I haven’t written you a letter in about 7 years but I just wanted to tell you how much I love you.
At this moment you’re on the phone, struggling between sympathising with your sister’s problems and giving her tough love, and even though she’s so upset and you don’t want to hurt her, your advice is just right. I don’t think it’s just because I made you sit through the entire box set of Sex and the City (twice) but instead it’s because you’re an amazing person. You hate to see anyone you care about hurt and if getting through to them means telling it like it is then so be it. I love you for that.
I also love you for cuddling me and joking around with me at the football when the other guys are ignoring their girlfriends and concentrating on the match, and for jumping around like an eejit and screaming with me when our team score a goal. I love you for not even considering letting me pay to go to the match when you know I’m constantly broke. I love you for cooking me dinner every other night and washing the dishes when other men expect their female other half to take care of all that stuff. I love you for going along with my whacky ideas like moving to a house the same as our current one in exactly the same street, just because you know it will make me happy. I love you for really listening to me when I explain why I’m annoyed and actually taking what I say on board. I love you for rubbing my back when it’s “that time of the month” and I feel like I’m being stabbed from the inside. I love you for offering me the computer when you really want to be on it yourself. I love you for trying to keep me on track with all the important things like packing for the move, eating healthily, not drinking too much and not spending too much, even when you know I’ll shout at you for it. And these are all just examples of things you have done for me today. Some women are lucky to feel like their other halves even notice them, let alone value them or care about them, once a week never mind a zillion times a day.
But it’s not just the things you do for me that make me love you. I love you just for who you are. You’re clever, witty, funny, a little bit weird, very cute with those big bambi eyes of yours and just so very kind and lovely. I could start to look up a thesaurus but I would be here all night and really all I want to say is thank you – thank you for being you and for loving me, and for loving your family so much. You are so wonderful and I genuinely don’t know what we would do without you... so don’t be going anywhere!
You’re an angel and I must have been REALLY good in a past life to deserve even knowing you never mind being loved by you. I can’t wait to be your wife and one day (not too soon though!) to hopefully have your beautiful babies. I can’t wait for us to go on adventures, to see new places (and take lots of photos!) and to experience new things together (nothing too kinky though!). I love you so much and just wanted you to know that.
Goodnight my husband to be – love you always xxxxxxx
Saturday, 18 April 2009
Friday, 17 April 2009
Here comes the bride, 40 inches wide...
So in around 30 weeks time I will be facing one of the biggest challenges of my life so far. If it’s going to end up happy ever after, it will take commitment and sacrifices on my part. Sure, people can offer support and encouragement from the sidelines but at the end of the day it’s down to me to make it work. It’s a scary thought but it will be worth it.
I am, of course, talking about being stared at and photographed in my wedding dress. Oh you thought I meant entering the holy state of matrimony and abiding by all the vows I’m going to make? Nah – compared to getting me looking even vaguely attractive on the big day, the actual marriage will be wee buns; in fact I am very much looking forward to being Mrs Yawksha Boy! It’s the day itself I fear…
I was looking through some old family photos last night and one thing struck me… I am possibly the least photogenic person, like, ever. Ok maybe not when I was a cute wee 3 year old with pigtails, but since I was a bit older all the photos of me are just awful! And what didn’t help? Yawksha Boy not only agreeing to this but then adding “but it’s only because you look like a boy in them…”. Thanks, darling one, that makes me feel a whole lot better. Although it was useful in that I now know not to surprise him with a bowl cut on our wedding day. You see the sacrifices I make?
Anyways, the whole point is that I am a bit weird-looking and also very incredibly chunky (not helped much by my recent post-lent-celebratory alcohol consumption and Easter sweeties!). I can’t do much about the weird-looking side of things but that’s what we’re paying a make-up artist for (yuck, make-up… hate the stuff). However the chunky thing I can try.
I’ve written before (I think – or was that just in my head?) about how I lost over 5 stone doing Weight Watchers and then lost all my motivation and have since put about 2 stone back on again. Well, I’m still not going back to the classes but yesterday I started doing their Core Plan again from my old books to try and turn this thing around. Even if I lost 1lb per week for 30 weeks, that’s only the 2 stone I’ve gained back gone, so I need to get my ass in gear. I need to be planning my meals, making healthy choices and resisting all the bad treats (except alcohol – a girl’s gotta live!). I also, when we’ve finished moving all our belongings and furniture about 20 metres across the road, need to get back to the gym before what little muscle tone I have disappears on me again.
But what doesn’t help? People trying to help. I think once upon a time I asked for Yawksha Boy’s assistance in trying to keep me on the dieting straight and narrow and I’m sure at the time I meant it, but ever since he and my mother have started trying to help me by shouting at me when I want something unhealthy and banning me from certain things, the rebel in me has been all, like, “Woah, just who do you think you are? I’m a grown woman and I’ll have what I damn well please!”
But the thing is, I know now that I don’t react well to this sort of pressure. I joined Weight Watchers and started trying to lose weight before I was even engaged, so there was no pressure on me to slim down for a wedding. And since Yawksha Boy and my mother had seen my harebrained schemes to lose weight fail a million times before, they were watching me mainly with interest rather than judging me to start with. That worked for me – no pressure, no timescales, just a gentle meander down the path of weight loss, getting gradually healthier as I went about my daily business. I even enjoyed the challenge at times. But whenever everyone is all, “no you can’t have that” or “you shouldn’t be eating that” or “ah now don’t be bold”, where’s the fun? Surely it’s up to me what I eat or don’t eat and how quickly or slowly I want to lose weight? Enuff wit da pressure peeps! Let me just do my thing. By all means commiserate with me if I gain weight or cheer for me when I lose it, but let it just be my own little thing, ‘kay?
Anyway that was a bit of a tangent from my original topic of the wedding day photos and people staring at me. I am genuinely bricking it about that side of thing. Everyone in my family keeps saying they can’t wait for the wedding and it’ll be brilliant, etc. Like, eek! There’s that pressure again. I really don’t want to turn up looking like your stereotypical plus size bride, all pink, flushed-looking, chubby cheeks, fat arms squeezed really tight by sleeves that are too narrow and the dress straining across a big sticky-out belly. There’s only so much that control underwear can hold in! I know that even if I do lose some weight (or even a good bit of weight) before the big day, I’ll still be a plus size bride, but there are variations on a theme and all I really want is for people to look at me or the photos of the day and think “nice dress!” or “good hair!” and for my size not to even occur to them. Some chance but there’s there dream anyway.
So, today for breakfast I had porridge (that exploded all over the office microwave – oops) and for lunch I had a packet of microwave brown rice – the thrills! No sauce, no accompaniment, just plain ol’ rice. For dessert I may have some tinned peach slices. Well, it may not be exciting but if I can walk down the aisle and just concentrate on marrying the gorgeous man (hopefully!) waiting for me at the end of it rather than worrying how big my bum looks to the congregation, it will all be worth it. Must remember that next time Asda have a sale on Hagen-Daaz!
