I was ironing. Having been away so much, there are many things to do including the small mountain of ironing. I hate ironing almost as much as cleaning. Let’s face it, I am not really domesticated. The dogs are probably better than me. I am doing a bit at a time since to do all of it in one go will just be too much!
However, ironing must be done if I am to have any clean stuff to wear and, in this weather (yesterday, when I got in the car after work the temperature read 43 degrees, so it’s quite warm), it is necessary to wear a lot of clean stuff after a lot of showers.
I have the telly on (MTV as we get it free here) but, really, I am paying no attention to either the telly nor the ironing. The ironing is automatic and the telly plays music that I, generally, don’t really like.
As normal, I am playing through conversations in my head as I have nothing else to distract me, really. Of course, the conversations were not conversations that had actually happened but rather ones that may happen but, if I’m honest with myself, won’t happen and, anyway, if they did happen, the other person wouldn’t say the things that I had predetermined they would say so my replies would not be so certain and, most probably, I wouldn’t be so sharp or so clever.
The basic nature of the conversations is this:
V wants to get back together.
V says he’s sorry.
I say (without completely closing it down) that that will be very difficult.
I say that he needs to be honest and open with me.
I say that to do that, he first needs to be honest and open with himself.
V asks what things he needs to be honest and open about.
I say that that is the point. I cannot tell him, although I know some things, but that, to be honest and open, he has to decide to tell me everything and I will know if he has.
This is a stupid conversation as this will never happen.
Suddenly (and I really don’t know why this happened), I think of another situation. I think of my parents who, apparently, are or, at least were, waiting for me to ‘come home’ asking for their forgiveness (for what, I really don’t know). I think how stupid they were and little they knew me, even if I was their son and even if they did raise me for almost 18 years before I left, for good.
And then, I realised, in one of those moments of complete clarity that, in spite of my efforts not to be like them, I was, in fact, doing the same thing. I was waiting for V to come to his senses and come back begging to be together.
And, then I realised that, of course, he is not coming back – begging or not – and that my life has been in this limbo state, waiting for him to appear on my doorstep whereas, in fact, he has already moved on and, damn it, so should I.
It won’t be the last time that I will enact these meaningless conversations and, for certain, I am catching myself wanting a man again, which makes me vulnerable but I know that, as these future enacted, made-up, incredible conversations happen, I will be able to stop it following this ‘moment of clarity’ by remembering that, in fact, the situation is not going to happen. It will get easier each time.
The wanting a man part, though, will not. At least, not for a while. The problem with that, other than my previous track record in this situation, is that, this time, a) I really find so few men attractive and b) how the hell do I tell whether they’re gay or not, at least here, in this land where men don’t seem to have a problem with their sexuality and, therefore, have no need to be give off the right signals? Or, rather, give off signals that I find perplexing and unclear.
And the point of this post? None at all really!