I have a worry and my worry is this; yes, I know that I'm more than capable of moving on from The Boy (yes, him again, pipe down), the process is already in full swing, but I wonder; will there always be a tiny place in my heart that belongs to him and him alone? I feel there's a real possibility of that being the case.
There are times where all I want to do is share something with him, I laugh at some comment or story I am being told and his face pops into my head. *puff* And there he is. "Oh, The Boy would love this" I think "I must tell him!" and while I'm summing up whether I should send him a witty message there and then or wait until I see him in person, it suddenly dawns on me that, I won't see him in the flesh and we can't message each other anymore. This is the point when my eyes do that achey thing and my heart becomes heavier than an obese whale. I think about the last time we spoke and how horribly awkward and hurt I felt and I want to do a little cry. Of course, this is when my brain kicks in, mentally slaps me and forces his face to the back of my mind (bravo brain!). Which in itself is upsetting seeing as it's such a nice face. Bastard.
Yesterday I met up with a beyond wonderful tweeter who I shall call The Daddy One, and I shared a particularly humiliating "pillow talk" story that happened between me and The Boy. The Daddy One politely shared his own hilarious pillow talk story that rendered me speechless. No easy task. We both agreed his story made mine look completely normal. Well, we all talk about World War II post boom-chicka-wa-waaa, right? No? Well, now you've just made this awkward. I hope you're happy.
The Daddy One's story was witty. It was fun. And it was definitely worse than mine. *phew*
Two things immediately popped into my head; the first was how amazing it felt to find a boy who laughed at my awkwardness in a warm and friendly way. A boy to whom my quirky musings were a turn on and had lead him to present me with verbal grapes and flowers. Not many would have dealt with my incredibly unsexy pillow talk in such a comical manner. This is a rare trait and I have decided it is one I shall miss a great deal. Oh, here come those achey eyes again.
The second thing that came rushing to the front of my mind whilst listening to The Daddy One's story was how amusing The Boy would find it. Oh, how we will laugh at the realisation that I am not in fact the least sexy pillow talker in all the land. And then how he will mock me all over again for my WWII naked chit chat and then... Oh. Right. We don't talk anymore. That's the badger. How terribly annoying. Bugger.
The Boy and I have been playing this impossible back and forth game for so long and have built up such a bank of memories I worry that now it's all over, there will forever be times, when I'm not quick enough to stop myself, that my mind will leap frog to his face and a memory we have made. I'm not saying that I don't love the memories I have with this boy, this emotional fuck wit of a man (unintentionally, though it may be), far from it, but I wonder if there will ever be a time in my life when I don't think about him and sigh at what could have been if things were different.
They say you can't choose who you love, they have a point. I may still be hurting at his absence, but I know, or rather I hope that one day soon I'll be able to dedicate a rendition of Danke Schoen to him and I shall smile at what we once had. "Thank you for all the joy and pain..."
Now please excuse me while I eat my own body weight in pasta followed by a drowning of Nutella. Who says a broken heart can't be productive.
Monday 25 March 2013
Friday 22 March 2013
But only for now...
I have recently ended a friendship. And more. If I am truthful, I didn't end it. I didn't want to. I wanted to hold onto it with both arms and legs screaming until it gave up, hugged me back, stroked my hair until the tears had stopped, sung the entire album of Les Mis to me and told me it loved me. But I wasn't allowed. Utter bastard.
I have since spent the past three weeks trying not to think about it. Some days are more successful than others. Some days I hardly think of the situation and when my mind does wander over to that friendship I'm no longer allowed to experience, I smile at the complication that has left my life, at how simple my world has become and at how focused I can be at work. I am pretty much every Beyonce and Destiny's Child music video that was ever released. Well, y'know, the kicks arse ones. Who Runs The World, Girls! is basically performed in my head as I strut my way through the city of Manchester. Try it. The word "empowered" doesn't do the feeling justice.
