Archive | September, 2013

I want to poke him in the eyes

23 Sep

Last night I spoke to my friend Jennie. Jennie is one of my very favourites. Talking to her is like getting a massive hug, a shot of vodka, and a cupcake. She used to live in London, but moved back to Scotland a couple of years ago. Which is very sad news for London. And very sad news for me.

Anyway, yesterday I felt so down, I knew she was the person I wanted to moan at. We caught up right before bedtime (10pm for me, I’m practically geriatric).

We talked, and talked, and talked about my ex and how I feel about everything. We’ve had the conversations before. We’ll probably have them again. I cried. We laughed. We talked some more.

And finally Jennie said what I think we’ve all been thinking, “I want to poke him in the eyes! I want to poke him right in the eyes and I want to pinch the bit of skin under his upper arm. And his tattoo is sh**.”

Sometimes you can talk yourself in circles about being betrayed and rejected and the complexities of love and life and blah blah blah.

And sometimes you just need to hear that your friend would commit grievous bodily harm for you.

The National – Slow Show

22 Sep

Another old favourite that has taken on new meaning for me.

Listen for one of the most romantic lines ever, “You know I dreamed about you, for 29 years, before I saw you.”

My ex used to say he’d spent his whole life looking for me. And yet, somehow, I’m the one with everything I love “lost in drawers”.

What if you could travel back in time?

22 Sep

I took my broken heart to the movies this afternoon. I think the immersive feel of the cinema helps take my mind off things. On Wedding Boy’s recommendation, I went to see ‘About Time’. I fully expected it to be a saccharine rom com that half bored me and half annoyed me. Quite the contrary. It’s a gorgeous movie, and I cried through the whole thing. Don’t let that put you off. It isn’t sad until the end, it’s just that I cry at the happy bits too these days.

Now, if you don’t know the basic plot, a guy discovers he has the ability to go back in time to ‘redo’ stuff. I know. Sounds horrific. Trust me, it’s done tastefully.

Anyway, it got me thinking about my ex (surprise surprise), and our relationship.

If I could go back in time like the dude in the movie, what would I redo?

I wouldn’t redo anything.

I wouldn’t change our first date, being 15 minutes late because I got stuck at work, or toasting the birth of my littlest nephew with champagne to start the evening. I wouldn’t change saying, “YES!” when he asked me to be his girlfriend. Or how nervous I was the first time I met his friends. Or how very, very nervous I was when I first went to spend the weekend in Ireland with his family. I would still write him a short story for Valentine’s Day. And take the day off work before his birthday to learn how to make arancini – and then make arancini (his favourite food that disappeared from Broadway Market last winter). I’d still have him to stay in my flat for a month when his house was being renovated. I wouldn’t change any of the “I love yous”, or the lazy afternoons on the sofa, or runs in the park, or drunken nights in our favourite cocktail bar.

And when he went to New York and things got weird? Well, it’s a fine line between a regret and a memory. But I wouldn’t be any less supportive than I was. Yes, though in the end it was humiliating, I’d still send him my stupid, cheerful emails. I’d still make him cupcakes when he came home for a week and complained that I was “too excited”. I’d still count the days ‘til I got to see his face.

Because, whatever happened – and I don’t think I’ll ever really know – one thing I have is the knowledge that I was the best girlfriend I could be. I loved as much as I could. He said himself that he was the happiest he’s ever been in his life when he was with me. I know I was the happiest that I’ve ever been.

In fact, the only thing I might change, if I had the chance, would be to have never met him in the first place. At least that way the haunting blissfulness would never flicker through my mind, and I’d have nobody to miss.

Not a great psychic experience

21 Sep

Hmmm. I went to see a tarot reader today. Not one who I have been to before, but every time I have dabbled in this kind of thing I have left feeling confident, happy and excited about the future. As well as a little delighted that they could actually tell me stuff that they could not have otherwise known.

This time was different.

