of my neck.
• Waking up with someone's arms around me.
• Playing with the dogs and him laughing when one jumped on to me and pushed me over.
• Walking through the snow together.
• Conversations about how I'd like to own a farm and he'd like a zoo.
• Arguing over where Portugal is.
• Me sitting under his arm while he played on the playstation, and him keeping me there even though I'd offered to move and it meant that he lost, just because he liked me being there.
• Deciding that for his next birthday I would buy him a train.
• Cooking pasta together.
• Him.
  

Labels: Being the Duck

You know you're still in love when:

1. You still read his horoscope right after yours.
2. You dance outrageously where you know he can see you just so he knows that you're over him.
3. You still get happy, though now slightly bitter, flashbacks of sitting on the train with him, waking up in his arms, getting into mock fights with him, etc.
4. You have to delete a whole load of songs from your ipod because they remind you far too much of him.
5. You cry when you hear a song that reminds you of him.
6. You sit around all day making stupid lists.
7. You turn your phone on silent and turn vibrate off just so that if he calls you, you aren't tempted to pick up.
8. You dye your hair a stupid colour just because it would really really piss him off.
9. You're listening to the Moulin Rouge soundtrack while writing this.
10. Somehow you can manage to hate him completely, while still miss him so much that it physically hurts.
11. You really want to punch the monitor right now.
    

Labels: Being the Duck

We had sex eleven times. For a three and a half month- long relationship, I found that pretty pathetic. I mean, maybe if I'd wanted to make him wait or something, but I just don't have that kind of self restraint. To be honest, I don't really have any self restraint, or self control. I'm pretty much ruled by my whims.

And in the end I did fall in love with him. But we came from completely different backgrounds. I come from a tribe of polygamists whereas he was steeped in monogamy and "Thou shalt not commit adultery". Don't get me wrong, if you're looking for multiples or whatever, I'm not your girl. My ancestry is more than enough to put me off that stuff. I don't do open relationships (except when I really have to), and I don't cheat (unless I'm really pissed off). But I'm not subject to the green eyed monster and I've been known to get wandering eyes.

He got jealous. I never did anything wrong, well, nothing really wrong, but he still got pissed off. To me that's actually quite sweet. I mean, on occasions it did annoy the hell out of me. But he went for that macho I'm-not-gonna-show-any-of-my-feelings thing so it wasn't ever too outwardly obvious. It was just there when I talked to a guy and he'd interrupt his own conversation to come and protectively put his arms around me. It was only there in little things like that.

We were good together, our personalities were so similar, it was just where we were coming from that was so starkly different. And our sex drives. Mostly we didn't really see each other, but when we did I was just about ready to jump on him, whereas he could take it or leave it. That I couldn't understand. It wasn't that he didn't like it, its just sometimes he couldn't be that bothered. Being too lazy for sex is a startling concept for me.

On most levels he understood me, and he respected me. He seemed to like who I am. I cared about him so much and I loved him. But it was the wrong kind of love. He's the type of man I'll marry, but he isn't the type for right now. That kind of understanding, is the kind that you build houses on and raise children. It isn't the kind of tepestuous relationship a girl fits into the months before she goes to uni.

There was a lot left unsaid due to my inability to speak my heart, cos've my utter fear of anyone getting too close. And also due to his stupid male pride. But we got along. He didn't open me up and most of the stuff I got out of him was simply from being fluent in the art of manipulation. But we worked. It was rocky, and sometimes it wasn't as fulfilling as I'd have liked. But none of that lessened the number of tears that fell when it ended.

The girl he marries won't be me. She's called Claire and she's the closest I've ever come to jealousy. I only met her once, but heard about her much more than that. I was sitting in the pub when I met her. She was pretty, very pretty, but in an ordinary way. They had a banter. It didn't worry me, I was happy just to sit back and watch.

He wanted me. That I understood completely, finally. He liked the Chinese thing, and he liked having me around. But like he's my forever guy, but not for now, I was his for now, and she's his forever. She'll stick around, get a job locally, be the wife, get his slippers. I can't do that. He'll keep my memory as the independent opinionated girl that he cared for, but he won't keep more than that. We're too different in our goals.

I can't do the slippers, and I can't do the cooking around an aga or whatever else they decide in an eccentrically coupley moment, it would be nice to buy. I'll just have to live with missing him and remembering that it's happened once, and can happen again. I can be tied down, and I can forget for a while who I am. He taught me that I could love so for that I'll be eternally grateful. He may forget me, but I can't forget him. Not now, not ever.

Labels: Being the Duck, Past tense, Poetic licence

I've never known what I want. I've always had a vague idea that I'd like to do something great- be remembered in some completely unique way. But I've never actually known what it was I wanted. Maybe to be recognised as a brilliant writer, but even with my hazy view of reality I've always known that that isn't ever going to happen. Even if I did manage to get published, the likelihood of me actually gaining a decent wage from it is negligible. So I write for the hell of it about whatever else is happening in my life.

I thought that I wanted to fall in lust with someone. But I've fallen for someone who I don't exactly lust over. I just totally adore him for his personality. Believe me, that is not how I ever envisioned myself falling for someone. I used to be good at being with them then leaving them. But this one, somehow I can't get rid of him. I know, I was messed up enough to try. When I first met him I got off with him because I was bored and I wanted to annoy one of my exes who was in the club and giving me evil looks. Tom, the ex, kept on looking over and when we were left alone together he literally ran away. I have an ego and that bruised it. I didn't want to get back together with him- he was a complete bastard to me. But I prefer it when people don't run away from me like I've got the plague.

