Last night was, well, odd.
>PLEASE DON’T READ FURTHER UNLESS YOU ARE COMFORTABLE WITH EXPLICITLY SEXUAL MATERIAL. Thank you
I have a dream
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Tag Archives: Retrospective
Don’t come into my head
In spite of an earlier post (which, to be honest, I just can’t be bothered to find), there is, after all, another side of me.
It is well hidden from the rest of the world. It is dark. It is gloomy. It is cold. It is like a deep well, with straight, slippery sides that go down to the centre of the earth
It’s not a new thing that has happened recently. Rather, it is an old thing from way back, if not all my life.
>I keep it in check. I know it’s there and I know it has power over me but I try to push it back. So far, I have succeeded and sometimes, holding on to the reality that ‘is’ rather then the reality that very well could ‘be’, is a struggle.
If I am honest with myself, I have relied on V too much. The first time I thought that, perhaps, he ‘didn’t really understand me’ (although, given that I keep it quite well hidden, why should he?) was about 6 or 7 years ago. It sticks in my mind. Although I often have the feeling of being lonely whilst with others, I had never really felt this with V until this time. It was his response – ‘Don’t worry, it’ll be alright’, in an unconsidered way, that made me feel all alone. Strange how these little things stay with you, isn’t it?
It’s the overwhelming feeling of dread; of panic; of impossibility that gets to me. Of course, like my imaginary conversations, the things do not exist, except inside my head. Or maybe they will exist? And there’s the rub.
Sometimes, I feel, I want to take my brain out, give it a good wash and get rid of these stupid things which cling and grow like some sort of fungus on, say, an apple that is going bad. In fact, in the Tate Modern, there is (or was) a video film that I really loved which showed a bowl of fruit over a period of time, going bad. The fungus started as specks and grew and grew as the fruit collapsed and became smothered by it. I wonder if I loved it because it was how I feel about my brain?
There are times, when some good thing happens that this deep, dark well seems many miles away and other times where I am already in the well, clinging for life by a finger of one hand on the edge of the well; looking behind me and down to the bottom which, without doubt, I cannot see because, without doubt again, there is no end; no bottom; I shall just keep free-falling forever.
And, if in previous times, when I hang so precariously, I have come back from the brink, it may have been because of some (misguided?) sense of responsibility to others around me (for example, V). Right now, what is the reason that I should fight it? For whom? And wouldn’t it be easier to succumb to the inevitable and allow myself to let go and slip into the darkness without a care in the world?
Sounds a little depressing, I know, but you should be in my head for a moment! Or, rather, you shouldn’t.
Showing my true feelings (not)
I am confused by my feelings. On the one hand I am angry – very angry. On the other, I couldn’t care less. On the one hand – ‘I never want to see you again’ and yet, ‘It’s your problem, you deal with it’.
And the stupidness of the whole thing beggars belief which is why there’s a part of me that couldn’t care less.
In addition, of course, one must take into account my stubbornness. I wonder if it’s a trait that I have developed because I am stubborn or because I am Taurus since, although I take Astrology with a pinch of salt, I do enjoy the fact that certain people (those who believe) will immediately see me as an Earth sign and that I like my home comforts, good food, good wine, etc. and as having positive traits?
>Indeed, I see them as positive traits too and am pleased to have them. But, did I see them as positive traits because that is what I am supposed to be or because they are positive traits? Even stubbornness I see as positive!
Anyway, back to the issue. I will do….precisely….nothing. Of course. I will neither say anything nor do anything although I might do less than something that I should and, therefore, by my inaction, make an action. In fact, the problem will fester with me for, possibly, quite some time. The inaction on my part to do ‘the something’ that I should, may continue beyond even that, as it may have become a habit and I shall do it without really knowing why or, even, that I am doing it.
And there are also other, related things that, in future, will now happen or, rather, that I shall do or not do as a result. Many (although, at the moment, I can only think of the one) of these will, probably, have a detrimental affect on me – the old ‘cutting off one’s nose to spite one’s face’ thing, at which I am a practised master. I have, after all, had 40+ years of experience at it. Or is that the stubbornness thing really?
If it is the stubbornness thing then it has nothing to do with being Taurean (unless you believe in that stuff) but all to do with how I was brought up and, possibly, my genes – which all comes back to my parents. But don’t get me wrong, they are not to blame for this but, in my opinion, to be proud of this.
If you believe in this stuff, then the fact that I am Taurean makes me stubborn anyway and there is no talking to you.
