Eyez – This is it.
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Tag Archives: Relationships
What to do?
The problem is that I really want to talk it through with someone.
That someone is not F, for F can’t see past the concept in his head.
Best Mate is far away. It needs a non-Italian to understand. It needs someone close, who knows me well enough but also distant for the “situation”.
What to do? What to do?
The people I could talk to are Italian. I don’t have any anglo-saxon-type mates.
It’s just to talk it through, really. Obviously, once I do that, I’ll make my decisions, regardless of what anyone thinks 
I would do it here – but here is a bit dangerous. So, not here.
It kept me awake last night. It’s going to keep me awake until I figure out what my decision is. It’s a bugger, really.
In the meantime, the Visits continue but, maybe, hopefully, are nearing an end.
The Studio – a bone of contention?
I suppose there had to be something, didn’t there?
My “studio”. What would be the second bedroom.
Against the wall were the bed would go there are two electric sockets. On the other side, in the corner, is one socket and the television aerial point. I know exactly how I want it laid out. F has other ideas. A couple of days ago, we were in the new flat (he has put away all his CDs and there’s a whole section for my few CDs and DVDs) and he asked me how I wanted the room to be organised.
Specifically, where I wanted my wardrobe put.
I told him. He wanted it on the opposite wall.
I explained why I wanted it like I had said. He explained why he wanted it the way he did. But, as usual, he wasn’t listening to me. He didn’t understand that, although I may have to run the wire from the PC to the television in the next room, above and round the window, it would be a much more pleasant room to be in and in which to do lessons, etc..
Eventually, tired of the fact that he wasn’t listening, I just said, OK, you do it as you want.
Last night, I mentioned that I really wanted it the way I had said.
We’ll see if I get what I want or not. But it is much better my way, even if it is more awkward in terms of cabling, etc.
Not of one mind.
It’s not a racial thing. But, in any event, I find it the strangest thing.
The last couple of days has been the putting up of the units in the hallway of the new house. They are plain, simple, white units. They have been fixed to the wall by the carpenter, Marco, and the doors were put on yesterday by F.
And, so, today, they have been cleaned and the CDs are being put away. All 3,000 of them. They are not mine. My 40 or so CDs remain in my flat.
First, though, apparently, all the CDs must be taken out of the bags and sorted in order. Oh, yes, and cleaned. Again.
I remember this from last time, at his flat. CDs stacked on the floor, looking like a miniature city, the stacks representing the different sections but some with a number of variously tall stacks. Even then I didn’t understand. My understanding is still missing in action, I’m afraid.
So, I get the message (I am at home, sorting stuff before the big move in a couple of weeks) – “I’ve finished white male, female, groups and Italians. Now I have to do black.”
I wondered then, as I do now, where some of the mixed race groups go? I don’t know if there are any mixed race, Italian groups. Maybe he doesn’t have their music anyway?
My CDs will be transferred either in the next week (that wouldn’t surprise me – he will want to get everything “in its place”) or on moving day. He will be the one to clean them and put them away, I’m sure. If he mixes them into his, I’m certain I will never find them again!
Then, of course, there will be the DVDs. I’m still not quite sure what to say to him about these ………
Our minds certainly don’t think in the same way.
Order is important ……. ish
“How should we put the DVDs?”
This is not a stupid question. I’ve probably got about 400 and he has at least a couple of hundred. First, they will take up some space and secondly, if we are to find a film, we need to be able to get it without searching for hours!
“I don’t mind,” I say.
“You’ve got yours in alphabetical order,” he adds, “whilst mine are in a different order.”
“I have all the Romy ones together, for example. Or I have them in order of the director.”
“But I don’t really know the directors, that’s why mine are in alphabetical order,” I say.
When I want a film, I tend to go for the title of the film. I rarely remember the director’s name (with a few exceptions). “Perhaps we could have them in alphabetical order but then put the ones for Romy under “R”,” I suggest.
He pulls a bit of a face.
“But the others I have are in a different order,” he counters.
I laugh. After all, to be honest, we don’t watch DVDs so often these days – but maybe we will when we have a TV in the lounge?
“OK, you do it how you want,” laughing as I say this.
After all, this is how it will be, whatever I think!
Listening – it’s bloody hard sometimes.
Most of the time, I bite my tongue.
After all, if he wasn’t listening two seconds ago, he won’t be listening now, will he?