I am, of course, talking about being stared at and photographed in my wedding dress. Oh you thought I meant entering the holy state of matrimony and abiding by all the vows I’m going to make? Nah – compared to getting me looking even vaguely attractive on the big day, the actual marriage will be wee buns; in fact I am very much looking forward to being Mrs Yawksha Boy! It’s the day itself I fear…
I was looking through some old family photos last night and one thing struck me… I am possibly the least photogenic person, like, ever. Ok maybe not when I was a cute wee 3 year old with pigtails, but since I was a bit older all the photos of me are just awful! And what didn’t help? Yawksha Boy not only agreeing to this but then adding “but it’s only because you look like a boy in them…”. Thanks, darling one, that makes me feel a whole lot better. Although it was useful in that I now know not to surprise him with a bowl cut on our wedding day. You see the sacrifices I make?
Anyways, the whole point is that I am a bit weird-looking and also very incredibly chunky (not helped much by my recent post-lent-celebratory alcohol consumption and Easter sweeties!). I can’t do much about the weird-looking side of things but that’s what we’re paying a make-up artist for (yuck, make-up… hate the stuff). However the chunky thing I can try.
I’ve written before (I think – or was that just in my head?) about how I lost over 5 stone doing Weight Watchers and then lost all my motivation and have since put about 2 stone back on again. Well, I’m still not going back to the classes but yesterday I started doing their Core Plan again from my old books to try and turn this thing around. Even if I lost 1lb per week for 30 weeks, that’s only the 2 stone I’ve gained back gone, so I need to get my ass in gear. I need to be planning my meals, making healthy choices and resisting all the bad treats (except alcohol – a girl’s gotta live!). I also, when we’ve finished moving all our belongings and furniture about 20 metres across the road, need to get back to the gym before what little muscle tone I have disappears on me again.
But what doesn’t help? People trying to help. I think once upon a time I asked for Yawksha Boy’s assistance in trying to keep me on the dieting straight and narrow and I’m sure at the time I meant it, but ever since he and my mother have started trying to help me by shouting at me when I want something unhealthy and banning me from certain things, the rebel in me has been all, like, “Woah, just who do you think you are? I’m a grown woman and I’ll have what I damn well please!”
But the thing is, I know now that I don’t react well to this sort of pressure. I joined Weight Watchers and started trying to lose weight before I was even engaged, so there was no pressure on me to slim down for a wedding. And since Yawksha Boy and my mother had seen my harebrained schemes to lose weight fail a million times before, they were watching me mainly with interest rather than judging me to start with. That worked for me – no pressure, no timescales, just a gentle meander down the path of weight loss, getting gradually healthier as I went about my daily business. I even enjoyed the challenge at times. But whenever everyone is all, “no you can’t have that” or “you shouldn’t be eating that” or “ah now don’t be bold”, where’s the fun? Surely it’s up to me what I eat or don’t eat and how quickly or slowly I want to lose weight? Enuff wit da pressure peeps! Let me just do my thing. By all means commiserate with me if I gain weight or cheer for me when I lose it, but let it just be my own little thing, ‘kay?
Anyway that was a bit of a tangent from my original topic of the wedding day photos and people staring at me. I am genuinely bricking it about that side of thing. Everyone in my family keeps saying they can’t wait for the wedding and it’ll be brilliant, etc. Like, eek! There’s that pressure again. I really don’t want to turn up looking like your stereotypical plus size bride, all pink, flushed-looking, chubby cheeks, fat arms squeezed really tight by sleeves that are too narrow and the dress straining across a big sticky-out belly. There’s only so much that control underwear can hold in! I know that even if I do lose some weight (or even a good bit of weight) before the big day, I’ll still be a plus size bride, but there are variations on a theme and all I really want is for people to look at me or the photos of the day and think “nice dress!” or “good hair!” and for my size not to even occur to them. Some chance but there’s there dream anyway.
So, today for breakfast I had porridge (that exploded all over the office microwave – oops) and for lunch I had a packet of microwave brown rice – the thrills! No sauce, no accompaniment, just plain ol’ rice. For dessert I may have some tinned peach slices. Well, it may not be exciting but if I can walk down the aisle and just concentrate on marrying the gorgeous man (hopefully!) waiting for me at the end of it rather than worrying how big my bum looks to the congregation, it will all be worth it. Must remember that next time Asda have a sale on Hagen-Daaz!
Sunday, 12 April 2009
Happy Easter
Well, another Easter has officially dawned and millions will be tucking into their chocolate eggs with great glee as we speak. I have a food intolerance to chocolate so instead Yawksha Boy thoughtfully bought me a box of Thorntons fudge (nom!) and some marshmallows and 2 little sponge cakes from Marks and Spencers (more nom!). My mother also managed to track down a plastic egg full of Haribo for me (even more nom!) so I can enjoy the holiday even without an easter egg. Saying that I’ve only been up for half an hour and am already feeling more than slightly sickly. Best put the fudge and mallows away for a little while I think!
For me Easter is a bitter-sweet kind of holiday, much like Christmas or any other festivity associated with Christianity. On the one hand, I get to drink and eat more lovely things than usual and I get to not go to work for a couple of days – bliss! But on the other hand there is always a kind of shadow hanging over the celebrations for me – I think it’s called guilt.
You see, since I was no age at all I was sent to Sunday School to learn how to be a good little Christian girl. Once I even went to Bible Camp! When I got a bit older I went to a scary kind of church (very evangelical with an over-zealous preacher who the entire congregation worshipped as if he was Christ himself – freaky man!), which was far too over the top for the beliefs that I have developed but it was my weekly chance to think about my faith and thank The Man Upstairs.
While I was at school, if anyone had asked me if I was a Christian, I would have said yes, definitely. Don’t get me wrong, I was far from a religious goody-two-shoes: I often forgot to pray before I fell asleep at night, I never read the bible except in Sunday School/Church and my conversations with my friends were, well, less than stereotypically Christian (I don’t think all the goody-two-shoes little Christian children would have asked their maths teacher if she ate the placenta when she had her baby or would have allowed their best friends to jokingly call them a “ho” every day).
But I had always been taught that although a “Good” Christian tries to live like Christ and be pure in thought and deed, to be a Christian, all you had to do was believe in the Holy Trinity – that God sent his son Jesus as the Jewish Messiah to live the perfect Jewish life and then to die in awful unspeakably painful ways on the cross to save the souls of future generations, so that all we had to do was believe and hey presto we’ll end up in heaven. Well, great, I do believe that – I am a Christian!
However (and isn’t there always some kind of “But...”?) if you are brought up in the Christian Church, you are encouraged to be a goody-two-shoes type of Christian. You are told to live your life according to the advice in the bible – you know, your body is a temple so don’t be gluttonous, get tattoos or piercings and don’t have sex before marriage, etc, etc. These two ideas seem to contradict each other to me and this is what leads to confusion – not only for me but for a lot of the other 20-somethings I’ve spoken to about this who were brought up as Christians.
So, let me get this straight? I get to go to heaven even though I live with Yawksha Boy before we’re married, I have a tattoo and I binge eat and drink, just because I believe that Jesus died for our sins? Well then why did my friend feel it was so important, if not essential, to remain tattooless and skinny, not to drink alcohol and to live celibately with her mum and dad until the day she got married? Is there a sliding scale of Christianity? Is she up there with the saints at the top as a “Good Christian”? Are people who believe in Jesus but go out on the piss and sleep around “Bad Christians”. And where does that leave me?
