I don’t often comment but just a couple of things……

Posted on by
2

It’s not often I mention anything from the UK but this is outrageous.  And not for the reasons that you might, at first, think.  My first thought on reading the headline was how bad it was that these guys, defending their family, their property from cruel and vile people, should be sent to jail……………….until you read that the thief that they caught, they subsequently beat so hard that he has suffered permanent brain damage.  Perhaps the headline should have read ‘Vicious Thugs jailed for beating the crap out of man – the UK goes back to the Dark Ages’ or something like that.

And then there’s this.  I find it astonishing that in this, the 21st century, a country that is almost a continent in its own right, should not be looking after its people in a proper and civilised way.  And if any of you Americans (sorry Gail) think that this is ‘commie’ thinking, you are completely fucking crazy!  Our Health Care systems may not be perfect but everyone does have the right to be ‘looked after’ and to have help to get better or have an operation or whatever.  It is inconceivable to me that a civilised country doesn’t already have this.  And I just don’t understand how it can even be open for debate!  There!  That’s all I have to say on the matter.

Oh yes, and today, a few minutes ago, I cancelled one of my subscriptions to one of the web sites. Here’s hoping I don’t need it again?

I feel somewhat sorry for him as this is shit.

Posted on by
6

It’s no good.  I’ve tried everything, short of half a bottle of wine or something.

I get up and get myself a glass of milk, my cigarettes and my book, the one I started months and months ago (before summer?) but, which, over the last few months has remained untouched, unopened, unread and unloved.

I know I shall regret this in the morning but, although tired and although it seems I am almost at the point of sleep, the final hurdle seems insurmountable.

I went to bed later than I had hoped, too.  I even had a wank which used to work wonders but now, not only was it difficult but it made no difference.  Bugger.

The last time I looked at the clock, which displays the time on the ceiling in laser red, it was about 12.45.  I know it’s not because of him but part of me blames him anyway.  After all, it was his decision.  And it is because of him.

But, I knew it was coming, even as I got home; even before we spoke or chatted or texted or anything.

Even if his new flat has no electricity and, so, he cannot go there.

It was (and still is) very cold.  Although not freezing in Milan proper, it is close.  The flat was OK but not so warm when I arrived home, the cleaner ironing and then pointing out the broken handle on the moka and blaming it on Dino.  Another broken thing.  So bloody clumsy.

He texted or phoned to say he was leaving work and going home.  I knew he would not be venturing out last night again.  Not in this cold.  I wanted to say ‘Come here’, as I am on his way home but I knew he would not so I said nothing.  We don’t want to feel needy, do we?

He got home and phoned me.  He said that he was so cold, the heating not having been on in the flat and me not having sorted out his timer thing over the weekend.  We chatted through Facebook for a while.  He called me again.  He said he wouldn’t come over, if I didn’t mind.

Of course I minded even if I knew it was coming or, rather, had the nagging doubt that he wouldn’t come.  I wanted to say ‘but it’s OK for me to suffer the cold before 6 in the morning when I come to your place!’ but, of course, I didn’t.  And, anyway, it is my choice.  He said I could come to him but I said that I had the dogs and I hadn’t spent enough time with them over the weekend and, so, I should stay.  He knew that I would stay and said he understood.

And I wonder, just for a moment, if he has the same thoughts as me?  Well, the same but different, if you see what I mean.

We chatted more on Facebook.  I took the dogs out.  God it was cold.  I hurried through the streets, knowing that, at least, the flat would feel warmer on my return.

It didn’t.  Or, rather, not warm enough.

I went back to Facebook to see some messages from him.  There was a turkey to take on Farmville and he had posted a video.  The video said ‘For You’.  I saw what it was.  I chatted back ‘For me?’.  He chatted ‘Did you like it?’.  I ignored that.  ‘From you?’, I chatted.  ‘Si, Mi (sic) and Diana’.  The video is below.

[April 2015: Unfortunately the video doesn’t work any more and, as I didn’t use to put the name of the song, I don’t remember what it was. Sorry. Video now removed as it doesn’t work.]

As I watched it, my feelings of slight anger dissolved.  But the emotions were mixed.  He wasn’t here and that was the point.  And I wasn’t sure it was really for me; I mean, not in the words although the song maybe.  I had asked before if something was for me, some weeks ago.  He said no but he would tell me if it was.  He had told me this was.  He doesn’t use words so much.  But the sentiments, if for me and if he understood the words well enough, were strong.  As I watched, I felt myself welling up inside.  I choked back a sob and wiped the few tears from my eyes.  I hoped it was true but, if it was true, where the fucking hell was he?  I loved him more and hated him all at the same time.  It’s not as if we were far apart but it felt like the other side of the world.  I briefly contemplated going over to his place.  I wanted him so badly, wanted to hold him and kiss him.  But I wasn’t going to go, I just wanted to.

