09/12/2010

There is this creepy children’s programme on  CBeebies called Waybuloo.  I came across it one morning when I  didn’t have anything to do in the house and all the other early morning programmes had nothing special to offer so I decided to watch some children’s TV. After the usual line up, it came up. I was multitasking; applying for jobs online while stealing the occasional glance at the telly. I first heard the weird chimes, and I thought, ‘What? Did I change the channel?’, then I looked up and saw these  colourful and  totally otherworldly crystals going round and round. I thought,’ Hang on a minute, is this CBeebies?’  Then the little people came up, creepily mumbling things. At this point I thought to myself that there was something inherently wrong about this but didn’t know what, so I continued watching it until I got to the part where they have their daily yoga sessions, they call it yogi in Waybuloo world. The little people encourage the children watching to get into position  and do the yogi too. What the hell?

I’m usually not one of those conspiracy theory types but surely there is an agenda behind this? The programme is just too ‘let’s get all hippy, meditate, chant and we shall achieve a peaceful state of mind’. And what does that remind you of? I thought children’s programmes are supposed to be secular? They should let them grow up and make up their own minds on religion that’s what I think. If I had little ones I would never let them watch this programme. But then again, maybe all the ‘progressive’ yummy mummies think this is cool. Anyway, even more creepy was the fact that on the day that I took a fall in the snow – I think it was the first and the heaviest snow day last week – there was a woman and her little girl walking behind me and she kept telling her to hurry up so that they could get home, be warm and watch Waybuloo.

‘We don’t want to miss Waybuloo, do we?’ she kept repeating this before lifting her up, and at this exact moment I fell and landed straight on my bum. There was a bloke in front of the woman – I hadn’t seen him earlier on, he rushed to help me up but I had managed to get myself up quickly enough so all he did was end up saying, ‘Be careful please,’ and off he went. The woman and her child then walked casually past me as I was dusting the snow off and got into a house four doors away.

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19/11/2010

Number of job applications this week: 12

Rejections by email: 3

Spirit level: -1

Cold and fever caught: 1

Number of headaches: Infinite

Here’s hoping you have a lovely weekend.

15/11/2010

Things I’m  learning about myself from this  ‘thing’ with BB:

  • I think about sex too much.
  • But I’m congenitally incapable of doing casual sex very well.
  • Because I’m too emotional a person. I need to feel I belong with a man. I need to be acknowledged on an emotional level. I also care too much. I wake up in the morning and wonder if he had a good night. I sit at home having lunch and wonder if he’s having lunch with his friends, alone? What is he having? Is he enjoying it? I listen to travel updates and ask myself whether he’s stuck in traffic somewhere bored out of his brain. When he gets home, is he happy to see his baby? Does he spend his weekends making funny faces and making him laugh?
  • Also because my PCOS drives me mad. Immediately after my period, unless I really trust someone  it can be quite an effort for me to have sex. Too many true and false PMS-esque symptoms during that time. And I just can’t sit someone down – someone who is essentially still not close to me and start explaining all my reproductive woes. I’d rather pass the sex itself at that time. So I worry a lot instead, mostly about him, not me. Mostly about how I seem not to be in the mood.
  • And what does that say about me? I’m pathetic. End of story. But of course I want  a very healthy relationship.  That I’m sure of. I may suffer from a terrible and great deal of low self-esteem and other great crazy but that’s one thing I’m sure of. That’s why I said no to Fish. I’m not at my best emotionally and if I said yes I would lose him – something I don’t want to do because I want him in my life. If he still wants me when I’m ‘healed’ then I think I will say yes. At the moment it’s ok for any other woman to have him, although there isn’t any yet.
  • I like and prefer intelligent men. I mean,  BB isn’t dim, but God knows we don’t have any mentally stimulating conversations. Of course I’m aware life is about compromise so I can compromise if a man brought something else to the table, like kindness, unconditional love, streetwiseness and money, yes money – don’t get me wrong but I’m a woman, I don’t just lay with anyone, there are consequences to think of, it’s nature. And I won’t be PC about it, in fact all women shouldn’t be PC about it. All women who pretend to be PC about money in regards to relationships want to have the good life to themselves and leave you out to dry. True story. So where was I? Yes, intelligence. An intelligent man is powerful to me. A powerful man turns me on. I have respect for a powerful man and in order for me to love a man I have to respect him. Money = Power too, that’s why I can compromise. A powerful man also makes me feel protected and taken care of. I feel safe in the company of a powerful man. I feel my future children will be safe with a powerful father. A powerful man doesn’t worry about his position in society so he doesn’t have time to have ‘issues’, instead he has the time to love me.
  • I need to be more kind to myself.
  • Unmasking myself and allowing myself to be vulnerable is actually good for me. Allowing people to see the real me and being honest about my situation is good for my personal growth. BB is the only person in a long time who has actually seen how bad my financial situation is. Most of the times I feel ashamed by what is essentially a situation that is not my fault, but what can I do? He still insists on seeing me, so that’s what he’ll see.
  • I am beautiful – I know this but I needed a reminder after a very long time. From the first day that he met me, BB told me that I was beautiful every single time we met. Every single time. He’s never stopped. No faffing around with words, he just says these exact words every single time: You are beautiful.
  • I like kissing men’s noses.