And, the funniest thing about all this (although ‘funny’ is not really the right word) is that the person who is both the cause of this and the victim (if, again, that is the right word) will, in all probability, know nothing of it but might think me a little strange for a while.
There, that shows them, doesn’t it!
A striking moment of clarity
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!
I wonder…….?
I’m not sure what it says about me (and I CERTAINLY don’t mean the picture which is a random one anyway) or if, indeed, this post is worth the bother of writing but, anyway, here goes….
I cannot remember when it started or, even, why but, from a very early age I had this desire to live outside the UK.
For some reason, Sweden was the place I wanted to go (and this was before Abba even sang about Waterloo, maybe, probably, before Waterloo had ever been thought of). In particular, I wanted to live in Stockholm.
For many, many years, it was understood, by me, in my inner brain, that I would, someday, be living there.
Instead, I came to Milan and never went anywhere near Sweden until after I came here. And now, finally, I have been there.
I was not disappointed. It is a beautiful place, the weather was superb; the food wonderful; the modernity, outside the old part of Stockholm, well, modern; the people were nice and friendly (although nowhere near as attractive as one would imagine – think Benny and Bjorn rather then Agnetha and Anni-Frid – all-in-all as good as one could expect.
Of course, the sunshine and warmth puts the whole thing in a good light and the reality is that, for most of the year the weather would probably be worse, or at least as bad, as the UK.
But, I wonder, how would my life be now if I had gone to that place that I dreamed of being in for so many years……?
Friends come round for dinner
Now, here’s a thing. When I first met V, he could cook Spaghetti Bolognese and that was all. Over the years he became quite proficient at cooking and we entertained quite a lot. I would always do the sweet whilst he would do most of the other things.
However, now that V is no longer there, I am back to doing my own thing.
Whilst in the UK, I bought quite a few pieces of Stilton and Cheddar. Also, from Londis in Hay-on-Wye, the best smoked bacon I have ever tasted. They cut it and vacuum pack it on the premises so it’s not like supermarket bacon which shrivels as the water content vaporises but it stays almost the same size and is really very tasty.
So, as I am determined to demonstrate to Italians that the food from the UK is not like they think, I had promised A that I would do dinner, mainly so that he could try the Stilton (with Port, of course).
Friday night was a night out with colleagues at an agriturismo called Ai Boschi in a small village called Origgio, not far from Milan. The nice thing about agriturismos is that they grow a lot of their food on the premises. I suppose they are an extension to the British ‘Farm Shop’. Agriturismos will have a restaurant and, quite often, rooms. Unfortunately, they are not all great. This one was, well, mediocre.
It meant that I did not get home until about 2 a.m. I had already said to A that dinner would be Saturday or Sunday depending on how things went (cleaning the house, etc.). As it was, I actually got up about 11.30 which was very late for me. And put me all behind.
However, I made the supreme effort to clean the house and, finally, at about 7 p.m. went shopping. I managed to make it in time to get the Port from the little off-licence near Corso Buenos Aires so called A to say we were on for the dinner.
To start, I had a baked pasta dish, given to me by G, our cook at work. Then I made a warm bacon and chicken salad – the bacon from Londis and the salad including salad cream which I had also picked up in the UK. Finally, cheese, British cheese biscuits, apples and port.
A made some big thing about me being able to cook and it made me think that V did most of it after all. A didn’t know I could cook whereas, in reality, it was me who taught V how to cook.
The meal was a great success. F really loved the bacon and the Stilton, which made me very happy. My first dinner in the flat!
Sunday I went for brunch at A&F’s. M, A’s friend was there too. As he pointed out, it was more like a wedding breakfast! Many courses and it lasted for hours.
And, the weather over the weekend was great so a good weekend all round.
Things we never did
We were, after all, very different people. That’s what made us good together. We offered different things to each other and to other people.
But, yesterday, I was reminded of the things we never (or rarely) did together. Of course, these were things that I liked to do but, for one reason or another, I usually did on my own. I suspect V has a similar list (and I can think of one thing already).
I suppose the positive side to this is that, as I usually did them on my own, nothing has changed. But, before, I always had the hope that “this time would be different” and that he would be there. Now I don’t have that and I find it quite sad. Not in a depressed way just in a “what a shame” way.
When is a question not a question? When it’s asked by an Italian!
Sometimes, I just love Italians and the way they think. It’s like living on a different planet.