I chatted.  ‘It made me cry’.

‘Why?’, he asked.  It made me think that, perhaps, it wasn’t the words he was trying to tell me.  You, surely, wouldn’t be asking why if they were?

‘Just cos’, I replied.

‘cos ?’, he queried.

‘It’s difficult…….I don’t know how to say……I don’t know’, I replied.  Afterwards, as I was in bed, I thought that it wasn’t the sentiment he was querying but the word ‘cos’.  Maybe he doesn’t know it’s slang for because.

‘I will phone you now’ he says.  I think he was worried.  I think he didn’t understand and was frightened it was something else (that I don’t understand).  We are open to this mis-communication.  We have a different mother tongue, different culture, etc.

I’m not crying by the time he phones.  I am a bloke.  Blokes don’t cry.  Perhaps I shouldn’t have told him.  We talk about An, the friend of his in London and the problems with her husband and with him (her husband) having had an affair and he told me how he had said to her that he had had the affair because of the problems and the problem was that they hadn’t talked about the problems and that she should make sure they talked about the problems and he said that talking about the problems was better, wasn’t it? …he asked me, finally.  And I agreed and then added that we didn’t talk and he replied that we didn’t have any problems and I thought that we do but that we didn’t talk about them anyway even if they were important and then he mentioned something that is and is not important and I said that I understood that and didn’t have a problem with it and I thought, additionally, since that was not the “problems” I was talking about although I didn’t then say what the problems were but they aren’t problems for him and, with the exception of him not coming down to see me and be with me, the other problems weren’t really problems, at least, not yet but would become problems, I was sure, but in the meantime how could I possibly tell him something about the problems that weren’t but would be.

And, anyway, I’ve already told him but perhaps he’s forgotten.  And I couldn’t mention the problem of tonight because I didn’t want to make him feel guilty and he would, I am sure (well, almost sure), have got re-dressed and come to me and you have no idea how guilty I would feel about that!  Having done that once to him, never again.  It made me feel so bad that he was doing something he really didn’t want to that the pleasure in him doing it was so lost that I thought at the time – Remember this, this moment and how bad you feel and make sure he doesn’t do something just for you when he really doesn’t want to do it, again! Ever!

And so I didn’t say anything, of course.  And then he said he was going to bed.  So he was tired too.  This is a big week for him and I must try and remember that it’s not all about me.  Even if this blog IS all about me.  This is the place and should be the only place that really is about me, with others being only bit players, even if some of them feature often.

And, so, he went to bed.  And, within a few moments so did I.  But it was cold in the bed and I missed him putting his arm round me and I still had all those mixed up and screwed up emotions; loving him and aching for him and hating him (but not really) and understanding but thinking that he didn’t really understand me or my needs or just how much I love him.

And I thought of V.  But not in that way.  V used to say that he thought that he loved me too much.  I thought that it was a stupid thing to say.  I mean, how can someone say ‘I love you too much’ – how can love be too much?  But maybe there’s something in this?  Maybe he had a point?  Maybe it’s just ‘cos I didn’t understand?

And, I decided that, if he really did feel this way, I should have been more sympathetic and understanding.  But I didn’t know.  How could I?  But this, this thing, this feeling or feelings.  Was this what he meant?  And, if so, then I have sympathy or empathy or something like that.  And I wondered why I never felt this about V.  Or, at least, I don’t remember feeling like this about V.  Or is this because I’m not getting everything I want?  But I never had everything I wanted with V either.  But I think you can never get that.  Not everything.

And that’s why I couldn’t sleep as well.  In spite of everything I tried to do.  And the thoughts and the questions remain, this morning.  What is really meant by it all?  He’s fucking up my mind.  And, is this what I did to V?  For 20 years?  And, so, even if it’s not true, if it wasn’t true, I feel somewhat sorry for him as this is shit.

In case of what? I’ve no idea!

Posted on by
9

I find her on Facebook.  There is a strange fascination that makes me look.  It’s not an obsession, just an interest.  I mean by that, I don’t go looking for her every day or anything.  To be honest, I wasn’t looking for her when I found her but, having found her, I wanted to know more……

But there’s nothing really there.  You can view her friends (and I’m assuming she’s still with Ruth (her profile says she’s in a relationship but not who it is with (but, then, nor does mine)) and that’s about it.  Her friends include my two nephews (that I’ve never seen) and my two brothers who I haven’t seen for more than 20 years.  There, that’s it.