10/11/2010

I went to the bank  last Friday. I was in a queue behind a middle-aged blonde woman. She was dressed in all black, spotted a deep red lipstick and was carrying a  big black gold-embroidered handbag  I don’t know why but her image made me think of   madams  – not that I’ve met any but after too much tv, books and being a general Billy no-mates, you tend to build a picture. She also made me think of perpetual jet-setters or the ‘it’s-my-sole-purpose-in-life-to-keep-up-with-the-joneses’ types. I waited for my turn, after a few minutes I heard:

“Alright, that’s sorted,”  then the girl behind the counter handed her a slip. I thought she was done, so I made a few steps forwards, leaning and readying myself to be served. But she wasn’t done,  for the girl behind the counter went back to punching something into the computer. The woman noticed my move, I noticed that she noticed me too, so I swiftly looked away, to a poster on the wall.  She then moved to block my view of the counter and put a big arm around the side of the counter that I was standing near to. Then I got the picture. She thought I was looking at her details! Wow. She continued throwing cautious glances at me whilst guarding this space even more. I decided to move a further steps back. Give her the piece of mind that she so desperately wanted. When it was my turn, the girl behind the counter said hello then immediately added:

“Just to say, you were standing very close to my last customer there.”

“Was I? I…”

“Just telling you because people can be funny with these things.”

Of course they can. I saw it. But I wasn’t standing too close, I only moved closer because I thought she was done and when I realised she wasn’t, I retreated, but hey. Now think about that, and then think trust, mistrust, security.

Why those word? Because coincidentally I was reading this highly insightful and thought-provoking book: The Spirit Level, Why Equality is Better for Everyone by Richard Wilkinson and Kate Pickett. There is a chapter on community life and social relations. Here they discuss how in unequal societies (focusing on income inequality, which essentially affects things such as social status) people tend not to trust each other more compared to egalitarian societies. They live in fear and are constantly trying to either a.) protect what they have or b.) keep away from those people they considered out of their social circles, which ultimately is not good of all of us. For those higher in the ladder, they live with constant fear, for those lower in the ladder they live with the worry of lacking in something and not belong, so everyone is affected.

This  incident could not be more apt. Here are some illuminating quotes:

Inequality , not surprisingly, is a powerful social divider, perhaps because we all tend to use differences in living standards as markers of status differences. We tend to choose our friends from among our near equals and have little to do with those much richer or much poorer. And when  we have less to do with other kinds of people, it’s harder for us to trust them. Our position in the social hierarchy affects who we see as part of the in-group and who as out-group – us and them – so affecting our ability to identify with and empathize with other people.

(…)

With greater inequality, people are less caring of one another, there is less mutuality in relationships, people have to fend for themselves and get what they can – so, inevitably, there is less trust. Mistrust and inequality reinforce each other.

03/11/2010

It’s 3:40 pm, I turn over in my duvet-heavy bed and sluggishly glance towards the door of my room. BB is standing there. Am I dreaming? I ask myself and try to sit up. No I’m not. Oh dear God. Panic. That is BB standing at the door.