Or is it more of an on/off switch kind of idea? If you do everything you’re supposed to according to the bible are you a “Good Christian” or if you do even one thing “wrong”, are you a “Bad Christian”? And what does that all mean? We “Bad Christians” don’t get to go to heaven after all? Or do we live in a sort of heavenly shanty town for people who weren’t quite so wonderful instead of the “mansion” Jesus promised?
Having spoken to some friends who feel the same as I do about this, we were all a bit confused about this. We concluded that if you have been a “Bad Christian”, the way to become a “Good Christian” again is to apologise (repent!) for our sins... but what if you’re not really sorry? Don’t get me wrong, I never wanted to live with my future husband before I married him but it was the only practical way our relationship was going to work and we’re happy together. So I’m not sorry. I feel guilty to a certain extent but not enough to apologise sincerely and say “I’ll never do it again God!”, because we’re not getting married until November and yet we’re about to move into another house together – and I’m happy about that. So if I died tomorrow, would I go to hell because I knew what I had been doing was wrong and wasn’t sorry? But then what about the whole “all you have to do is believe” thing? It’s a minefield!
So now, if someone asks me if I am a Christian, I never know what to say. I don’t feel worthy enough to say yes because I do “sinful” things and I’m not sorry about it. But on the other hand I do believe. I would ask someone who knows the bible inside and out, like a minister or some such, but I don’t go to Church either – not because I don’t want to but because I can’t find one that fits with my beliefs. Although to be honest I haven’t made much of an effort, having been happy just to “believe”. Does this make me a semi-Christian? Answers on a postcard...
So this morning I said a little prayer, thanking Jesus for dying for us and thanking God for sacrificing his son to those horrible vicious people for a pile of modern-day ingrates like me. Despite Yawksha Boy thinking that religion is entirely stupid, I still do have my own faith and I am genuinely grateful. I just wish I knew if being grateful is enough...
But enough religious ponderings for now. I hope everyone has a lovely Easter, whatever their beliefs.
For me Easter is a bitter-sweet kind of holiday, much like Christmas or any other festivity associated with Christianity. On the one hand, I get to drink and eat more lovely things than usual and I get to not go to work for a couple of days – bliss! But on the other hand there is always a kind of shadow hanging over the celebrations for me – I think it’s called guilt.
You see, since I was no age at all I was sent to Sunday School to learn how to be a good little Christian girl. Once I even went to Bible Camp! When I got a bit older I went to a scary kind of church (very evangelical with an over-zealous preacher who the entire congregation worshipped as if he was Christ himself – freaky man!), which was far too over the top for the beliefs that I have developed but it was my weekly chance to think about my faith and thank The Man Upstairs.
While I was at school, if anyone had asked me if I was a Christian, I would have said yes, definitely. Don’t get me wrong, I was far from a religious goody-two-shoes: I often forgot to pray before I fell asleep at night, I never read the bible except in Sunday School/Church and my conversations with my friends were, well, less than stereotypically Christian (I don’t think all the goody-two-shoes little Christian children would have asked their maths teacher if she ate the placenta when she had her baby or would have allowed their best friends to jokingly call them a “ho” every day).
But I had always been taught that although a “Good” Christian tries to live like Christ and be pure in thought and deed, to be a Christian, all you had to do was believe in the Holy Trinity – that God sent his son Jesus as the Jewish Messiah to live the perfect Jewish life and then to die in awful unspeakably painful ways on the cross to save the souls of future generations, so that all we had to do was believe and hey presto we’ll end up in heaven. Well, great, I do believe that – I am a Christian!
However (and isn’t there always some kind of “But...”?) if you are brought up in the Christian Church, you are encouraged to be a goody-two-shoes type of Christian. You are told to live your life according to the advice in the bible – you know, your body is a temple so don’t be gluttonous, get tattoos or piercings and don’t have sex before marriage, etc, etc. These two ideas seem to contradict each other to me and this is what leads to confusion – not only for me but for a lot of the other 20-somethings I’ve spoken to about this who were brought up as Christians.
So, let me get this straight? I get to go to heaven even though I live with Yawksha Boy before we’re married, I have a tattoo and I binge eat and drink, just because I believe that Jesus died for our sins? Well then why did my friend feel it was so important, if not essential, to remain tattooless and skinny, not to drink alcohol and to live celibately with her mum and dad until the day she got married? Is there a sliding scale of Christianity? Is she up there with the saints at the top as a “Good Christian”? Are people who believe in Jesus but go out on the piss and sleep around “Bad Christians”. And where does that leave me?
Or is it more of an on/off switch kind of idea? If you do everything you’re supposed to according to the bible are you a “Good Christian” or if you do even one thing “wrong”, are you a “Bad Christian”? And what does that all mean? We “Bad Christians” don’t get to go to heaven after all? Or do we live in a sort of heavenly shanty town for people who weren’t quite so wonderful instead of the “mansion” Jesus promised?
Having spoken to some friends who feel the same as I do about this, we were all a bit confused about this. We concluded that if you have been a “Bad Christian”, the way to become a “Good Christian” again is to apologise (repent!) for our sins... but what if you’re not really sorry? Don’t get me wrong, I never wanted to live with my future husband before I married him but it was the only practical way our relationship was going to work and we’re happy together. So I’m not sorry. I feel guilty to a certain extent but not enough to apologise sincerely and say “I’ll never do it again God!”, because we’re not getting married until November and yet we’re about to move into another house together – and I’m happy about that. So if I died tomorrow, would I go to hell because I knew what I had been doing was wrong and wasn’t sorry? But then what about the whole “all you have to do is believe” thing? It’s a minefield!
So now, if someone asks me if I am a Christian, I never know what to say. I don’t feel worthy enough to say yes because I do “sinful” things and I’m not sorry about it. But on the other hand I do believe. I would ask someone who knows the bible inside and out, like a minister or some such, but I don’t go to Church either – not because I don’t want to but because I can’t find one that fits with my beliefs. Although to be honest I haven’t made much of an effort, having been happy just to “believe”. Does this make me a semi-Christian? Answers on a postcard...
So this morning I said a little prayer, thanking Jesus for dying for us and thanking God for sacrificing his son to those horrible vicious people for a pile of modern-day ingrates like me. Despite Yawksha Boy thinking that religion is entirely stupid, I still do have my own faith and I am genuinely grateful. I just wish I knew if being grateful is enough...
But enough religious ponderings for now. I hope everyone has a lovely Easter, whatever their beliefs.
Friday, 10 April 2009
Stressorama
Do you ever have times in your life where you do the same things day in, day out, and you end up a little bored, thinking "I wish there was some excitement in my life - nothing bad, just something to DO other than watch Star Trek DVDs and the Apprentice..."? And then suddenly wish you'd bitten your tongue because all of a sudden there are TWELVITY MILLION things to do and you're mentally standing in the wasteground of your thoughts surrounded by all this STUFF and you're all helpless and don't know where to start and are all "meep!"? Or is it just me?