I have a weird satisfaction in knowing that she is there (and not because she is physically on this planet but that, being physically on this planet, I know how to find her and I can view her profile) and that I can see her but that it’s unlikely she can see me, as if I’m viewing her from behind net curtains; peeping into her life like some voyeur even if, in reality, I know nothing of her life and nor will I, really, from this glimpse.

I showed F her photo.  ‘She looks like you’, he said.  She doesn’t but he didn’t know that was the wrong thing to say.  Or, perhaps she does and everyone else has been giving me crap over the years?

Really, I was looking for the few (and that would be very few) friends that left school at the same time as I did or my friends from then, some of whom left school earlier than I did.  They’re not there, in the same way that I’m not there, possibly.  I don’t want ‘anyone’ to contact me and expect me to ‘Friend’ them just in case I didn’t really like them or something like that..

And on Saturday, we talked about ‘de-Friending’.  FfI said that she had never been ‘de-Friended’.  I then explained about G, who had ‘de-Friended’ me, prat that he is.  She then realised that she had, in fact, been ‘de-Friended’ by someone who’s wife/girlfriend wanted him to take his profile off Facebook or, at least, stop being friends with ex-girlfriends.

F and I have each others passwords for Facebook.  It’s really for Farmville, rather than Facebook.  There is a slight urge in me to ‘look around’ but I don’t.  It’s only a slight urge.  When we’re together, neither of us hides anything anyway, including chats with friends.  I don’t know if S, F’s ex, is on there but I don’t think so.  Not that it matters anyway.  I don’t have a problem with that at all.  Which is just as well, seeing as he’ll be back here in January.  I ask the occasional question – about his return, about what he’ll be doing, etc. but it’s only mild curiosity.  My concern is that it has some effect on us – in that his flat won’t be ready and I expect him not to stay at mine every night…….but, maybe, that will be good?  Perhaps?

I kind of hate Facebook.  I suppose that I would really be a ‘sleeping’ Facebook user, were it not for Farmville, which is starting to annoy the hell out of me.  In fact, some of my friends do seem to be ‘sleeping’ Facebook users and I can’t blame them.  I’m not one of those who ‘posts’ something every five minutes.  That would bore me too.

But I know this sort of thing wouldn’t bore her in the same way.  So, I keep a check, every now and again.  Just to see what is happening.  Just in case.  Although, in case of what, I’ve no idea!

Food; Alarm or Not; I get the keys to the flat!

Posted on by
4

The phone makes its beeping sound.  ‘Go on, baby, get up’, he says.  I get up, thinking how much I hate this getting up at this time in his place knowing I’ve got that 20-minute walk back home to take the boys out.  For some reason, getting up in my flat doesn’t seem so bad!

I put my clothes in the lounge so that I wouldn’t wake him too much.  I start getting dressed and, for some reason, look at my phone.  Why hasn’t the phone shown the snooze option, I wonder?  I look at the time.  It’s 5.30.  The beeping was for an email that came through.  But 5.30 means only a quarter of an hour until the alarm anyway, and I’m half dressed and, so, by the time I got back to bed there would only be 10 minutes and, therefore, I wouldn’t sleep anyway.  And it would annoy him if I went back.  And it means I can take the dogs out on the full walk, rather than the short walk that I do when I stay at his place.  Still, I am annoyed with myself for not setting the phone to silent as I usually do, for this very reason.

So, in spite of the fact that I really want to go back and sleep, I continue to dress.

I go back and kiss him goodbye.  ‘Ciao, baby’ he calls, as I go down the stairs and make my way home.

I had just checked with him before I got out of the bed that he had a good night.  He had.  He asked if I had too.  I had.  We (well, at least, I) had only woken up once that night, when he turned over to me and cuddled me.  But I noticed that my pillow had ‘moved’ over to his side during the night.  It makes me feel ‘needy’ and I don’t really want that.  When you’re asleep you can’t really control what you do.  We had agreed that we would not sleep so close because we both get so hot and that may have been the reason for not sleeping well the night before.  Either we were both waking up or one of us was waking and, therefore, waking the other.  We thought it may be the heat.  The flat was very hot on Saturday as the heating had been on all day and he hadn’t been feeling so well and didn’t go out all day.