We’re talking about things that need to be done. He is going to be there for the Fastweb engineer on Thursday. I want to ask the engineer if he can put a wire from wherever the box goes, through to my studio for my computer. This may be something that he does for cash and, given that we’re in Italy and the wages are so low here, the chances that he will do it are high.
“it will be better,” he says, “as he can do any drilling through the walls before we move all the stuff in.”
I agree. I add, “And I can sort out the connection from my PC to the television before we move, too.”
“That’s not important. It can be done afterwards. It’s more important to find someone to run a pipe from the gas point to the place we want it in the kitchen.”
Well, yes, I know that. after all, without a kitchen, we can’t really move in.
“You’ve got different priorities than me,” he adds.
Well, actually no, I haven’t. The kitchen is the number one priority. The extension for the cooker was given to you to sort out, since you speak Italian and the chances of the plumber speaking English is far less than some technical thing that I should do.
He becomes tetchy because in his head, all I’m worried about is my PC.
“No, the kitchen has to be done before we move in,” I say, “but I also need my computer when we move because of the lessons.”
This, of course, carried no weight. He has already stopped listening to me, if he was even doing that at the beginning. He continues saying things about how our priorities are different and how I’m not concentrating on the right things, etc., etc. I don’t want you to get the wrong impression, I listen to the things he says but, since he’s not listening to me, it is better not to respond. I’ve learnt that much. I cannot argue my point because he misinterprets almost everything I say. I can’t explain. And, anyway, the difference in our languages makes everything more difficult. It’s one of the drawbacks, for certain.
I know that it is better just to let it lie. Although it is a bit frustrating. It means we can’t talk about the thingS we need to do, only the thing he is concentrating on at the moment.
I try to let it all wash over me, and, my strength of will makes it so. After all, it is only this moment and he doesn’t mean to do it. It’s not like it’s going to kill me.
He suggests about moving stuff over. I explain I don’t like doing it. He says he does. Again I get the “I’m not trying to tell you what to do” thing, even if, in reality, that’s EXACTLY what he’s trying to do.
It’s OK. He knows I’m quite stubborn and I’ll just do the things my way anyway.
It is extremely hot. It’s already half nine or so, and it must be close to 30°. We talk about the dogs, as Dino, in particular, is struggling a bit in the heat. He’s going to get some sprayer thing so he can spray him with cool water from time to time. We can try. Anything is worth a try.
He then suggests that, soon, we can start going down to Carrara. Especially because it will be nicer for the dogs. He will have to work some weekends, one of which will be going to Paris. He suggests that I should go down with the dogs on those weekends. I say it will depend on what needs to be done but, secretly, I think I might. I miss the weekends in Carrara – the asparagus and lardo pizza on Friday; days spent on the beach with some books; eating at his Mum and Dad’s; the morning coffee and croissant at the bar overlooking the sea. Yes, I’ve missed those this year even if it’s been for a very good reason.
So, maybe we will go down.
As I’ve written this, I think about something I’ve read recently – listen without trying to form a response in your head at the same time. I must really try to do that. It’s difficult though, isn’t it?
Fastweb and Tennis
Finally, summer is here. Over the weekend it was nudging the mid-thirties (degrees centigrade) and the next few days, it may get as high as 37° – or that’s the forecast – before dropping down to hovering around 30°.
This was the weekend where I got away with something – but I know I won’t be getting away with it for much longer. I got away with it because he is living in “my flat” – when the “my flat” becomes “our flat”, I know it won’t be tolerated.
It involved some stuff on the microwave. The microwave sits on the washing machine and is a very handy place to drop things that I must look at or do something with later. At one point he replaced the “general mess” with a shoe box. Now the top of the shoe box becomes the place to drop the stuff. He wanted me to clear it away. I explained that I needed to sort the kitchen out first as some things had to be put away when I find the boxes with like things inside.
He wasn’t happy but “It’s your flat” was the response. I know that I won’t have these choices in a month or so’s time. Ah well. enjoy it whilst it lasts, I suppose.
As part of the “getting ready to move”, I threw away lots and lots of clothes. And sorted out my shoes.
And we went and ordered Internet connection via optic fibre as it will be faster (and, in fact, the engineer is coming on Thursday). I mention this because, over the weekend it was the French Open Finals and, now that I can watch British TV, it was a delight.
Well, I say “delight” when, in fact, given the speed of my download, it kept hanging every few minutes. In fact, I tried my phone for a few minutes and got a much better reception via that!
The Fastweb connection, providing I cable my Mac to the modem, will be more than 30 times faster and should mean no more “hanging”. Unfortunately, we shan’t be in the new flat in time for Wimbledon – but there’s always next year
There’s moving and moving.