You may have gathered from this that I'm a tad stressed out at the minute. I still don't quite understand my job for one thing - it's one of those jobs that's so varied that to even start to understand it will take about a year so you've experienced everything at least once; I've been here 3 months. 'Nuff said. Also? Any other non-public-facing civil service places I've worked have let their staff leave early on the last day at work before things like Easter or Christmas, just as a sort of unofficial thank you for being bothered to show up unlike 90% of the workforce. And yet here I am at 3.30pm still at my desk. Bah. At least now I have da powa to let my staff go early, which is great except it means I'm definitely stuck here til 5pm. Bah again.
My second rant of the day is that we've decided to move house (which is a good, nice thing that I feel very positive about) but my other half has decide that WOE AND DOOM WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIEEEEEEEEEEEE because it involves packing stuff, cleaning and touching up some scuffs on the wall, etc. Seriously man, chill the f00k out! You see, to understand his dilema you must understand two things. Firstly, that we live in (and are moving to) a teeny weeny wee tiny house. Secondly, we have a whole lotta loadsa stuff. Getting it all to fit in (never mind looking tidy) is like playing Tetris and as you gather more stuff, suddenly you start to lose control and all the oddly shaped and sized guff is piling up on your metaphorical screen and it takes a massive, concentrated effort to get it all back in check again. Unfortunately we've been neglecting the controls of late and we're just waiting for the line of doom to come down and declare that is GAME OVER. But (BUT!) the (very significant) thing is that we've done this all before. This will be my 5th house move in my life and 2 of those were across the frickin' sea, so excuse me if I don't get all stressed out about moving to a house we can literally throw a stone at from where we are now!
Besides (and this is another point of contention), with our impending marriage (another source of stress!) and consequent gifts, we NEED to move into this new place with NO EXTRANEOUS GUFF. This is now my motto. Step one of this process was to go round and collect random unused guff we could sell on eBay and to shove some bigger but valueless things on Freecycle. Except now the former is opening a big oul' can of worms because Yawksha Boy is SO FREAKING COMPETITIVE about EVERYTHING that he wants us to sit down and word every item's description perfectly and post it at exactly the right time of day, etc to attract more bids. My thoughts on this? BIG WHOOP DUDE! I just want to get rid of all our guff - so what if it goes for 50p less than it could have because some potentially more generous bidder is asleep at 11pm? At this point my dreams of a clutter-free house are so vivid and within grasp that I would gladly just put it all out on the lawn with a sign saying "free stuff". So because of this we still have like 1/3 of the items still to list, which we'll probably get round to this weekend some time. But after this there are still some heavy or bulky or fragile things we want to get some money for rather than giving them away... so I suggested going to a car boot sale. But Yawksha Boy's stance on this? Ha! "We have so much to do alreadyyyyyyyyy - why don't we do it after we move insteaaaaaaad?". BECAUSE THAT DEFEATS THE PURPOSE OF GETTING RID OF EVERYTHING BEFORE WE MOVE - DUH!
I don't think he understand how much I am craving a lovely, clean, uncluttered house. You know, the sort where you come in at night and you put the post on the coffee table, rather than on top of a pile of junk, which is sitting on top of some more junk, which is hiding something very important that will probably end up going missing or being thrown away by accident, which is on top of another pile of junk, which is on top of the coffee table (which has some more junk underneath of course). How I would love to be able to fill my wardrobe with duvet covers and sheets and towels without having to jam them in around the bulkiest computer monitor ever made! And wouldn't it be brilliant to be able to put fruit in a fruit bowl, rather than look perplexed as to why we have 3 fruit bowls of varying types, all stacked up, with lightbulbs and pens in the top one and, rather importantly, no room for fruit? *Sigh*
I have the image in my head and I am determined that it shall be done. This is our CHANCE! We have to literally pick up everything in our house anyway to move it to the new one, so if we don't actually need it and aren't ever going to use it, why not just chuck it in the bin instead? Or, as I want to do, but it in a bin bag and sell it to some other schmuck who will take it home to clutter up THEIR house with? I am even prepared to get rid of about half my chick lit books and half my shoes, which doesn't sound like a lot unless you know me and then you'd be like "but that will free up about a quarter of the house anyway!". Cheeky head voices… why I oughta! But Yawksha man, he say no! I even offered to do it by myself - he can stay and "pack" in that boy way (where they look at everything one by one for about 10 agonising seconds and say "oh I forgot I had that!" before placing it carefully in a box, unless it's fragile or clothing in which case it just gets chucked in whichever way it lands) but he was having none of it. Which now leaves me with 2 alternatives:
A) My way, i.e. do it anyway and ignore him. This approach caused a fight yesterday when I dared list 2 of the same cuddly toy within 12 hours of each other on eBay in spite of his pernickerty advice that this would "half our money on each" (see "BIG WHOOP DUDE!" paragraphs for my feelings on this). In the end I got tired of the nagging and took it off.
B) His way, i.e. move EVERYTHING (even all the stupid useless guff I can't wait to get rid of) and sort it out once we move in. I have several issues with this approach. Firstly - why bother to schlep half a tonne of stuff across roads and upstairs and into cupboards or under beds if we're just going to have to drag them all out again, schlep them downstairs and to some form of car boot sale when we do have the time (according to Yawksha Boy) to sell them? Secondly, there is less storage in the new house - where is all the guff going to go? I refuse to have one of "those" back bedrooms which is just full of guff stacked in precarious piles against the wall. I HAVE one of "those" at the minute and I want to scream every time I venture in there. Thirdly, we could get shiny pennies if we sell this stuff - it is just going to get older, dustier and worth less the longer we leave it sitting. Fourthly, THE MOTTO THE MOTTO THE MOTTO! Tidy! Calming! No clutter! GAH!
However, as the Carlsberg ad says, there's probably an option C. I suppose the halfway point would be to put everything we want to get rid of in bin bags, then leave them so they're the last thing in the old house. Then if we have time to take them to a car boot sale, great - just load 'em in the car and off we go. If we run out of time, well then we just need to schlep the bags across the road where they will be stored BRIEFLY until we have more time. Hmmm… intriguing this compromise malarky! Apparently we should get used to it; one of my favourite books (Diary of a Mad Mother To Be by Laura Wolf) says, "in marriage you compromise five times more than you get your way and three times more than you have sex". See, apparently marriage is a collective state of mind rather than a piece of paper - we're well ahead of the game!
But anyways, with only 20 minutes to go until hometime and the promise of a lift home from one of my colleagues, the Easter holidays are imminent. Hopefully we'll have some time over the weekend to make a start on all the packing, cleaning and painting that is stressing him the f00k out and upon my return to work on Wednesday, Yawksha Boy and I shall have started compromising rather than quarrelling! Have a good weekend all and don't eat too much chocolate or ye shall be sickly!
PS: Big boss just rang (from outside the building, having left already!) to say that I could go on if I wanted. It's 4.37pm. Gee, thanks boss. You're so freaking generous!
You may have gathered from this that I'm a tad stressed out at the minute. I still don't quite understand my job for one thing - it's one of those jobs that's so varied that to even start to understand it will take about a year so you've experienced everything at least once; I've been here 3 months. 'Nuff said. Also? Any other non-public-facing civil service places I've worked have let their staff leave early on the last day at work before things like Easter or Christmas, just as a sort of unofficial thank you for being bothered to show up unlike 90% of the workforce. And yet here I am at 3.30pm still at my desk. Bah. At least now I have da powa to let my staff go early, which is great except it means I'm definitely stuck here til 5pm. Bah again.
