Sunday, 28 October 2007

You Can't Keep an Old Dog Down

Or is that you can't teach it new tricks? No matter, because b*gger me, I'm back!

All has not been well at Tantrum Towers. There has been some weeping and wailing. (quite a lot actually). Some women are pretty when they cry, little pools of water creeping over the edge of their eyelashes. Not me. I cry great big rasping sobs, my eyelids go puffy, my nose goes red and I dribble.

It is not a good look for me.

(Number of times I have wanted to text him:- A bazillion)

My friends have been marvellous. There is nothing like having your friends there when you need them. They are stunned at the outcome.

And, dear god, they are not happy about it.

I have been fair. I know him better than any of them. I know things about him that no one else does. And I can see why this happened. I'm not a child; I didn't go into this with my eyes closed. There was a risk, always a risk. What has happened is not his fault. It's one of those things. I have defended him, I have tried to explain why it happened, that he isn't to blame, that he did the right thing in stopping it now before I got even more hurt.

One of them is going away on business with him today, and says she will find it hard not to throw him out of the car.

(Number of times I've wanted to call him:- A bazillion)

It's not going to be easy because we work at the same company. (Was there a gasp from the back?) Yes, an office romance, no less. We don't work together any more, but we still see each other about, so that won't be easy. Not if my nose is red, it won't. We're both fortunate though, we both have a life outside work. We are not people who live to work; I am a person who can barely tolerate the fact that I have to work. I hadn't realised how much this blog has become part of my life - it sort of creeps up on you, don't you think?

And it is people who've been kind enough to leave comments that have brought me back.

And back to stay.

(Number of times I've tried to think of what I could have done to make him love me:- Countless)

Thursday, 25 October 2007

Best Foot Forward

First of all, I'd just like to say thank you for all of your comments - it's been lovely to know that you've all been out there, rooting for me. And now, as promised, you can have the update.

We went out this evening, I've been back a little while now. We had tickets to a gig in Birmingham that we booked a while ago. I was back in work, he's off for the rest of the week, so we decided to meet up before for a drink and something to eat.

I've felt out of sorts today. Maybe I am missing the cooked breakfast. I met him in the bar and smiled when I saw him, waiting for me. He got off his bar stool to give me a kiss.

'Hello handsome' I said. 'Hello gorgeous' he replied.

We talked about what he had done with himself today, we talked about what I had done at work, and then moved on to get something to eat. We arrived at a different bar. We ordered our food and made small talk.

He looked at me and said 'You want to talk about us, don't you?'

And I looked at him, and I knew. I said 'No. There's no point, is there?'

And there wasn't. We talked though, and he told me that he cares for me a lot, but it just wasn't right. It wasn't right in his heart. And that's where it needs to be right, most of all.

I cried into my dinner, while he asked me if we could still be friends. And I told him, no. There was no going back, not for me. Because it wouldn't be fair, unless we both wanted the same thing. And I would always want more than he could give.

We left the bar, and I cried again, because I knew that when I walked away from him, that would be the last time that we were friends. And he cried too. Because he knew it as well.

So I made a choice. Right or wrong, I have no idea, and less interest in if it even matters. I told him I was going to the gig, he asked if I wanted some company. It's pretty much where we started as friends, and it seemed right to finish there too. So we went to the gig and it was fabulous. One of the best ones I've seen.

He walked me to the train station, and we hugged while we said good bye. I put my hand on his cheek and told him to take care. He told me the same.

And then I walked away. And I didn't, couldn't look back. Best foot forward, but on my own.

I sit here now, wondering where to go from here. I'm not sure whether to carry on with this blog, start a new one, or delete it. The heart feels ripped out of this one.

Or that just might be me.

Tuesday, 23 October 2007

The Return

Evening everyone. How have you all been? Been doing anything nice? Good, glad to hear it.

Me? Lovely. Thanks for asking.

Do any of you have any idea how close I was to putting that on the site as my post for today? Really, really close.

But I do love to share.

So, here we go.

Do you know what I have loved about this weekend away?

  • He came to pick me up & carried my case to the car without me even having to mime the huffing and puffing.
  • We stopped at the Services on the way there for some lunch & he leaned forward & brushed a crumb off my lip.
  • We checked into the hotel & he had brought extra coat hangers, & gave them to me.
  • We got ready to go out, left the hotel room, him first, then he turned round, looked at me & told me I looked gorgeous.
  • As we were in Bath, we watched the rugby on Saturday night, he stood behind me, talking to someone else, but with his hand resting on my hip while he talked.
  • He makes me laugh until I cry.
  • We tried to see lots of things yesterday but were running out of time & he chose the place I wanted to go to, rather than his choice, which was nearer.
  • When I couldn't stop coughing in the night, he leaned over & asked me if I needed some water. I apologised for waking him & he said it wasn't that, he was worried about me.
  • He told me that they had taken the word 'gullible' out of the dictionary & then laughed at the look on my face when I asked how could they do that? Was it not still a word?
  • He wasn't cross when I beat him at crazy golf & he kissed me when I got a hole in 1. Although he spent a lot of time walking in front of me & I believe I may have heard the words "f**king staggering' on more than one occasion. His handicap is either 9 or 10; mine is that I have no co-ordination & my hair gets in my eyes.

There are lots of things I have loved about this weekend, but it is over now.

So where are we? Don't know, is the honest answer. I asked him. He doesn't know either. It's difficult for him. Complicated.

We have been so close this weekend, & I don't want that to be the end. But it still might be. I want us to move forward, but it's a big step for both of us. And there is no step back, at least not for me. The only other step for me is the step away.

I wanted him to see that I would be worth the risk, but I'm not sure that he does.

So maybe I'm not.