Last night he cooked me a meal.  A huge meal.  Gnocchi with salmon in a cream sauce, fish with roast potatoes and some chocolate mouse.  It was really wonderful but made us feel so full, even if we did eat early (for Italians), eating at around 8.  I wondered, as we were lying in bed, watching The Sound of Music on the telly, and complaining about how full we felt, if he had done it in response to the Facebook chat he had had with FfI.

On Saturday morning, FfI had been rather persistent about us coming for dinner that evening.  F wasn’t sure as he was feeling bad.  But we agreed to say ‘yes’ and he would decide later.  I assumed he would come.  He didn’t.  FfI obviously decided that I had lost weight.  And it’s true, I have.  But not because I am eating less or drinking less.  In fact, I am probably eating more and certainly having more beer, these days, which should be making my weight increase.  However, the three or four trips to his place and back, usually walking, every week, mean that I am losing weight.  And, nicely, it’s going from my waistline, which is good.

She said, on the chat, ‘We need to make sure Andy is eating enough”.  He didn’t say anything.  We were together and I’m surprised FfI didn’t realise that.  But maybe that was why, that evening, yesterday evening, he decided to do such a big meal.

And to go to the dinner on Saturday night, I took the keys to his flat, at his insistence.  And, that’s when I learnt he has another set.  However, the keys are back with him now.  I wonder what will happen with the new flat?

The Fashion World – just part of his job

Posted on by
4

He says it again. The three words; the phrase that I wait for. It makes me feel all warm inside. I don’t say anything. I already say them more than him anyway. And I do mean them, I really do.

It turns out he wasn’t at work at all yesterday. I didn’t realise that he was having all the windows replaced in the new flat. Well, he wasn’t, but his landlady was. And so, he had to stay in the flat, of course.

I text him before I leave work asking what time he would finish work, so that I knew or would have some idea as to what we may be doing and when I would go and see him.

That’s when I found out he wasn’t at work at all. He calls me as I’m driving home. A few minutes before, I had thought it would be nice to go to Baia Chia, the restaurant that is his favourite. I asked him if he would like to go but that I would be paying. He thought I said something about buying something from Ikea ….. buy eekaya (the way that they pronounce Ikea here). I explained. He said ‘Oh, Maria’s!’.

He booked and we were going to eat at 9. I was really happy about it as, not only is it a lovely restaurant and the staff so nice and the food so good – but he was going to let me pay! And, as I told him as we clinked glasses, it was to thank him for a wonderful 2 months.

And, although it wasn’t then, even if I don’t remember exactly why, he said the three words again and it made me very happy, as I am, often, with him.

He said that he was less worried about the flat now. He knew it would be small and that it didn’t worry him any more and that he would move in and everything would not be perfect but he would live with it even if it was a mess and that he would sort it out even if it took three months.

But I didn’t believe him even if I hoped it would be true.

I told him so by saying ‘I’m not sure that you can live without everything being tidy’.

He said that he could. Later he said that he doubted if he could. And, certainly, that I DO believe.

On the way home (his place) he said that he was more relaxed now. It’s not really true but I know he is trying.

He also said that we should quit smoking. Or, at least, cut down. I told him that he couldn’t change me so quickly and I was already doing other things. Which he knew and understood. And he said that, at least he would cut down. And I know that I will try, when I’m with him, to smoke less. I guess.

And I told him I was a bit worried about Rufus. It seems that the deterioration is going in spurts. He doesn’t wee in the house all the time but more often now. And that seemed to happen suddenly. Then, on Thursday night, I noticed, when we were out, that he seemed to be a bit drunk; Friday morning much worse; Friday night still just as bad. It’s not like he collapses (the back legs are very weak now) but seems to stagger a lot, just as if he is drunk.

I know it’s coming, the end, so I give him extra hugs and stuff. And, of course, I have the added thing of telling V. And, yes, it is a little upsetting, especially as he has been such a good dog but V will be really upset, which doesn’t help. Even if he really hasn’t had anything much to do with him for the last 12 months (since the break up, over a year ago now). However, it is all part of having a dog and I do have Dino now, as well.

F says ‘poverino’, as he does with Rufus.

And now, as I write this, I am back at home, having picked up my suit (after alterations) that F has decided to give me as my Christmas present. We are going to the cocktail party in the shop on Wednesday, where he is going to introduce me to the big boss and he told me that I must be very elegant – he will be showing me off, after all – even if he didn’t say that bit :-D.