My second rant of the day is that we've decided to move house (which is a good, nice thing that I feel very positive about) but my other half has decide that WOE AND DOOM WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIEEEEEEEEEEEE because it involves packing stuff, cleaning and touching up some scuffs on the wall, etc. Seriously man, chill the f00k out! You see, to understand his dilema you must understand two things. Firstly, that we live in (and are moving to) a teeny weeny wee tiny house. Secondly, we have a whole lotta loadsa stuff. Getting it all to fit in (never mind looking tidy) is like playing Tetris and as you gather more stuff, suddenly you start to lose control and all the oddly shaped and sized guff is piling up on your metaphorical screen and it takes a massive, concentrated effort to get it all back in check again. Unfortunately we've been neglecting the controls of late and we're just waiting for the line of doom to come down and declare that is GAME OVER. But (BUT!) the (very significant) thing is that we've done this all before. This will be my 5th house move in my life and 2 of those were across the frickin' sea, so excuse me if I don't get all stressed out about moving to a house we can literally throw a stone at from where we are now!
Besides (and this is another point of contention), with our impending marriage (another source of stress!) and consequent gifts, we NEED to move into this new place with NO EXTRANEOUS GUFF. This is now my motto. Step one of this process was to go round and collect random unused guff we could sell on eBay and to shove some bigger but valueless things on Freecycle. Except now the former is opening a big oul' can of worms because Yawksha Boy is SO FREAKING COMPETITIVE about EVERYTHING that he wants us to sit down and word every item's description perfectly and post it at exactly the right time of day, etc to attract more bids. My thoughts on this? BIG WHOOP DUDE! I just want to get rid of all our guff - so what if it goes for 50p less than it could have because some potentially more generous bidder is asleep at 11pm? At this point my dreams of a clutter-free house are so vivid and within grasp that I would gladly just put it all out on the lawn with a sign saying "free stuff". So because of this we still have like 1/3 of the items still to list, which we'll probably get round to this weekend some time. But after this there are still some heavy or bulky or fragile things we want to get some money for rather than giving them away... so I suggested going to a car boot sale. But Yawksha Boy's stance on this? Ha! "We have so much to do alreadyyyyyyyyy - why don't we do it after we move insteaaaaaaad?". BECAUSE THAT DEFEATS THE PURPOSE OF GETTING RID OF EVERYTHING BEFORE WE MOVE - DUH!
I don't think he understand how much I am craving a lovely, clean, uncluttered house. You know, the sort where you come in at night and you put the post on the coffee table, rather than on top of a pile of junk, which is sitting on top of some more junk, which is hiding something very important that will probably end up going missing or being thrown away by accident, which is on top of another pile of junk, which is on top of the coffee table (which has some more junk underneath of course). How I would love to be able to fill my wardrobe with duvet covers and sheets and towels without having to jam them in around the bulkiest computer monitor ever made! And wouldn't it be brilliant to be able to put fruit in a fruit bowl, rather than look perplexed as to why we have 3 fruit bowls of varying types, all stacked up, with lightbulbs and pens in the top one and, rather importantly, no room for fruit? *Sigh*
I have the image in my head and I am determined that it shall be done. This is our CHANCE! We have to literally pick up everything in our house anyway to move it to the new one, so if we don't actually need it and aren't ever going to use it, why not just chuck it in the bin instead? Or, as I want to do, but it in a bin bag and sell it to some other schmuck who will take it home to clutter up THEIR house with? I am even prepared to get rid of about half my chick lit books and half my shoes, which doesn't sound like a lot unless you know me and then you'd be like "but that will free up about a quarter of the house anyway!". Cheeky head voices… why I oughta! But Yawksha man, he say no! I even offered to do it by myself - he can stay and "pack" in that boy way (where they look at everything one by one for about 10 agonising seconds and say "oh I forgot I had that!" before placing it carefully in a box, unless it's fragile or clothing in which case it just gets chucked in whichever way it lands) but he was having none of it. Which now leaves me with 2 alternatives:
A) My way, i.e. do it anyway and ignore him. This approach caused a fight yesterday when I dared list 2 of the same cuddly toy within 12 hours of each other on eBay in spite of his pernickerty advice that this would "half our money on each" (see "BIG WHOOP DUDE!" paragraphs for my feelings on this). In the end I got tired of the nagging and took it off.
B) His way, i.e. move EVERYTHING (even all the stupid useless guff I can't wait to get rid of) and sort it out once we move in. I have several issues with this approach. Firstly - why bother to schlep half a tonne of stuff across roads and upstairs and into cupboards or under beds if we're just going to have to drag them all out again, schlep them downstairs and to some form of car boot sale when we do have the time (according to Yawksha Boy) to sell them? Secondly, there is less storage in the new house - where is all the guff going to go? I refuse to have one of "those" back bedrooms which is just full of guff stacked in precarious piles against the wall. I HAVE one of "those" at the minute and I want to scream every time I venture in there. Thirdly, we could get shiny pennies if we sell this stuff - it is just going to get older, dustier and worth less the longer we leave it sitting. Fourthly, THE MOTTO THE MOTTO THE MOTTO! Tidy! Calming! No clutter! GAH!
However, as the Carlsberg ad says, there's probably an option C. I suppose the halfway point would be to put everything we want to get rid of in bin bags, then leave them so they're the last thing in the old house. Then if we have time to take them to a car boot sale, great - just load 'em in the car and off we go. If we run out of time, well then we just need to schlep the bags across the road where they will be stored BRIEFLY until we have more time. Hmmm… intriguing this compromise malarky! Apparently we should get used to it; one of my favourite books (Diary of a Mad Mother To Be by Laura Wolf) says, "in marriage you compromise five times more than you get your way and three times more than you have sex". See, apparently marriage is a collective state of mind rather than a piece of paper - we're well ahead of the game!
But anyways, with only 20 minutes to go until hometime and the promise of a lift home from one of my colleagues, the Easter holidays are imminent. Hopefully we'll have some time over the weekend to make a start on all the packing, cleaning and painting that is stressing him the f00k out and upon my return to work on Wednesday, Yawksha Boy and I shall have started compromising rather than quarrelling! Have a good weekend all and don't eat too much chocolate or ye shall be sickly!
PS: Big boss just rang (from outside the building, having left already!) to say that I could go on if I wanted. It's 4.37pm. Gee, thanks boss. You're so freaking generous!
Saturday, 4 April 2009
To all the men I’ve loved before – Part 1
I’m not sure what it is – possibly my upcoming marriage – but recently I’ve found myself thinking about love, and in particular about the boys I loved before the love of my life came along in the form of Yawksha Boy. Yep, all two of them!