We were dropped off near his flat. We had been to lunch with some friends and it had lasted rather a long time. It was now about 5 p.m. It was a rather lovely lunch and the people are very nice and easy. They have a three-year-old boy who is a really nice kid.
At the traffic lights, I pause and say, “See you later.”
“Don’t you want to come and see my flat?”
“No, not really.”
“But you could help me with moving things.”
I guess the look on my face (probably one of horror), said it all.
“OK, you don’t have to. I can do it myself.”
I go home and make a cup of tea as I’m really thirsty. I have a lot to do. I have already, the day before, reorganised my wardrobe to allow space for his clothes and put a lot of clothes to either be thrown away or, if they were good condition designer clothes, to be sold. Now I’ve started on the other wardrobe – but there’s lots to do – and I haven’t even started on shoes yet!
But, it’s no good. The thought of him filling the car with clothes, then making the trip to the new house, then unloading everything – on his own – makes me feel guilty. Yesterday, he had a couple of guys with a van helping. Tomorrow, again. But, today, he is alone.
I message him, asking him if he would like me to come and help. I really don’t want to do this but my guilt wins the day. He replies with an “if you want” but it’s not as simple as that, is it?
I go. He has already partly loaded the car. We finish loading it and go to the new flat. We unload things (suitcases stuffed with clothes, shopping bags full of plates and dishes and other stuff). He has two clothes racks for the clothes to be hung up and several boxes ready to take the clothes from the suitcases.
He stuffs the boxes and the bags go on the floor in the corner of what will be the dining room.
Back to his old flat, we stuff the suitcases again and also take a load of hanging stuff. Back to the new flat and unload, stuff boxes and hang the hanging stuff. And again back to his old flat with, this time, just hanging clothes.
Whilst we are doing this, I am thinking 2 things:
1. The new flat is not nearly as big as I thought it was. In fact, I’m now worried that we won’t fit everything in! Of course, I remember feeling the same about the perfect-flat-on-the-perfect-street so console myself with the thought that, once everything has a place to go, it will be fine.
Still, it’s a bit worrying. What once seemed huge now seems, at best, a comfortable fit.
2. I remember very well why, for the last 6 or so moves, I get people to do everything. Pack, haul boxes and suitcases, lift heavy things. I AM NOT doing the same as him. People will be doing all this work, not me!
We finish at something to 9. I am totally exhausted. I want a shower and a beer. His place still has loads of stuff in it. But he, too, is tired, wants a shower and a beer. We both shower in our respective places and then meet up for a beer. Which is refreshing, to say the least but after two we are so tired we just want bed and sleep.
The next day, Monday, is a public holiday here. We are going to look for a kitchen. We need to go quite early because we need someone to help with the planning. F, of course, has all the floor plan and dimensions, including where the water, gas and electrical sockets are on the walls.
So, we get up quite early and have a quick coffee at a bar and then off to the place.
We book an “agent” and then go and wander around the store to pick the kitchen types we like and look at wardrobes as he needs one in the bedroom.
Our agent becomes available and we go and sit down and start planning the kitchen with the “kid”. It goes on for a long time. It’s not quite as easy as it’s not a square kitchen and things are difficult to fit. There are lots of “modifications” that will need to be done.
Eventually, we have two options that we like. The cost is at the lower end of my expectations. Whilst we are there, we add the wardrobes and a bed base. The order is “on hold” as we need to get a surveyor round to check all the dimensions before they will agree to accept the order and fit it all in. We do this.
We then go to IKEA to have a quick look at some of the units he has chosen for other parts of the flat, to hold other things. It’s quick because a) we both dislike IKEA and b) there are just too many people walking around like they’re on holiday and, generally, being in the way. We don’t buy anything – he’ll buy stuff later.
We go home. So far, this has taken over three and a half hours!
He has the guys coming back to move the rest of his stuff and I have lessons and I have to take the dogs for a walk and put away the dry washing and stuff. No sorting out for me today.
After my lessons he messages me to ask if we should go for a beer. I agree.
I get there first as he is doing the last delivery with the guys. He comes soon after with a couple of bags with stuff he’s leaving at my place whilst we live there for a month or two.
We drink our beer. He has, finally and officially, moved out of his flat and so, I suppose, we are, finally and officially, living together. But I only think of that now – not at the time of the beer!
Over our beers, he starts suggesting things.