I just had a feeling about the woman doing the reading. A feeling that I really didn’t like her. For a start, she wouldn’t stop talking about what a stressful couple of days she’d had (whilst stuffing her face with biscuits). Em. I’ve had a pretty stressful few weeks myself, let’s talk about me seeing as I’m the one paying for this little get together.

Her main focus was that I am so keen to prove myself that I tend to trample on other people. Honestly, I am such a self-aware person. I have plenty of faults. Plenty. But this is just not one of them. I over-analyse every interaction with every person to make sure that the other person is OK. I worry constantly about the feelings of others. If anything I trample on myself at times.

As soon as she found out that my ex’s career had something to do with banking (she asked me straight out what he did, didn’t even attempt to tell me), she painted him with the ‘banker’ brush and described the stereotype that we’ve all been encouraged to despise over recent years.

I actually felt myself withdrawing from the whole thing emotionally. How dare she tell me about my relationship. How dare she speak badly of him. How dare she presume to know anything about my career or family or lifestyle.

She also slagged off ‘Sex and the City’.

I left feeling sad and angry.

And I just don’t know what else to say about this right now.

But in other news, my little blog is one-month old today. Thank you all for reading. I apologise for being slightly mental right now.

A thought

20 Sep

If I refuse to sit looking backwards on the train, why have I been choosing to sit looking backwards in my own life?

Also I need to stop eating crisps. Like, immediately.

Deep, I know. And, I promise, my final post for this evening.

Just my luck

20 Sep

OK. Confession time. Set up online dating profile (on the site where I met my ex because I did have some nice dates on it even before him).

Had a quick scan.

Saw one person of interest (Irish like my ex and with the same first name as him, which suggests I might not be ready for this). Clicked to send him a message.

“Profile no longer available.”

I think this might be a sign.

An empty weekend

20 Sep

Week Two of the new job. Done. And, although I still feel I am completely messing it up, it was definitely easier than Week One.

I now have a whole empty weekend stretching in front of me. All my friends were busy tonight, so I walked home. I listened to The National and cried at all the songs that I had never before realised were quite so sad. And as I walked, I made plans for the empty weekend. Plans that involve more than watching TV and crying.

Tomorrow I’ll go for a run, I’ll catch up on Teen Mom, I’ll take my laptop and sit and write in a coffee shop, I’m seeing a friend in the afternoon, and at 5pm I’m seeing another psychic (anything to feel better right now). Tomorrow night I guess I’ll take it easy and watch a movie or something. Sunday is all about massage and cinema. I’m going to see ‘About Time’ which I’ve been told is truly awful, but Wedding Boy thought it was incredible so I said I’d check it out myself and give him my critique.

I’ll be honest, I wish I was spending the weekend with my ex. I wish we were going out to dinner to celebrate my second week, and that I could talk to him about everything at work, and kiss his face. I reckon he’s probably dating again by now. But that makes me think maybe it’s time for me to put up an online profile at least. I don’t need to do anything. It might just keep me entertained.

In the meantime, I made a stop on my way home. I bought myself a huge bunch of flowers and a small bottle of prosecco to say, “Well done on getting up every day and going to your new job.”

I realise that buying myself flowers probably marks me out as a loser, but – hey – nobody else was going to do it.


Christmas is coming. Apparently.

19 Sep

Last night I went for a massage. I do not mean this in a perverted or sexual way, but I really love that I can pay someone to touch me. Just having someone rub my shoulders. Sheer bliss. There’s a little Thai place I’ve visited for years. They really know what they’re doing.

So last night I went for a head and shoulder massage which means sitting in a chair in the front of the shop rather than going into a room. This also means that you get to hear all the other customers’ conversations with the receptionist (who is one of the sweetest ladies ever).

Just when I was getting super relaxed and a bit sleepy, in walks a crazy woman. I had my eyes closed throughout, but in my head she was tall with unbrushed red hair. Crazy Woman talks at the receptionist about how awful she is feeling. For a full 20 minutes. Her house is unliveable. Her work is very stressful. She just went on a date with the guy who is the voice of Siri on the iPhone. But nothing matters since her ex broke her heart. (Her ex, incidentally, had the same first name as my ex.)