The first began back at the tender age of 11 (aww bless!). When I started high school, none of my friends from primary school came with me – I was all alone and needed to make new friends or spend 7 years in solitude. But I was a shy little thing at that age so I tried to make life easy for myself and tried to befriend the girl who was next to me in the alphabet and therefore sat next to me in class. She had already befriended a girl who lived near me, so all the better. It didn’t turn out that way though. They found another girl (one of those giggly, bitchy types who was probably queen of her class in primary school) who took against me quite rapidly. When they started making plans to go to the cinema and each other’s houses without me I decided to cut my losses and leave them to it. To be honest I didn’t particularly like them anyway but it had been better than sitting in the library alone at break and lunchtimes.
So I was a bit of a loner for a little while. But then my knight in shining armour came along. A boy – let’s call him Musical Guy – decided out of the blue to be my friend. I can’t remember quite how it all began but soon enough we were spending every minute together. We were already in the same classes but we spent all those previously lonesome break times and lunchtimes together, meandering around the corridors chatting, joking and making fun of each other. Every day I would go home having laughed until my jaw hurt at least once – even the days with double science or PE in them. I genuinely didn’t understand why someone so friendly, kind, funny and, actually, really rather popular was bothering with me, but we were happy in our little world.
At some point we started chatting on the phone every night too. I’ve always had (and have until this very day!) a phobia of speaking on the phone – I hate those awkward silences when neither conversant can think of anything to say and I just want to hang up. However I soon realised that when he rang, any silences weren’t awkward. Sometimes we would just chat about everything and nothing, other times he would play me pieces of classical music that had particularly grabbed him recently and then other times he would be doing something as random as cooking a pizza and narrating to me its progress.
As we got older we started doing things outside school together too – sometimes we would go into town after school and I would watch on with disbelief as he worked his way through 20 McNuggets at McDonalds or we would go shopping; other times he would bring me along to things at his church or music things he was performing in; other times we took advantage of cheap school-goer tickets and go see an orchestra perform, or occasionally we went to the cinema. It was perfect... except for one thing.
Almost right from the first days we walked around the corridors laughing and chatting I had developed a bit of a crush on him and didn’t dare believe he felt the same in return. As time went on and we got closer my feelings grew stronger - after 5 years it had surpassed the “fancying” stage into full blown unrequited love. I didn’t want to love him because I knew he didn’t feel the same way and besides, he was my best friend and I didn’t want anything to compromise that – I was still so grateful he spent so much time on me when he had so many other friends out there who absolutely adored him. So I resolved, again almost immediately, that my feelings should remain on the backburner – I would never tell him (what would be the point?) and we would just stay best friends. I spent a lot of time on buses practicing in my head what I would say if I ever did tell him but I knew that it was pure fantasy – it simply wasn’t worth the risk. I read enough chick lit even at that age to know that we would either end up together at the age of 30 or else we would each find an all-powerful love elsewhere when we were older.
And so it remained. I’m sure he suspected how I felt but I tried to hide it as best I could. It was only after I waved goodbye to him that I allowed myself to analyse every time he had touched my arm or said something nice to me that day. I can’t remember the occasion (possibly because the rest of the world fell away at that moment) but there was one time he held my hand and squeezed it tight. I’m certain it was a friendly gesture but I remember my heart stopped beating and my breath caught in my throat for just a second. Unrequited love is painful but it’s also powerful – I (obviously!) no longer feel that way about him but I still remember how much love I felt for him at moments like that or when I watched him play the flute or the piano.
You see, he is a music genius – one of those people for whom that phrase about picking up any instrument and being able to play it was invented. But it wasn’t just how well he played the notes – it was that when he played it was like you could feel he was putting all his heart and soul into the music. He often played at school events and concerts and I know for a fact that most of the girls in the audience (and perhaps some of the boys!) were smitten when he played. In fact most people in the school thought we were a couple and didn’t believe us when we denied it so on more than one occasion I was on the end of some jealous girl’s evil eye.
Unfortunately when we got to around the age of 16, the girl with the jealousy was me. First of all he had a crush on a gorgeous blonde friend of ours. She was one of those perfect girls – white-blonde hair, pretty elfin features, smart, funny witty and one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. And, of course, a fellow musical genius (although she was a violinist). He denied his feelings about her on more than one occasion but they were written all over his face every time he spoke to her. Whether he genuinely loved her or it was only a crush on an unobtainable girl (she had a boyfriend) I’ll never know, but she was so nice that it was difficult to resent her. Besides, he was still spending as much time with me as he ever had. Little did I know that she would (unwittingly) be the start of the end for my friendship with him.
You see, she knew how I felt about him and, in her ever-optimistic spirit, decided he felt the same way. So one day, she told him how I felt! When she told me what she’s done it was the first time I had ever been annoyed at her. I begged her to call him when she got home to explain to him that I never expected us to become a couple, that I didn’t want my feelings to get in the way of our friendship and that I just wanted everything to remain how it was. She said she would ask him to call me when she’d spoken to him so I knew the deed was done. It was the first time I had ever dreaded the phone ringing and him being on the other end. Eventually, after what felt like 20 years, he did call. It was the most awkward conversation of my life. After the initial “Did she call you and explain? Are you ok? I’m really sorry” horror, we tried to speak normally but it was stilted and awful. I think I cried myself to sleep that night.
I remember being so nervous about seeing him in person the next day, dreading that our friendship was over, and then being so relieved when everything seemed normal (or as normal as it could be). Our blonde friend tried her best to joke around and make everything as normal as possible, bless her. I have no idea what she may have said to him but I think she did help matters a lot – I was grateful even though she had caused it in the first place. Part of me thought “well at least now he knows – he doesn’t feel the same but I never expected him to – but at least now I know for sure” while the other part was still horrified and was trying desperately to assure him through what I said and my actions that I was telling the truth when I said I only wanted to be his friend and that anything else I felt wouldn’t get in the way. Whereas before our conversations would have had an innocent, light flirtation about them sometimes, it was now missing from both of us – him because he didn’t want to lead me on and me because I was determined to show him I didn’t expect anything romantic.
Over time it was, well, not forgotten about, but it became less of a feature – we continued to laugh and joke and hang out with our friends and everything was ok. I even managed to move on now that I knew he wasn’t interested and I fell for my other male best friend (I know, it sounds like the plot of a bad rom com – more in Part 2!). I’m sure Musical Guy was relieved by my interest in someone else and so our friendship started to get back to normal. Or so I thought.
What I didn’t realise until a few months down the line was that the power dynamics in our relationship had changed. I found myself waiting around for ages or going to get him lunch or being left sitting alone in the study room while he went off to stalk the latest girl of his affections (our blonde friend had moved schools and his affections had moved on to another mutual friend, this one also musical and intelligent – although not scarily so – skinny, with brunette curly hair). I don’t know if he realised he was treating me badly at the time never mind that he was upsetting me so much, but he became very selfish. I was no longer in love with him but I still loved him as my best friend of 5 to 6 years and craved his attention in that respect. I didn’t understand why he changed so suddenly, why he had become so selfish and why suddenly I was his lapdog rather than his friend. I put it down to his frustrations at being in love with our brunette friend when she had a boyfriend outside school and wasn’t interested –after all I knew how that felt – but it still tore me up.