He wants me to wear the suit or, at least the jacket with jeans. I said that, next time he is at my place, he needs to look through my stuff to decide what I should wear as I will wear whatever he wants. I said that I had no idea what to say to the big boss, other than ‘hello’ and ‘nice to meet you’. But there will be plenty of people there that I know so it will all be fine. And I get to see him in his element and I know, already, that he is good at what he does. So I am half looking forward to it and half apprehensive about it. I mean, I have to make a good impression, for his sake. And it will be another ‘first’ for me, as I’ve never met a ‘designer’ before, so that will be good. And, the fact that he wants me there and wants to introduce me to the big boss, says a lot, I think.

And so, in spite of everything, it seems I will be more involved with the fashion world after all, which I find quite funny now. Years ago, with V, it would have been important. Now, with F, it’s part of his job and, so, feels so different! And I am really outside it and, so, I think it all feels different for him. I will do a post after Wednesday to let you know how I got on in the Fashion World.

To be continued………

Posted on by
4

It’s not mentioned.

‘We’ll watch a DVD’, he says, looking through the DVD collection I have. ‘Is Gomorrah good?’, he asks. I reply in the affirmative. But his mind is elsewhere.  ‘I’ve never seen it’, he says.

He returns to the kitchen table without a DVD.  He starts talking about his flat and what needs to be done.  About how he is worried about this thing and that thing.  He goes and gets his flat plans and we start talking about where things should go.  He uses ‘we’ a lot.  ‘If I get the library, we can put it up’, he says.  ‘Then, we can move the CDs over the Christmas period’, he adds.  See, there’s the ‘we’ thing.  I smile and nod and agree.

We talk about the fact that the television doesn’t actually need to be in the lounge whereas the music set-up and the pc (part of the music set-up) should be in the lounge.  ‘Yes, my music is more important for me’, he states.  I nod and agree for I know this to be true.

We talk about the CD racks.  I suggest a solution.  ‘But that will leave a lot of empty space’, he worries.  ‘Yes, but, F, since I’ve known you, you have bought more than one CD every week.  Unless you’re going to stop doing that, you need space for the new ones.’

He knows that to be true and we talk about how the CDs can be spread out.  I come up with a solution for the television in the bedroom and we talk about how the set-up could be in the lounge, now, without the TV.

>He has bad dreams every night.  Not exactly nightmares but, as he calls them, suffering dreams.  Ones that cause distress rather than actual fear.  Situations that are unpleasant or uncomfortable.  Every night, he says, although some of them he can’t remember.

We don’t watch a DVD in the end.  We talk only about his flat, making plans for how it is going to work.  He is worried that it is too small.  ‘Where will I put the oven’ he says.  I don’t know what he is talking about but say that I’m sure it will all be fine, in the end.  Later I work out that he means hoover and tell him that is the correct word.

He keeps apologising for going through all this again.  I reassure him that it’s fine and I don’t mind and he doesn’t need to apologise.  But, ‘I’m sorry’ keeps coming out, from time to time.

We go to bed.  I am very tired.  But I want to make him feel good.  I point out that it is two months today since we met.  He apologises for not remembering and says that he keeps getting the days mixed up and can’t remember whether it’s the 12th, 11th, 9th or whatever.  Again I tell him that it’s OK. [I text him this morning to say how the last two months have made me very, very happy].

I want to take him in my arms and make everything OK.  I kiss him gently but with passion for that is how I feel.  And he responds.  I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to be with him to be kissing him to be there, side by side and he is in my arms, and I squeeze him tight, trying to tell him, through my actions that it will be fine and that he has me.

Later, he apologises again for the fact that he is ‘stressed out’ and, again, I tell him that it’s OK and that it will be fine in a month or two, when things are done, when he has moved in and is more settled.  I tell him that I understand and that I have been there and know what he means.  It’s all I can do.  I tell him that, in any case, he has me, to hold him and cuddle him and squeeze him and be there for him.  And he knows that – I know he does.  I’m not going away any time soon and I think he knows that too.

And, so, it was not discussed further.  And I couldn’t mention it again, even if there were moments when I wanted to.  It will wait but it certainly does need to be discussed at some point.  At some point when he has moved into his flat and when he feels more settled.  Discussed, so that he understands my feelings about it but not argued over.  At least, I hope not.  But, yes, it is to be continued……..

The thoughts count

Posted on by
2

Of course, I find some things most endearing.

Yesterday afternoon/evening, he asked if I was coming over to his place.  I replied that I would like to, if that was OK for him, to which he replied ‘yes’.  Before that (or, rather, during that exchange of messages) I was chatting to Best Friend, really to sound off about the problem and ask for her advice.  She told me what I knew already, as all good advice should be.