But then there are those days when I'm amazed at how well I'm functioning whilst the internal screams and sobs ponder if he, The Boy, is even thinking about me? If I have entered into his subconscious at all, if only briefly? If at any one time during his day have I crossed his mind and he thought "I wonder what she's doing right now?" Or dare I even think it; I wonder he if misses me? Even if only the smallest amount.
Is this just plain old human nature? Is it our innate sense to ponder our existence in the eyes of others? Does everyone go through this? Have I finally Graduated into adult womanhood? I've never been prouder. And more frustrated. Because frankly, it is as exhausting as hell. Not that I would know if hell is exhausting having never been, but the expression seemed to fit and so I went with it.
I have decided, therefore, that this is possibly the most difficult part to move on from. The not knowing. The wondering. The constant want to know if that other person is even as half as effected as yourself. Once that has passed I think I will be able to handle anything the world decides to throw at me, once again.
Because let's face it; everything is life is only for now.
I have since spent the past three weeks trying not to think about it. Some days are more successful than others. Some days I hardly think of the situation and when my mind does wander over to that friendship I'm no longer allowed to experience, I smile at the complication that has left my life, at how simple my world has become and at how focused I can be at work. I am pretty much every Beyonce and Destiny's Child music video that was ever released. Well, y'know, the kicks arse ones. Who Runs The World, Girls! is basically performed in my head as I strut my way through the city of Manchester. Try it. The word "empowered" doesn't do the feeling justice.
But then there are those days when I'm amazed at how well I'm functioning whilst the internal screams and sobs ponder if he, The Boy, is even thinking about me? If I have entered into his subconscious at all, if only briefly? If at any one time during his day have I crossed his mind and he thought "I wonder what she's doing right now?" Or dare I even think it; I wonder he if misses me? Even if only the smallest amount.
Is this just plain old human nature? Is it our innate sense to ponder our existence in the eyes of others? Does everyone go through this? Have I finally Graduated into adult womanhood? I've never been prouder. And more frustrated. Because frankly, it is as exhausting as hell. Not that I would know if hell is exhausting having never been, but the expression seemed to fit and so I went with it.
I have decided, therefore, that this is possibly the most difficult part to move on from. The not knowing. The wondering. The constant want to know if that other person is even as half as effected as yourself. Once that has passed I think I will be able to handle anything the world decides to throw at me, once again.
Because let's face it; everything is life is only for now.
Monday 11 March 2013
To write or not to write...
I can no longer write. I am dried up. I've lost it. I may have to do a sob now.
My last post; a letter to my future Mr Rella went down better than a bottle of Amaretto on Christmas Day. Huzzah, I thought. What a wondrous feeling to connect with so many, I thought. I am basically a new found writer and wonderfully insightful person whose blog will become known around the world for its witty, heartfelt and warmth that will touch millions. I thought.
So why then, over a month later am I still writing paragraph after paragraph of utter drivel? Drivel that perhaps pre-successful post I would have sent floating into cyber space for you all to read over but now seems ill equipped to handle to hype of the last post. How did Austen do it? How did she turn out masterpiece after masterpiece? Oh, because of the whole literacy genius thing. Right. Yeah, I hear that helps.
Has it been that I have been sublimely happy over the past month and that I have had little to write about? Oh, how I laugh at the mere suggestion. 2013 has been one giant, metaphorical kick in the balls. I have had to deal with grief (more than once. In one weekend), heartache (again. But this time there was the devastation of closure. Closure that I forced and am now not sure The Boy will ever forgive me for), moving; flat, classes and teams as well as the mistake of an estate agent that almost left me homeless. Oh, it's been a modern day Austen novel that she would have been proud of. Her hero having been introduced (probably around the time I moved to The North!) was now having her life poetically shat on from a great height. In quick succession. One drama would have been difficult but manageable, however, having it all land my miserable lap to fight and deal with on my own was almost more than I could handle. I did though. I even moved every last piece of my belongings from one flat to the other single handedly when one friend hurt their back and The Boy had stomped on my heart and pride would not allow me to ask for his help. Although to his credit, he had offered.