Having been to Mantova’s Festivaletteratura a number of times I have found that, given the opportunity to speak in public, they really don’t know when to stop or, worse, get to the point.
This is particularly true when they ask questions.
The night before last, I was honoured to be invited to my good friend Stef’s graduation, for he has worked very hard over the last two years and got his MBA. As usual, when he is pleased with himself (as he has every right to be), he just can’t stop grinning.
Of course, before the actual handout of the certificates, there had to be some speech by some guy and then he was asked questions from the panel of lecturers. The last question though, took about 3 minutes to ask and then, at the end, the question failed to materialise! They are a strange people, these Italians.
There was another guy who, I think, was actually doing the handing out – he actually started his speech by saying it would be brevissimo (very short). Of course, he was Italian so that was his own special joke and he continued to talk for over 15 minutes!
Anyway, aside from that it was a very nice evening with drinks and apero food afterwards. N & I managed to get quite a few prossecco’s down us and I met Stef’s parents and younger brother.
There was only one thing, and this is one of those little things that still smart after all this time – if V & I had been together and there, after the event, it would have been nice to go for a quick pizza. But we’re not together and even though I really fancied it, I didn’t go on my own. I did resist calling him which, I thought, was good, as it would have felt far too needy – at least from my point of view.
Finding things and throwing some out; Am I selfish?
I open a shoe box. It contains many other, smaller boxes. I have assumed for some years, whilst it sat at the back of my wardrobe in the old flat, that it contained, more or less, only cuff-links.
Indeed, most of the stuff there is exactly that. I am surprised and, I must say, delighted to find some boxes which contain gold rings. This was from the ‘gold’ phase. The ‘gold’ phase was before V and lasted for some years with V. Of course, for some years now we have been on the ‘silver’ phase. I look froward to the ‘gold’ phase return and, maybe, I will re-introduce that phase? After all, I have no one to tell me not to.
I also find a card, at the bottom of the box. It is a Christmas card but I cannot tell from what Christmas it was. I suspect a Christmas before Italy, since these cards are impossible to find here, Italians not being into ‘cards for every occasion’ like the English or Americans. The card professes things.
I start to read it but my eyes cannot focus on the words and, in fact, although it was only last night, I cannot remember a single word – except the word ‘love’.
I wonder, now and yesterday, if the words meant anything at the time they were written or whether it was just ‘the right thing to say’? I wonder whether anything really has any meaning from anyone? I even wonder if anything I think or say is real or ‘made-up’ in my head? Sometimes it feels real but does that mean it was or is or is it just in my head?
I throw the card with the other things that I am throwing away. Boxes that contain nothing and that aren’t even nice boxes, plastic bags, etc.
There is a moment of indecision as to whether I should retrieve it. I have kept it this long (but for how long?). But why? I haven’t read it for a number of years and, maybe, never since it was given to me, so why keep it longer?
Why bother to keep it now?
I steel my heart (for it is my heart that tells me to retrieve it and my head is telling me not to) and it gets collected up and thrown out with the rest of the trash of a past life.
‘It’s better this way,’ I tell myself.
Later…. I talk with the dogs since a) they will listen, b) they will not answer back or contradict me or argue with me and c) there is no one else to talk to. For Dino, this talking means that I want to give him attention, so I do, loving him for being there and needing me right now.
This is the fifth post I have written and, probably the only one that I will publish. Sometimes it is hard to write something that is even slightly worthwhile and even the slightly worthwhile ones are dubious. Maybe all of them? But, then, like talking to Dino and Rufus, it’s not for their benefit but mine. Does that make me selfish?
Musing?
I am taking a break from cleaning, whilst also waiting for the Terminally Ill Techno Guy to come (now just to fix my telephone line).
I cleaned and sorted much of the bedroom and then cleaned the lounge and re-arranged everything as to how it should be.
But, I do wonder, who is it for? What real purpose does it serve? Let’s be honest, V was the home maker. He did all the curtains and the fancy stuff that made it a home. I would live without curtains – not because I want to, just because I couldn’t be bothered. And why spend all that money which could be spent on something else?
I mean, for instance, the bedroom really needs a chest of drawers. I know where it should go; I know what it should look like. And, if I got one, it would look good but I probably won’t get one now and, therefore, I will manage – for ever!
But V would have one and, somehow, it would make the bedroom just so much better. I sit here, at the open window, in the perfect flat, knowing that, if V were here, it would be better than perfect.