And, so, I went round.  This time, instead of coffee, I had a beer.  I needed some courage to talk to him as I knew I must.  We looked online whilst he was trying out different combinations of bookshelves/CD racks for his new flat, CDs being one of the most important collections for him.  We laughed and chatted and talked about the options and it was during this that he said, as usual, the two phrases that make me smile.  I hate and I like.  The problem is that he misses the final word – this/that/it/him/her/them, etc.

Of course, I should tell him.  But there’s just something about it that I like.  Is it wrong of me to put off telling him for a bit longer?  He now uses switch/turn off the light rather than turn down and I know he wants his English to be perfect but I just really like it when referring to something (for example, Farmville, which, to be honest, given all their problems I wouldn’t pay good money for (and they’ve taken away my Christmas Tree, the bar stewards)), when something goes wrong he will say I hate rather than I hate it.

Later, we go to bed and watch telly for a bit.  There’s some dreadful documentary about Princess Diana.  Some dreadful and ugly woman who is, probably, nobody, is being interviewed about how she was receiving phone calls from Diana all the time during the days before her death.  I dozed off.  The program ended and I woke up – he was asleep next to me.  I kissed him and he woke up and we switched the television off.

As he turned over and I snuggled up to him to try and get him warm (he was really cold last night), I said that I had to tell him something.  I said that the thing was about what he had said and that, whilst not a problem now, I knew it would be a problem sometime in the future.  He said we would talk about it tomorrow as he was so tired and so sleepy.  We shall see.  But at least I’ve told him, so I already feel better.  What he chooses to do with this information is up to him.

During our conversation last night, Best Mate said that he obviously feels the same as I do and, even if he may say other things, his actions say a lot.  Which they do, I know.  But it’s also the thoughts that count.

The Right Thing To Do

Posted on by
2

I wonder why I’m here. By this I meant, originally, why I’m here, in this meeting, where they are talking in two foreign languages – the first being Italian and the second being engineering, which is as foreign a language to me as any other, proper, language.

But after what F said last night, I even begin to question this in a bigger way; making it a bigger, broader question.

Why am I here, in this place, at this time? For what purpose? What am I here to achieve? Or, if not for me to achieve, for someone else to achieve, through me, perhaps, maybe, kind of?

I am an ‘all or nothing’ guy. Perhaps. Maybe.

Or, perhaps not. Given a choice or, rather, given no choice, perhaps I would settle for less than ‘all’ but more than ‘nothing’, if less than ‘all’ were the only thing on offer. But, even if less than ‘all’ were the only offer, would I just go with less than ‘all’, convincing myself throughout that this ‘less’ could be turned into ‘all’ in time?
Am I, or would I be, deluding myself?

At what point would I wake up to the reality? The one where I know or come to know that ‘all’ will just not happen.  At that point, what will I do then?  Will the time in between now and then be too long?  Will it have been a waste of time?

I want to say ‘Tonight I’m not going to come over’. I want to say it but the actual thing (i.e. not going over) is NOT what I really want, of course. I only want to say it for effect – to effect some change, some uncertainty. To give back what I felt; what I feel, what I still feel.  Uncertainty. Change. Fear.

But that’s just ‘playing those games’ and I swore I wouldn’t do that this time; I don’t want that this time; I have no time for that this time. Time is short – and none of us need this; neither of us need this.

And so, whilst listening to the two foreign languages and the games that are, almost certainly, being played out in this very room, I contemplate the right response; the one that won’t leave me too vulnerable, won’t limit my choices, won’t need me to go back on my word, won’t add to the pressure but also the one that gives me the ‘all’ I crave.

Or, maybe, gives me the ‘something’ that is, surely, better than the ‘nothing’ it could be. Or is it?

So, I toy with the options.  There’s the being upfront and honest option.  There’s the saying nothing and just getting on with it option.  And there’s the response option‚  I prefer the first or the second.  But the second will make me continue to feel as I do, not unhappy but unsure……….and frightened.  Frightened of what may not be or, maybe, what may be, especially if it doesn’t come close to what I actually want; or do I mean ‘need’.

I don’t think I can do the response option since that opens up the game and I definitely don’t want that.

He had a dream last night, where something had changed and his boss was not happy with the result but did not tell him directly but, rather, told someone else.  He said that this was typical English.  Where we are so polite but don’t actually tell the truth to people face-to-face.

I said that we weren’t all like that.  But, of course, we are.  He said that we were, meaning most English people were. But it’s not just the English but the Italians too!  Although perhaps the English are more practised at it and, therefore, appear to be much better.