“Once we have the kitchen in and I’ve started putting up the units we have, we can start moving your stuff.”
“But, I’m going to get the movers in.”
“Yes, for the big furniture but we can move the other stuff ourselves. I’m not trying to tell you what you should do but we can do a box an evening.”
But, of course, he IS trying to tell me what to do. I remember the day before and I AM NOT doing that.
“It will save some money.”
“Let’s see what the quotes are, first.”
He reiterates that, obviously, it’s up to me (which it most certainly is NOT, if he had his way) but he really thinks it would be better.
It’s not. However, I don’t argue. Sometimes it’s just better to go ahead and get it all done – in the way that I want!
Let’s see.
I get a surprise!
“You know my family know, don’t you?” He means that they know we are moving in together.
Well, yes, of course. I didn’t really think it was a secret since his cousin had posted something to some pictures added to Facebook.
“What, everyone?” I ask.
“I’m sure,” he replies. “B (his sister) telephoned me.”
“I saw that E (his cousin) had made a comment,” I said.
“Yes, and she will have told everyone.”
I wonder, since he and I are, where not exactly a secret couple, shall we say, a couple of really, really good friends, even though, of course, everyone knows, what his parents think then, assuming they have been told that we will be moving together.
“We can invite them up,” he says, “maybe for Christmas.”
Now – “invite them up” is all the family? Surely not!
“Who?” I ask.
“My Mum and Dad,” adding, “I can go and pick them up but we would have to sleep on the sofa.”
I have no idea what to say to this. Inside, I know this is the “final” acceptance. This means that he is so relaxed about “us” that he can now invite his Mum and Dad up to stay into our flat and that, as they would see we only had the one bedroom with a double bed, there couldn’t really be any doubt – even though, of course, he would never, ever tell them. But that’s OK for me. I don’t need for everything to be explicitly said. Not any more.
“What a lovely idea!” I exclaim.
Of course, I can’t add all the feelings I really have inside – but I am really very happy about this surprise announcement.
“Maybe, not for Christmas but for a weekend, anyway.”
OK, as you want, I think and, probably, say. He goes on to say that his Mum has only ever been to Milan once before and his Dad never, despite him living here for well over 20 years! They don’t have this need or desire to travel. Even in Italy! I mean to say, I’ve seen a honeymoon picture which, I think, was taken in Rome but I’ve never heard tales of any travel.
Of course, I realise this may never happen, this trip to Milan but that’s not really the point. The fact that he’s thinking about it means so much in so many ways. Every time I think about it brings a new insight into the fact that he’s so very happy we’re together. Happy and more and more relaxed about it.
Which is more than can be said about the actual “moving” thing. For that he is exceedingly stressed. But it will settle down once he’s moved his stuff over – which is happening right now.
But that’s for another post.
Erm, celebrating ……. sort of
I have an idea in my head.
It goes something like this.
We sign the contracts and we are both really happy.
We should celebrate!
OK, so he paid half for Piero, so this is not the first major thing we’ve done. But, you know, it’s a little different than Piero. This is a contract that binds us together for at least 4 years. This is where we have to live, whatever happens. This is not quite the same as buying a house, but damn well near it.
Of course, tonight I have a bloody lesson. But it’s only from 7 to 8. We can go out at 8. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?
Well, yes but he’s arranged to go for a drink with some ex-colleagues. I can come but it’s not near my flat so, as my lesson is at 7, I can’t. It’s just too far. It would be lovely – to celebrate the new flat that we’ve got together – but later, after my lesson. After all, he’s going for an aperitivo – just a drink. He’s coming back to my flat straight afterwards.
She’s late, my student. To be honest, she’s a bit of a pain in the arse. But I can’t really fob her off just to go for a drink. We’ve finished by 8.30. I text him straight away to tell him she’s gone. Perhaps, on his way back, he’ll suggest going for a quick drink to celebrate?
It’s now gone 9. He’s not replied. I wonder if they’ve gone on to eat somewhere? But I don’t know. It’s no good phoning. I know him, the sound is off on his phone and it only vibrates or, even if the sound is on, if it’s in his bag, he won’t hear it.
I open a bottle of wine. After all, I’m celebrating.
I am celebrating and ever so slightly pissed off.
I think of texting/calling my friends. But I don’t. I just sit here, typing this and celebrating our new contract together ………. on my own.
Well, the wine is quite good.
I think I’ll ring Best Mate. She should be the first person I tell, really.
I’ll celebrate with her over the phone.
But, you know, this is not really anything like I had hoped.