Around this time, mainly when he had deserted me and I had no-one else to talk to, I started hanging around more with a group of girls I became friends with, ironically through him. They found me funny and we became quite close, which built my confidence. Eventually, with exam stress adding to my worries, I told Musical Guy that his behaviour was upsetting me. He was less than understanding and I felt like I was a child being told off by their father for being too needy. So I snapped and told him that if that’s how he felt maybe we should just stop acting at the farce that our friendship had become – he could get on with chasing after our brunette friend and I could get on with my life without acting as his skivvy. He agreed.
I cried all night, staring out the window on to the empty street below, while all the songs that used to make me think of him played in the background. But while I was mourning for the loss of our friendship, he had hurt me so much that I was crying through embarrassment at being taken for a fool for so long. And so as the sun rose, I shook myself out of it, told myself he had made his decision, I had made mine and that I had wasted enough time and tears on him.
I had friends who did appreciate me now and when I told them what happened, they backed me all the way. They still remained his friend of course but they welcomed me into their group with open arms and we spent break times, lunchtimes and study periods together. It was strange at first to be part of a big group after it had been just me and Musical Guy a lot of the time for so long, but I really enjoyed being able to sit back and let the conversation wash around me when I didn’t want to talk. I also enjoyed not being used as some kind of unpaid butler.
Of course Musical Guy and I were in some of the same classes still and all the things we had previously done together (choir, orchestra, etc) so we still saw each other. At first the sight of him made me angry and I studiously ignored him, making sure I looked like I was having fun with my other friends and not missing him at all. As time went on it stopped becoming an act. I even managed to say hello in a civil way to him a few times. By the end of school, age 18, we had progressed to the point where we could converse and even joke a little in a group but we never spoke alone – I was still too hurt in a way but also my life was different now and he wasn’t a big part of it any more.
University beckoned and we went our separate ways. After a while I also split up with my group of female friends from school (that’s a whole other story but not worthy of telling really) but met some new friends at Uni and remained best friends with the aforementioned other “man I’ve loved before”. Occasionally I saw Musical Guy round and about (it’s a small world) and more recently than that we ended up seeing each other every other week at a pub quiz we both went to, but things are different now. When we went to uni and I didn’t have to see him (and be reminded of all that had passed) every day, the space allowed me to forgive him. Ain’t retrospect grand?
I can’t remember the details of when and where but I remember that after we’d left school we spoke on MSN Messenger one evening and he apologised for how he had treated me. I can’t remember what I said but I hope I told him that he had hurt me deeply but that his apology was accepted and all was forgiven. We’ve actually been out a few times since then too, him with his new lady (who is just the sort of woman he needs to keep him in check!) and me with Yawksha Boy. And do you know, it was fun. The murky past was forgotten about and we just conversed like normal friends.
Actually we spoke briefly last night on Facebook too (perhaps another reason I’ve been thinking about this topic?) and it’s safe to say that things are fine now – we have a very different sort of friendship. It’s a little strange to be the sort of friends who catch up every now and then but otherwise don’t really think about each other very often when what we had when we were younger was so very different, but I’m just glad it’s all turned out ok in the end.
They say that you never forget your first love and I can say that it’s very true. However I know that those feelings are now just memories. What I have with Yawksha Boy is so much deeper and, most importantly, he actually loves me back for some reason, bless his wit! There really is no sense in dwelling in the past but, Musical Guy, you will always hold a special little place in my heart – you were one of the best friends I ever had and I’m so thankful for what time we did have together – the good times and the bad times we had made me into a better and stronger person and I have so many happy memories of my teenage years – so thank you.
Tune in for Part 2 when I can be bothered to write it! Have a good weekend all! xxx
The first began back at the tender age of 11 (aww bless!). When I started high school, none of my friends from primary school came with me – I was all alone and needed to make new friends or spend 7 years in solitude. But I was a shy little thing at that age so I tried to make life easy for myself and tried to befriend the girl who was next to me in the alphabet and therefore sat next to me in class. She had already befriended a girl who lived near me, so all the better. It didn’t turn out that way though. They found another girl (one of those giggly, bitchy types who was probably queen of her class in primary school) who took against me quite rapidly. When they started making plans to go to the cinema and each other’s houses without me I decided to cut my losses and leave them to it. To be honest I didn’t particularly like them anyway but it had been better than sitting in the library alone at break and lunchtimes.
So I was a bit of a loner for a little while. But then my knight in shining armour came along. A boy – let’s call him Musical Guy – decided out of the blue to be my friend. I can’t remember quite how it all began but soon enough we were spending every minute together. We were already in the same classes but we spent all those previously lonesome break times and lunchtimes together, meandering around the corridors chatting, joking and making fun of each other. Every day I would go home having laughed until my jaw hurt at least once – even the days with double science or PE in them. I genuinely didn’t understand why someone so friendly, kind, funny and, actually, really rather popular was bothering with me, but we were happy in our little world.
At some point we started chatting on the phone every night too. I’ve always had (and have until this very day!) a phobia of speaking on the phone – I hate those awkward silences when neither conversant can think of anything to say and I just want to hang up. However I soon realised that when he rang, any silences weren’t awkward. Sometimes we would just chat about everything and nothing, other times he would play me pieces of classical music that had particularly grabbed him recently and then other times he would be doing something as random as cooking a pizza and narrating to me its progress.
As we got older we started doing things outside school together too – sometimes we would go into town after school and I would watch on with disbelief as he worked his way through 20 McNuggets at McDonalds or we would go shopping; other times he would bring me along to things at his church or music things he was performing in; other times we took advantage of cheap school-goer tickets and go see an orchestra perform, or occasionally we went to the cinema. It was perfect... except for one thing.
Almost right from the first days we walked around the corridors laughing and chatting I had developed a bit of a crush on him and didn’t dare believe he felt the same in return. As time went on and we got closer my feelings grew stronger - after 5 years it had surpassed the “fancying” stage into full blown unrequited love. I didn’t want to love him because I knew he didn’t feel the same way and besides, he was my best friend and I didn’t want anything to compromise that – I was still so grateful he spent so much time on me when he had so many other friends out there who absolutely adored him. So I resolved, again almost immediately, that my feelings should remain on the backburner – I would never tell him (what would be the point?) and we would just stay best friends. I spent a lot of time on buses practicing in my head what I would say if I ever did tell him but I knew that it was pure fantasy – it simply wasn’t worth the risk. I read enough chick lit even at that age to know that we would either end up together at the age of 30 or else we would each find an all-powerful love elsewhere when we were older.
And so it remained. I’m sure he suspected how I felt but I tried to hide it as best I could. It was only after I waved goodbye to him that I allowed myself to analyse every time he had touched my arm or said something nice to me that day. I can’t remember the occasion (possibly because the rest of the world fell away at that moment) but there was one time he held my hand and squeezed it tight. I’m certain it was a friendly gesture but I remember my heart stopped beating and my breath caught in my throat for just a second. Unrequited love is painful but it’s also powerful – I (obviously!) no longer feel that way about him but I still remember how much love I felt for him at moments like that or when I watched him play the flute or the piano.
You see, he is a music genius – one of those people for whom that phrase about picking up any instrument and being able to play it was invented. But it wasn’t just how well he played the notes – it was that when he played it was like you could feel he was putting all his heart and soul into the music. He often played at school events and concerts and I know for a fact that most of the girls in the audience (and perhaps some of the boys!) were smitten when he played. In fact most people in the school thought we were a couple and didn’t believe us when we denied it so on more than one occasion I was on the end of some jealous girl’s evil eye.
