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I've been listening mostly to Eels, these last days.
Having no privacy and not being able to write or blog has made me feel like I'm developing a personality disorder. Yes, I know. Another one.
And the main thing I was looking forward to - well, it may be off the agenda now.
I'm tired of the old shit - let the new shit begin.
T'is the season to be jolly, after all.
All the girl-jobs are pretty much done. Selecting and ordering the food, buying and wrapping all the presents (including a couple for me so it doesn't look too obvious that I haven't got any), liaising with the relatives, sorting out the schedule, all that: all done.
The tiny number of boy-jobs? Not done. Not even commenced. And let's face it, we're not talking about much here. Replacing some missing bulbs in the lamps before the visitors come. Getting the TV fixed. Unblocking the kitchen sink.
I asked him, when he was in town, to pick up four nice Christmas cards. Cue eye-rolling, moaning, groaning.
"Don't you have any cards at home? Can't you get some next time you're out? I'm really busy. Who are they for?"
Your son, your daughter, your mother and your brother actually.
Ho, ho, woe.
Holy crap. I have committed the crime of Laughing In The Kitchen.
The sentence for this appears to be a night on the sofa. I'm not sure if that might be a blessing rather than a punishment.
For heaven's sake. The man is a complete nightmare.
I started this blog 14 months ago, after attending a writing workshop. I wanted to make some changes in my life. One of those changes was to start taking my writing seriously.
Now just over a year later, I have achieved several of my objectives. One important development is that my writing is starting to come together, and other people are beginning taking it seriously too.
To reach this point, I had to make decisions in other areas of my life too. How I spend my time, how I sustain myself, how I balance all the conflicting demands I'm trying to meet.
For a brief time, it all came together and the writing was flowing. When the conditions are right, suddenly the meadow can burst into bloom after all those barren years.
Something Christmassy, boys?
Not really. I know she's called Holly, but it's just a ruse to get your attention - I know it worked. And there is in fact a tenuous link.
I have found the answers you have been seeking to the complex and confusing nature of relationships and emotions and all that icky stuff. I have consulted the interweb and through this exciting new hi-tech information medium I have been introduced to the world authority on the topic.
His name is Ramon, The Mink Of Love.
(See what I did there?)
He has devised a quiz for men to help them understand their Love Personality. It's short enough to match any boy's attention span, and will make you laugh your pants off even if doesn't help you become wiser in the ways of the world.
Let me count the ways.
“Do you love her?” I asked him.
“I don’t know what that means. Define it. Give me some objective tests”.
Oh god, here we go again. These men and their reasoning brains. As I heard on the radio only yesterday, if you give a man a book called Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus, he’s likely to point out that atmospheric conditions on both these planets do not support gender-differentiated life-forms.
So we kicked around some yes/no questions that might test the proposition. Some of these we felt might be friendship, or fondness, or lust. Some of them, I thought, might be love - but he was less than certain. I tried the old listen-to-your-heart, but he just pulled That Face.
I posited my theory that love has many shades and hues. That it does not exist for one person in one way; that the human capacity for love is enormous, boundless; that we can love many people in many ways. But he was making That Face again.
Saying it like it is: love is the one area where our gender stereotypes flip into reverse. If a woman loves you, she’ll tell you. Look you right in the eye and say it straight out, no messing.
Men get all angst-y and anguished; over-analyse and wonder whether they have really, truly loved anyone; worry about what expectations might be raised if they say it; fret about how it might be received and whether it’s the right moment and whether it means something else will have to happen. For heaven’s sake, boys! You hate it when we do this.
I reckon it’s best to judge a man’s love - or otherwise - by his deeds rather than his words, no matter how articulate he might be in other respects. And, men, it’s an easy test. If you can’t work out how you feel about someone, look at what you do, how you act, the way you behave when you’re with her.
You’ll soon realise the answer to the question is easier than you thought.
I was a looking at an article on MSN the other day entitled Men: Seven Reasons You’re Not Having Sex. Go on, admit it. You're curious too.
Written by a man, it suggests the following. (Look it up and see him expand on these if you so desire). Guys, it could be:
1. Your bedroom isn’t sexy any more
2. You’re too busy
3. You don’t like your body
4. You spend too long looking at porn
5. You’re bored of sex
6. You have too much entertainment
7. Your partner doesn’t want to
I thought a wife's perspective might be useful here, so I've come up with my own variants on these seven.
1. Your bedroom isn’t sexy any more: it’s filled with piles of car magazines, partly-worn clothes of yours, the cardboard insides of toilet rolls that you never throw away and a number of hardback books you will never read. And you... watching sport, or in bed working on the laptop or making shouty business calls.
2. She’s too busy: running around doing laundry, shopping, mum-taxi, running the household. Oh, and holding down a full time executive job.
3. You don’t like your body. She doesn’t like your body. You don’t like her body. She doesn’t like her body. Neither of you are 22 any more. Shocker.
4. You’ve spent so long looking at porn, you can’t muster a decent erection now unless you’re surrounded by Scandinavian lesbians with no body hair.
5. You’re boring at sex. Maybe you’ve always been boring, but now she’s bored of faking, so you’ve only just realised after all these years that perhaps you’re not very good.
6. She has better things to entertain her: good wine, good friends, good conversation, a good book.
7. You don’t want to.
You know what? I was looking for a photo to illustrate this post, and I searched in Google Images for "not having sex any more". There are 154,000,000 results. So it's probably not just you...
When you are gone, I bury my face in the pillow where you slept so I can smell your skin.
Sometimes when I turn my head, the scent of you is in my hair where I lay against your chest.
And when your eyes are closed, I mouth the things I must not speak in a silent voice you cannot hear and only your eyelids see.
My fingers curl small so you could fold your hand around them, and my shoulders wait for the wrap of your arm.
I listen to your actions, and I count your kindnesses as the words you do not say.