So you see, I have had drama and heartache and pain and yet I sit down to my laptop or iPhone to lovingly release my feelings and...*tumbleweed*...nothing. Worse than nothing; drivel. How, I wonder, am I going to locate my MoJo? And where do I even begin looking?
As I sit here in my new, beautiful, tiled step-into-bath with heavenly spotlight (will I ever love anything as much? I find it hard to believe) I can't help but think that my moment of writing greatness has passed me by and I didn't take the time to appreciate it enough. Perhaps someone new will come along one day and inspire me in such a way that I dazzle you all again. Perhaps I will always be trying too hard to live up to one OKish post that I wrote once when high on painkillers, antibiotics and hurt from a boy I find it difficult to believe I will never not love. In a way. Perhaps I'll never live up to it and will one day be happy with the fact that I once wrote something that people called beautiful; that made a few grown men cry; that inspired me to want to achieve better.
And surely, we should always be trying to achieve greatness in our lives. In one area or another!? So I'm sorry if I never write anything you guys enjoy as much as my letter to my future, but hopefully I'll have fun trying to out write myself.
My last post; a letter to my future Mr Rella went down better than a bottle of Amaretto on Christmas Day. Huzzah, I thought. What a wondrous feeling to connect with so many, I thought. I am basically a new found writer and wonderfully insightful person whose blog will become known around the world for its witty, heartfelt and warmth that will touch millions. I thought.
So why then, over a month later am I still writing paragraph after paragraph of utter drivel? Drivel that perhaps pre-successful post I would have sent floating into cyber space for you all to read over but now seems ill equipped to handle to hype of the last post. How did Austen do it? How did she turn out masterpiece after masterpiece? Oh, because of the whole literacy genius thing. Right. Yeah, I hear that helps.
Has it been that I have been sublimely happy over the past month and that I have had little to write about? Oh, how I laugh at the mere suggestion. 2013 has been one giant, metaphorical kick in the balls. I have had to deal with grief (more than once. In one weekend), heartache (again. But this time there was the devastation of closure. Closure that I forced and am now not sure The Boy will ever forgive me for), moving; flat, classes and teams as well as the mistake of an estate agent that almost left me homeless. Oh, it's been a modern day Austen novel that she would have been proud of. Her hero having been introduced (probably around the time I moved to The North!) was now having her life poetically shat on from a great height. In quick succession. One drama would have been difficult but manageable, however, having it all land my miserable lap to fight and deal with on my own was almost more than I could handle. I did though. I even moved every last piece of my belongings from one flat to the other single handedly when one friend hurt their back and The Boy had stomped on my heart and pride would not allow me to ask for his help. Although to his credit, he had offered.
So you see, I have had drama and heartache and pain and yet I sit down to my laptop or iPhone to lovingly release my feelings and...*tumbleweed*...nothing. Worse than nothing; drivel. How, I wonder, am I going to locate my MoJo? And where do I even begin looking?
As I sit here in my new, beautiful, tiled step-into-bath with heavenly spotlight (will I ever love anything as much? I find it hard to believe) I can't help but think that my moment of writing greatness has passed me by and I didn't take the time to appreciate it enough. Perhaps someone new will come along one day and inspire me in such a way that I dazzle you all again. Perhaps I will always be trying too hard to live up to one OKish post that I wrote once when high on painkillers, antibiotics and hurt from a boy I find it difficult to believe I will never not love. In a way. Perhaps I'll never live up to it and will one day be happy with the fact that I once wrote something that people called beautiful; that made a few grown men cry; that inspired me to want to achieve better.
And surely, we should always be trying to achieve greatness in our lives. In one area or another!? So I'm sorry if I never write anything you guys enjoy as much as my letter to my future, but hopefully I'll have fun trying to out write myself.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)