Unfortunately when we got to around the age of 16, the girl with the jealousy was me. First of all he had a crush on a gorgeous blonde friend of ours. She was one of those perfect girls – white-blonde hair, pretty elfin features, smart, funny witty and one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. And, of course, a fellow musical genius (although she was a violinist). He denied his feelings about her on more than one occasion but they were written all over his face every time he spoke to her. Whether he genuinely loved her or it was only a crush on an unobtainable girl (she had a boyfriend) I’ll never know, but she was so nice that it was difficult to resent her. Besides, he was still spending as much time with me as he ever had. Little did I know that she would (unwittingly) be the start of the end for my friendship with him.
You see, she knew how I felt about him and, in her ever-optimistic spirit, decided he felt the same way. So one day, she told him how I felt! When she told me what she’s done it was the first time I had ever been annoyed at her. I begged her to call him when she got home to explain to him that I never expected us to become a couple, that I didn’t want my feelings to get in the way of our friendship and that I just wanted everything to remain how it was. She said she would ask him to call me when she’d spoken to him so I knew the deed was done. It was the first time I had ever dreaded the phone ringing and him being on the other end. Eventually, after what felt like 20 years, he did call. It was the most awkward conversation of my life. After the initial “Did she call you and explain? Are you ok? I’m really sorry” horror, we tried to speak normally but it was stilted and awful. I think I cried myself to sleep that night.
I remember being so nervous about seeing him in person the next day, dreading that our friendship was over, and then being so relieved when everything seemed normal (or as normal as it could be). Our blonde friend tried her best to joke around and make everything as normal as possible, bless her. I have no idea what she may have said to him but I think she did help matters a lot – I was grateful even though she had caused it in the first place. Part of me thought “well at least now he knows – he doesn’t feel the same but I never expected him to – but at least now I know for sure” while the other part was still horrified and was trying desperately to assure him through what I said and my actions that I was telling the truth when I said I only wanted to be his friend and that anything else I felt wouldn’t get in the way. Whereas before our conversations would have had an innocent, light flirtation about them sometimes, it was now missing from both of us – him because he didn’t want to lead me on and me because I was determined to show him I didn’t expect anything romantic.
Over time it was, well, not forgotten about, but it became less of a feature – we continued to laugh and joke and hang out with our friends and everything was ok. I even managed to move on now that I knew he wasn’t interested and I fell for my other male best friend (I know, it sounds like the plot of a bad rom com – more in Part 2!). I’m sure Musical Guy was relieved by my interest in someone else and so our friendship started to get back to normal. Or so I thought.
What I didn’t realise until a few months down the line was that the power dynamics in our relationship had changed. I found myself waiting around for ages or going to get him lunch or being left sitting alone in the study room while he went off to stalk the latest girl of his affections (our blonde friend had moved schools and his affections had moved on to another mutual friend, this one also musical and intelligent – although not scarily so – skinny, with brunette curly hair). I don’t know if he realised he was treating me badly at the time never mind that he was upsetting me so much, but he became very selfish. I was no longer in love with him but I still loved him as my best friend of 5 to 6 years and craved his attention in that respect. I didn’t understand why he changed so suddenly, why he had become so selfish and why suddenly I was his lapdog rather than his friend. I put it down to his frustrations at being in love with our brunette friend when she had a boyfriend outside school and wasn’t interested –after all I knew how that felt – but it still tore me up.
Around this time, mainly when he had deserted me and I had no-one else to talk to, I started hanging around more with a group of girls I became friends with, ironically through him. They found me funny and we became quite close, which built my confidence. Eventually, with exam stress adding to my worries, I told Musical Guy that his behaviour was upsetting me. He was less than understanding and I felt like I was a child being told off by their father for being too needy. So I snapped and told him that if that’s how he felt maybe we should just stop acting at the farce that our friendship had become – he could get on with chasing after our brunette friend and I could get on with my life without acting as his skivvy. He agreed.
I cried all night, staring out the window on to the empty street below, while all the songs that used to make me think of him played in the background. But while I was mourning for the loss of our friendship, he had hurt me so much that I was crying through embarrassment at being taken for a fool for so long. And so as the sun rose, I shook myself out of it, told myself he had made his decision, I had made mine and that I had wasted enough time and tears on him.
I had friends who did appreciate me now and when I told them what happened, they backed me all the way. They still remained his friend of course but they welcomed me into their group with open arms and we spent break times, lunchtimes and study periods together. It was strange at first to be part of a big group after it had been just me and Musical Guy a lot of the time for so long, but I really enjoyed being able to sit back and let the conversation wash around me when I didn’t want to talk. I also enjoyed not being used as some kind of unpaid butler.
Of course Musical Guy and I were in some of the same classes still and all the things we had previously done together (choir, orchestra, etc) so we still saw each other. At first the sight of him made me angry and I studiously ignored him, making sure I looked like I was having fun with my other friends and not missing him at all. As time went on it stopped becoming an act. I even managed to say hello in a civil way to him a few times. By the end of school, age 18, we had progressed to the point where we could converse and even joke a little in a group but we never spoke alone – I was still too hurt in a way but also my life was different now and he wasn’t a big part of it any more.
University beckoned and we went our separate ways. After a while I also split up with my group of female friends from school (that’s a whole other story but not worthy of telling really) but met some new friends at Uni and remained best friends with the aforementioned other “man I’ve loved before”. Occasionally I saw Musical Guy round and about (it’s a small world) and more recently than that we ended up seeing each other every other week at a pub quiz we both went to, but things are different now. When we went to uni and I didn’t have to see him (and be reminded of all that had passed) every day, the space allowed me to forgive him. Ain’t retrospect grand?
I can’t remember the details of when and where but I remember that after we’d left school we spoke on MSN Messenger one evening and he apologised for how he had treated me. I can’t remember what I said but I hope I told him that he had hurt me deeply but that his apology was accepted and all was forgiven. We’ve actually been out a few times since then too, him with his new lady (who is just the sort of woman he needs to keep him in check!) and me with Yawksha Boy. And do you know, it was fun. The murky past was forgotten about and we just conversed like normal friends.
Actually we spoke briefly last night on Facebook too (perhaps another reason I’ve been thinking about this topic?) and it’s safe to say that things are fine now – we have a very different sort of friendship. It’s a little strange to be the sort of friends who catch up every now and then but otherwise don’t really think about each other very often when what we had when we were younger was so very different, but I’m just glad it’s all turned out ok in the end.
They say that you never forget your first love and I can say that it’s very true. However I know that those feelings are now just memories. What I have with Yawksha Boy is so much deeper and, most importantly, he actually loves me back for some reason, bless his wit! There really is no sense in dwelling in the past but, Musical Guy, you will always hold a special little place in my heart – you were one of the best friends I ever had and I’m so thankful for what time we did have together – the good times and the bad times we had made me into a better and stronger person and I have so many happy memories of my teenage years – so thank you.
Tune in for Part 2 when I can be bothered to write it! Have a good weekend all! xxx
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