So when I was left alone and depressed, and not just a little rejected, it was a relief to be hit on by someone relatively friendly, and most importantly, not running away. He was sweet and he took the piss out of me rather than hitting on me with the usual cheesy chat up lines and leering looks. I guess I was just surprised by something that I wasn't particularly used to. I gave him my number because Tom's best friend was watching. I kept texting him because it was absolutely impossible to blow him off. Every time I tried, he did something that made me rethink my choice and put it off. It isn't exactly fairytale, the whole thing just makes me sound like a bitch.

After an unconventional start to the whole thing, we ended up spending New Year's eve together. It was a house party. As soon as we arrived he pissed off in the opposite direction and didn't come back for an hour. I was ushered off by a sadistic woman who decided that my friend and I looked "helpful" enough to carry a huge crate of diet coke to the kids who were unfortunately under age. The whole thing was patronising and the house was threateningly large. We eventually found the scary old man who stereotypically had rosy cheeks and a large bottle of champagne. Handing us glasses we made our way back towards the corridor in which people were starting to congregate. When he came back I wasn't happy. He did try to apologise but as soon as he'd finished he was off again.

I spent most the night angry with him. He didn't care when I was hit on by someone else and took the piss out of me because of it until I threatened to leave with the other guy. Basically he treated me pretty crappily. I've always known that I needed someone who treated me badly. Every time I've been with guys who've been all doting and in love with me I've dumped them out of pure annoyance. To this day my favourite ex is a guy who never committed to me at all and played so many mind games it felt less like a relationship and more like a competition for who could piss the other off more. That's the way I function. If I'm not kept on my toes I feel like I'm the one pulling the strings. And that I am just makes it more impossible. Some girls need to feel like they're loved, I need to feel like there's a pretty good chance I'll be dumped.

But I do like him. And I don't really know whether that's good or bad. It's nice to feel like I'm not after someone for looks only. God, I'm probably only after him for his sense of humour. And maybe the fact that he's six foot four. That helps.

Labels: Being the Duck, Courting, Falling, Flying

Well, I survived christmas. Somehow. A lot has happened really, since I last wrote in this anyway. The best word to describe me and blogging right now has to be "neglectful". Well, I shall endeavour to become less negligent and write more in future. New Year's is coming up, maybe I can make a suitable reseolution in reference to me writing more. Or maybe I'll just regurgitate a few of the usual: learn to speak japanese, practice standing on head and other pointless yoga positions, etc. I guess it all depends on whether or not I'm drunk when I make my resolutions. And also probably on whether I'm single or not at the time I write them.

I have a problem. There are two men, one who is brilliant and we share a sense of humour. Thats pretty rare for me, I have too much of a sarcastic slightly nasty sense of humour, most people either don't get it or just think that I'm slightly crazy. But he understands it and comes out with stuff that makes me just want to grin. He just makes me happy and when things first started with him I tried to drop him. I really did, I already had things with two other men and thought my life was complicated enough. But I couldn't seem to dump him, every time I tried he did something that made me laugh more than anything else. I literally told him, look it isn't going to work, don't bother. But somehow he managed to turn it round on me. I like persistence, so I guess maybe thats why I changed my mind.

The other one shouldn't even be counted. Except for the fact that I can't seem to get him out of my head. Which sucks because it makes me feel like I'm sixteen again. I always wanted to feel that specific type of lust again. The infatuation mixed with lust and innocence. Then the weirdest thing happened, I met someone who made me feel like a kid. And not in a bad way, or maybe it is in a bad day. Somehow he just makes me nervous and I want him so much. But I don't want to keep him around. He doesn't make me laugh, and to be honest his personality is kind of irritating.

I don't know. I can't choose, but I don't think I'll ever be given the chance to. It's all so stupid.

Labels: Alcoholism, Being the Duck, Courting, Theatrics

When I walked out the house it was raining. I ran back in and got my umbrella and tripped up as I ran up the stairs. I was late. This isn’t exactly unusual, lateness and me are things that quite commonly spend time together, especially when it’s important that I’m on time. It was a sign, the torrential rain, the lateness, the tripping up. Seperately they’re pretty much mundane stuff, but together they were a bad sign. I can’t help it, I’m cynical of anything religious, political, or even vaguely related to the way people react to things. But I’m superstitious, I’m not sure whether it’s a contradiction, but I can’t help it. I won’t put an umbrella up in the house, and I read tarot cards. Worse, I listen to people who claim to be psychic, whatever they say. Even when they say the world is going to end, though I’ve gotta say that I do take those people with a pinch of salt and will look out for any other signs of madness that they might be exhibiting.

So if I see something that appears to be a sign… I worry. But it was ok, I didn’t need to worry. I had fun, and he was so nice. He treated me well, he had a nice smile, he was sooo nice!!!!!!!!!!! And I hate nice. I’ll take dangerous, or wild any day, cocky, even a total shit head. So I know I’m screwed up. And I’m wasting my time thinking about signs.

I’ve been wasting so much time lately. With the tarot cards that tell me stuff that I already know, or tell me that I’ll eventually manage to lose the unlucky-in-love thing I’ve got going on. But I don’t know… Before I left I checked my tarot cards and they told me absolutely nothing. Then I went out and I had fun. It was good, he was nice, we did the ritual and yeah, I didn’t hate it. But that isn’t what I want.

Labels: Being the Duck, Courting, Superstition