If I am to prove that I am not like that, I guess I have to chose the upfront and honest option.  Say it like it is.  Roll over with my belly exposed and hope, yes, very much hope, that it is the right thing to do.

Update: We text.  He phones.  Is everything as it was before?  For him, maybe.  For me, well, yes and no.  Yes because nothing has really changed and no because the future has changed.  But, as I listen to his voice I remember looking at his face this morning, just before I got up and thinking how much I love him.  And, maybe, that ‘less’ is worth it after all?

Aching

Posted on by
2

It’s a long weekend here.  And it’s been a great weekend for me.  Well, for me and F, really.  We’ve spent time with friends but also a lot of time together.  In fact, as you can tell by my lack of posting, most of our time has been together.  Only today we both need to catch up on things and, so, this morning, after breakfast, he went back to his house and I should, now, be cleaning and washing and sorting out my clothes and taking the dogs for a walk……all before he comes back later for us to spend some more time together.

And still,  nearly two months later, I can’t get enough of him.  Even this point, although it allows me to get some stuff done (including this post), I wish he were here.

And even the stuff that we have done this weekend, I cannot remember.  I remember that Saturday I wanted to post some stuff about some funny things that happened on Friday, but that I have now forgotten.  It has all merged into a blur that is both long and short, as good times are supposed to be.  But, perhaps, if I go backwards, I will remember more……

Last night we went to Al&R’s place for dinner.  There were 8 of us in total.  After dinner we played parlour games – well charades based on films.  They gave me two ‘easy’ ones to do as, obviously, all the films were in Italian and some were Italian or other foreign films that I would not know.  One was Gli Abbracci Spezzati – Broken Embraces, more of which later.  To be honest they were very kind as it was easy and we had already talked about it over dinner.

And, then, we had to do a turn – singing, dancing or acting.  This kind of stuff has always scared the shit out of me.  I have acted on stage quite a few times and, from what people have said over the years, I have a great voice for doing monologues and the like, but, as always in these situations, I remember nothing; can think of nothing to do.

In the end I sang to a version of Anyone Who had A Heart – and, whether through kindness or not (but probably kindness), came joint first (everyone having given points out of 10 for the performance).  I think F was proud of me.  He seems to treat me as if I am something very special sometimes, especially with his friends.  And for that, amongst many other reasons, I love him.

Before that we had been to order furniture for him and a wardrobe for me.  The problem was that some of the furniture for him won’t be delivered until late January, when he is in his busy period for work, working 14-hour days with, maybe, only one day off per week.  Still, I have offered to take time off work and be there for the delivery and assembly of said furniture.

Even if I would much rather we were going to be looking at something together, to live together, the new place is only 5 minutes from my place and, so, is a great improvement on the existing situation.  But now it seems likely that he won’t be able to move there before Christmas and S returns early in the New Year.  Obviously he knows that he can stay with me and it may yet happen and for me that would absolutely perfect – even if it is only for a few weeks.  A trial period of living together would be just what we needed I think.  Let’s see what happens.

Sunday was a quiet day of doing nothing.  Saturday night was at his place and so Sunday was breakfast at the bakery/café as normal.  Then doing very little, except I did take the dogs out for a long walk – although had no time for anything else.  And then we went to see Gli Abbracci Spezzati.  A Spanish film from Pedro Almadòvar.  One that F wanted to see, particularly.  He had avoided seeing it because of me and he worries that I won’t understand which is sweet and thoughtful.  I keep telling him not to worry and that he should just go ahead and I will be fine.  Which I was.  F2 (A’s girlfriend) came with us and we met up with A afterwards and went for a pizza.  It was a lovely evening and what followed that was passionate and intense and truly wonderful.

And, Saturday, was just at home all day and into the evening.  A day of being together.  And he made some sort of courgette quiche thing for me and I made trifle for him.  And we had wine and sat and talked and just ‘were’.

And Friday night, too, after work.  And that’s when some funny things happened and were said that I was going to blog about but now I have forgotten.

And we have talked.  We talked about a friend of mine who cannot trust the man she loved – which led on to the talk about trust in general and he said that you shouldn’t (couldn’t?) trust anyone.  And later yesterday I told him that, whether it was right or wrong, I trusted him, completely because that is the way I am and because I can’t have a relationship where I don’t trust the man I’m with and he laughed and said that when he had said that you shouldn’t trust anyone, that didn’t include him.  And I knew that anyway.

And we talked about sex.  And how it all changed for him last summer and it became something less important and, almost, boring.  And I understood although I explained that he makes me more like some sort of animal and that I can’t get enough of him, in any way, including sex and I explained why I got out of bed at 6.30 a.m. on Monday morning – because I knew that I would be unable to leave him alone and that it would annoy him and I got out and had a cigarette and played some games on my phone.