Then it hits me. What???? No, no, no, no!  This man did not just ambush me in my place? I did not remember any talk of  meeting him today. He’s appeared unannounced, to find me at my most undignified. A stinking room, dirty bowl and spoon with dried weetabix bits on them,  on the bed beside my head, a packet of sainsbury’s basics sultanas next to it,  bits of used tissue and dirty clothes all over the floor and my menses stained knickers hanging at the corner of my bed. I’m ashamed. I want to die. Oh the humiliation! It’s unbearable. I want to get up but I’m incapacitated with self loathing.

“Hello, I wasn’t expecting you, how did you get in?”

“The woman opened the  door for me”

“Oh, eerrm…I was reading then I fell asleep”

“I can see that, is it warm in there? I’ll join you”

No, please no. You wouldn’t like the smell in here. At this point I’m thinking…hide the dirty stuff on display…hide that bit of the second duvet that’s worn out…do something…save yourself from this shame. But I can’t. He’s already removed his clothes and has jumped next to me. Feelings of rage start to creep up within me. He has no right! He can’t just turn up. He has no right to turn up like this and make me feel less of a human being due to the conditions I live in. In times like these I want to be alone. I don’t want anyone to see the crazy state I’m in. When I’m alone, I don’t have to pretend. I can wallow in my depression and continue fighting a loosing battle with my insomnia whilst indulging and entertaining my glorious disturbed sleep patterns. Then he comes in like this. This is not a part of me I want him to see. Then I calm down – it’s not my fault after all, I didn’t ask him to turn up impromptu.

Up until now he had only been to my place once – after I had done a massive clear out and cleaned the place up and now. And of course after apologising profusely for the state of it – most of which wasn’t my poor self’s fault – the stained and discoloured roof for starters. Ugh. On that occasion it went well though. He didn’t seem to mind and even helped me take out some rubbish that The Witch thought convenient to tell me off about in front of him. But this was different.

One hour after he got naked, I put my hand over his torso  and a few minutes later I hear:

“We should stop doing this”

“What?”

“Having sex”

Oh dear me. This is it.

“I don’t spend quality time with you”

So why the hell did you fucking come over today? How about you should have told me this via earlier and not turned up. Or how about you should have turned up and NOT got naked, but just you know…tell me this and then go?

I remain silent. I play with his hair a little, he tells me to stop then gets up to dress. He notices the sultanas and makes a comment about how good sultanas are. All I can think of is that they are just sainsbury’s basics. Cheap. I’m a total and massive contrast to his comfortable middle class existence. No wonder he wants out? He also mentions something about how warm my bed is. Do I like to keep warm he asks? I pull a duvet over me as he says:

“We should stop because it’s not fair to you. I don’t make enough time for you”

He leans over to kiss me. Tears start forming. God please no, I can’t start crying now. Not for this man. Please.

“But you are funny, you don’t care”

I do. I fucking care. I fucking care so much. I fucking care so much that I’ve had to suppress my tears. He said I didn’t care because two weeks ago, while apologising for yet another flying visit I told him it doesn’t matter when he sees me. It was his life I said and I will not force him to see him. It’s not like I was married to him or was his girlfriend, I continued, matter of factly. I didn’t mean that. I was hurting and angry…and needy so I just said this to appear ‘cool with it’. He remembered it.

“It’s not that I don’t care”, I smiled faintly and swallowed a huge lump in my throat. He stood up to put on his jumper and said that it wasn’t fair that he couldn’t see me enough but would make sure to find sometime for us to do something ‘more’. So what is it? Is that it or do I have to wait and see if he has found the time to do ‘more’ things together?

He blew me a kiss and left. I lay in bed  thinking of that scene in Bille August’s The House of the Spirits, where Esteban visits a prostitute and asks her  to be tender with him and pretend to care for him, just for that day. Substitute  the prostitute with BB.

I wish I’d never met him.

**An hour letter I check my emails and see one from him, sent at 2:32 pm, without a body, titled ‘Hello are yyou home at 3.30pm?’ I wasn’t online so I couldn’t reply, but why would he just turn up? If you don’t get a reply you wait for one!