Saturday, April 23, 2005

No Diamonds

I think I might finally want to talk about the last six months.

The monster hangover on thursday left me tender and raw, and fluttery; poor Mark ended up with me wibbling at him by email for hours (he was a brick, as ever) - and last night I couldn't cope with being around all of the lovely happy drinking people from work. Booze - the uptight english girl's way of dealing with complex problems.

This friday last year - technically, today is the anniversary - was the day that I got engaged.

The hardest thing has been coming to terms with the fact that my future has now changed so radically. I was really caught off guard when Sarah proposed - if I'm honest, it felt rushed, but I went with it as underneath I was sure it was the right choice. So, whilst jumping in with both feet, enthusiastically, it took me a while to realise that this was a lovely permanent thing and that I could let go of my habitual fear of abandonment. Which I did. Yay me. Maybe that made me complacent?

Anyway, I've had to adjust from planning for a family, to planning how I'm going to go about dating without bringing along a small pantechnicon of baggage. Shit, here again. Ah well. Tried. Failed better.

In retrospect, the security and comfort of the relationship subtly twisted it from that of lovers to that of friends.

There's a Rogers and Hart song that always plays through my head at these times - and yes, imagine that in the classic 'old gramophone playing in dusty, abandoned house' trope. I am nothing if not melodramatic.

Sarah and I are now talking - and appear to be remaining close. I'm not sure if that's 'right' and it certainly feels strange; after the six months of barely being able to communicate, and casual emotional cruelty on both sides we haven't quite found the right register for conversations. We're exchanging recipes, and internet tips. There was a brief conversation that kicked off with 'I miss you' - from her, not me. Luckily, it's in the 'as a person who bumbles around the flat and is useful when you have questions' way, and not in the 'I am about to put you through a nauseating emotional wringer just when your life is moving on' way. Phew.

She's seeing a boy now. Apparently, he likes being zipped in to bodybags and pissed on.

I find this inexplicably cheering.


Ian Betteridge said...

It's unfeasibly awful when long relationships end. When I split up from my wife last year, although it was a shock it wasn't a bad thing - we'd twisted into just being friends too, after 10 years together. And we're good friends now, which is great. Probably better friends than ever, in fact.
I've had another relationship end recently too, after five years, and that's much more painful. And impossible to talk about. But it reminded me what painful splits can be.
Anyway, write some dating tips - I'm rubbish at it, as I seem to just want to go to gay clubs where, according to Anno, I'm unlikely to find hetrosexual women.
And please tell me you're joking about the body bags.

kim said...

Oh, lovely Mr Betteridge. I am now, absoultely, definitely, going to make you soup and clasp you to my motherly busom. Or something.

Luckily I did all the pain in a very short, sharp burst this time. It took weeks to get the raw egg out from underneath the dishwasher. The lowgrade background pain is barely registering on my emotional geigercounter, thankfully. I just get very drunk and behave like a complete twat about once a fortnight. Maybe we should arrange a night of drunken twattery together?

It wasn't the longest relationship, but Gay years are a bit like dog years, in that you get seven compared to the normal, as far as I can work out.

Yes, love, revenge prolly not the best spot - you don't need a fag-bangle. And dating tips?

*shaakes head and laughs with the slightest hint of bitter self-knowledge and resignation*

I'll do my best.

And yes. It is true.

Ian Betteridge said...

Drunken twattery is a personal speciality, whether it ends waking up in Hoxton, waking up on a bench at Gatwick, or (most memorably) waking up in Lincoln. Which, as I'd been out for a quiet Friday evening pint with a friend in central Londinium, seemed rather an unlikely place to end up.
So definitely, yes.