And he turns me on in ways that I cannot explain because there are some things that turn me on and yet I had always thought they wouldn’t.

Now, I write this as I clean the flat for he decided to come back here tonight.  His decision completely.  I had assumed (and had said so) that I would be at his place, tomorrow being work and everything.  But he decided he would come here.  And so, with the place nearly as clean as I can get it and with some clothes to sort out, I look forward to seeing him again.

>No, I ache to see him again, even if it was only a few hours since I last saw him.

The story that cannot be shared

Posted on by
6

I really don’t know how to explain this but I’m going to try.

Last night we went to a concert given by Ornella Vanone.  The problem is that, if you’re not Italian or lived here for a long time, you may not even know who she is.  Until a few weeks ago, I certainly didn’t.

She is, I understand, in her mid-seventies.  She has a good voice and sings love songs that, according to FfI are almost all about saying goodbye to a love and saying that she’ll wait for them to return.  All heart-rending stuff.

It was a good concert.  My first time at Blue Note which, as it is a jazz club, I had thought would be rather sleazy.  As it turned out it was rather nice.  Almost quite posh.

Ornella is Italian (from Milan, I think) and sings with a slightly husky voice.  A nice voice.  Not really anything that special but nice.  Of course, I don’t understand the words and, when she’s speaking, either because she’s old, or drunk (someone said she drinks a lot) or just because she’s playing to a Milan audience, her Italian is difficult to understand for me and she speaks very fast.  OK so I get some of it but not really enough.

F keeps asking if I understand.  I don’t want him to translate everything, not least because it will get so annoying for him.

But, with some songs, he goes really quiet, whilst on the other side of me, FfI is wiping away tears.  And this is the bit I want to try and explain.

Even if I could understand her words, her songs to their fullest, I’m not sure I would be so moved by them.  There’s a history that I cannot share.  Cannot even hope to share.  There’s a story behind all these songs, a story that’s different for everyone.  But, of course, that’s normal.

What I’m trying to explain (badly) is that, whereas, if I was with people from the UK or, even the USA, there would be a common, shared history to the singer.  I mean, if I was in the UK, and with someone from the UK and we were to watch someone like, say, Shirley Bassey, then, even if she’s not my favourite singer, we would all know something about her, about her history in the country, about some of her hits, about her love-life or private life or things like that.  It makes her a ‘real’ person and a person who can be ‘shared’ by you and those around you.

Whereas, here, I could not share it, could not be part of it.  I wanted to be part of it but, unless I were to read all about her, study her and her music, put each song into the setting of the time, I cannot be a part of this.  It is a history beyond my capability to perceive, to live, to have.

And to me this was striking and difficult to determine how I should feel about it.  On the one hand, it’s not important, of course.  On the other, it is a part of F that I cannot share.  I don’t mean the past, for, of course, the past is gone and neither of us can share our pasts with each other; only recount stories but never relive them.  No, this is also the future.  For the future or (in the case of the concert) the present, has a part of the past that is beyond either of us to share with each other.

We (F & I) are supposed to be going to see Joan Armatrading next year.  Being my favourite singer, it is important to me.  Her songs hold special meaning for me.  I know most of the words to the songs; can sing them with correct inflection, breathing, etc.  But, if we go, F, although with me, cannot be with me during certain songs.  Cannot be in my head or fully understand nor appreciate the meaning and the subtlety of each word.

It was a good concert.  Probably, if I had grown up knowing her, her songs, the history, I would have said ‘great’.  But I cannot say that.  I don’t know if it was great.  Was she always like this or was this substandard?  How the hell would I know?

What I do know is that it was good and that, being with F was all that really mattered.  As he held my hand or kissed me or lay (just for a moment) his head on my shoulder, it felt good and right and perfect.  And all I wanted to do was hug him whilst this (to my perception) slightly mad (and mad-looking) old lady, moved around the stage, drunkenly or unsteadily or maybe she’s always like this, singing songs about love or about the end of love, with a voice that reminded me of how, probably, Shirley Bassey is, now, in concert.

And, in my heart, so full of love for F, there was an ache for the ‘missing’ part; the part of me that is outside his experience and a part of him outside mine; a part that cannot be shared for, in a final way, we are, in fact, from a different culture, with a different history and in spite of anything that we may build together, a future of shared experiences, loves, hates, friends and enemies, there will always be this ‘missing’ history, the story that cannot be shared.