I could tell that the receptionist didn’t know what to say or do. There were no appointments available. Crazy Woman just needed to talk. Eventually, the receptionist spoke up and simply said, “Christmas is coming. Don’t be alone.”

Christmas. I thought I was going to be in Ireland with my ex and his family this Christmas. Instead I’ll be playing ‘spare part’ as usual with my family at my sister’s house. I’m not sure I can get much time off work at all, so I’m not really thinking about it.

What I am thinking about is the fact that every other break up I have been through (with the exception of my first boyfriend), took place right before Christmas. The Manchester Office Hottie, Hairy Back Jack, The Secret Work Boyfriend, and The Ex Before The Ex. Every one a break up in the first week of December. Which really puts a downer on opening the doors on your Hello Kitty advent calendar.

Here’s something to be grateful for: this break up did not ruin my Christmas. And I will not let it. By Christmas I will be me again. By Christmas I will be better. By Christmas I will be smiley, happy, Christmas-loving April who makes the best pecan pie and buys the best gifts. (I know it sounds arrogant, but I really do.)

I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but by Christmas I could even have met someone else. Sure, it makes me feel sick right now. But it’s possible. Anything’s possible at Christmas, right?

In fact, Wedding Boy emailed me last night. He’d seen a Hello Kitty sweatband that made him think of me. (Hopefully because I love Hello Kitty and not because I’m sweaty. I believe personal hygiene is one of my stronger qualities.)

Again, no butterflies. But definitely a smile.

Dear Future Husband

18 Sep

Please make sure there are always olives in the fridge.

Have a proper job. One that makes you happy. Be ambitious, and be glad that I have a career of my own.

Be proud of who you are, and content with your achievements.

Love your family. Love my family.

Please understand that when I say, “I don’t need any help”, most of the time I actually do.

Never shout at me. Or swear at me. Or push or shove.

Make me laugh so hard I pee my pants.

Read everything that I write, from attempts at novels to silly scribbles on post-it notes that I stuff in your pockets for you to find on the way to work.

Let me stop to say hi to cats and dogs who we meet on the street. Secretly find it adorable that I do this.

Sometimes cook me dinner, even though I’m much better in the kitchen than you are.

Love boldly. Let your heart go crazy. Feel the feeling. And tell me about it.

Buy me peonies every May. Just to celebrate the fact that they exist.

Know what’s going on in the world. Have an opinion. Tip generously.

Do not talk at length about every girl you have ever dated.

Stroke my feet, and my hair. Count my freckles. Look at my face when we make love. Enjoy sex any night of the week.

Take me to Japan.

Get the good olives. From the market. Stuffed with garlic. And kiss me even after I’ve demolished a whole stinky bowl of them.

Please feel lucky.

I thought I met you last year, but I was wrong. It was just someone who looked a little bit like you.

It’s Tuesday night

17 Sep

Tuesday night was Pizza Night.

Tuesday night we usually got out of work at a decent time. Both of us. Incredibly.

Tuesday night he came to mine (most of the time we hung out at his since it’s about three times the size of mine).

Tuesday night I ordered pizza. Chorizo and sweet peppers for him. With extra basil and chilli flakes. Pepperoni and broccoli for me.

Tuesday night I always had the fridge stocked with his favourite beer.

Tuesday night I’d get out the “fun napkins” (with pictures of dancing lobsters on them).

Tuesday night we’d eat too much, then lie on the sofa kissing and holding each other.

Tuesday night he’d stroke my feet while we watched DVDs.

Tuesday night we’d go to bed early and spoon.

Tuesday night we’d have sex (before he decided on “no sex on school nights”). My god. It was good.

Tuesday night we’d whisper sweet nothings and even sweeter somethings, and fall asleep with our feet touching.

Tuesday night is now Boxing Night.