My head thinks it's time to move on; my heart begs to differ.

You see, he's the one.

Friday, 19 October 2007

Waxing Lyrical

Note 1 - Swearing Mother, I haven't gone yet, I go tomorrow. I apologise if I led you on with a soap opera type preview. I am also sorry that sometimes my life has come to resemble a soap opera. Neither of which are your fault, my love.

Note 2 - if there are gentlemen reading this blog, you may wish to avert your eyes now. It could get rough. If you believe your wife, girlfriend, lover etc to be a woman of fragrance and mystery, I am no one to disabuse you of the notion. Don't read this blog, try a Mills & Boon website instead.

I have worked for the same company now for 16 years. I have learned a lot whilst I have been in their employment. I have learned how to manipulate a spreadsheet, how to extract data from a report, how to create a graph or a bar chart on the PC. I have learned how to conduct performance appraisals, how to manage under performance and how to hold an effective interview. I have learned that my least productive time is a Friday afternoon, that my laugh can be heard at the opposite end of the office (and it's a BIG office), and just this week I have learned and seen with my own eyes that a member of my team has a pierced nipple. The greatest and most important gift that I have learned, however, is that it is important always to be prepared. Preparation, preparation, preparation. This of course is not something that applies just in the office. This is known as a transferable, or transportable, skill. This means that you can take it home with you and use it there. And I have.

I have been preparing for this weekend. I have been to the beauty salon. For a wax.

Down there.

It is the first time I have been for this sort of extravaganza. But I thought the time had come. I was a little nervous, not being experienced in the ways of beauty salons. The girl was lovely, took me into a little cubicle, and told me to undress, just leaving my top half on. This seems relatively normal, I thought. Considering why I am here. She had told me to lie on a little bed, covered in what resembled a long paper towel. It may indeed have been a long paper towel. I did what I was told. She came back in, asked me what I wanted. It is a little like going to the hairdressers.

Except I didn't take a picture with me.

We discussed and agreed. She appeared to mix potions. I closed my eyes. They shot open a moment later, at the same time as this thought ripped through my mind.

'It feels like she is pouring hot wax onto me!!!!!!!!'

Oh. She is.

The next thought followed a split second later.

'Holy Mary, mother of God, preserve me from this agony!!!!!' There is no response. I am not surprised. She is a mother, and of God. She has no time spare to be helping me out, the woman must be rushed off her feet. I try a different approach.

'Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I have never been to confession, on the grounds that I am not a Catholic. I can do you a recap of my sins, but I'll be honest, it could take some time, and I'm looking for quite a speedy response here.' Again, nothing.

In the meantime, the charming girl is ripping wax, skin, veins and arteries from me with abandon. I expect to look down and see bare skeleton. She asks if this is the first time I have been. I nod my head. She tells me I have done very well, there was a woman in that morning who screamed. I have not screamed. Mainly because my teeth are clenched so tightly, not even a crowbar could prise them open.

She finishes off after some hours, and a brief discussion about symmetry. It is, frankly, a discussion I never expected to have.

I crawl, weeping, to the train station and glance at the clock to see how many hours I have been in this torture chamber.

15 minutes.

Ye gods.

See you on Tuesday, pray for me. Any god you like. They all know who I am, but they've been avoiding my calls.

Saturday, 13 October 2007

Can You Keep A Secret?

I know that blogging is like a big community; lots of friends who are always around to pick you up when you're down, to share their lives with you, to make you laugh. But can you keep a secret? Come a bit closer then - I'll whisper. A bit closer. Now wait there a minute, I'll be right back.

Are you there? I know that you've read the blog a couple of times, but I think it made you a little uncomfortable, like you were reading my diary. I don't think you've been back since though. Are you there now ? If you are, I think you'd better stop reading. I'm not going to say anything bad, but I don't think you'll want to read this. OK? Right then.

Sorry to keep you all waiting - I was just checking something. I was going to tell you a secret. I'm going away for the weekend, next Saturday. Until Tuesday. With a Someone.

You won't ever have hear me talk about dating. That's because I haven't done any. I haven't had a date in years. I haven't had a boyfriend since I separated from my now ex-husband. I wanted some time for myself, and my son. I wanted to know what I wanted from life.

I wanted not to make a mistake.

So, this going away business, it's a big deal, you know. For both of us I think. We've been friends for years. Really good friends. Always there for one another. Always making each other laugh. Always providing comfort when it's needed. Getting one another through bad times. We know one another really well. Better than if we had dated.

So we're going away for the weekend. To see how it goes. To see how we get on with each other in a different way. Just the two of us.

It might be the start of something. Or it might be the end.

Wish us luck?

Saturday, 6 October 2007

My Inner Goddess Is A Long Way From The Surface

I have been to the hairdressers today. I love going to the hairdressers. It is a good, positive, life-affirming experience. Mainly. Last time I went, I was very badly hungover. I slumped in the chair, and when my lovely hairdresser asked me what did I want today, I mumbled at him, made vague cutting gestures all over my head, and declared that the colour I was intent on trying out was 'Brown. No, darker. Darker. Darker. Less redder. Yeah, that one'.

Not today though. No hangover for me today. Not even from cough medicine. Take it from me, when you buy cheap cough medicine that doesn't come with a measuring spoon, JUST USE A DAMN TEASPOON. Don't, whatever you do, assume that 5ml is roughly equivalent to a large mouthful, straight from the bottle. Don't then look at the instructions, and realise that you have to take 2 of the 5ml spoonfuls, so that must be 2 large mouthfuls. Whatever you do, don't repeat that dose 4 times a day. If you do, you will end up with an empty bottle, and a raging headache. I'm just saying.

I arrive at the hairdressers bang on time, to find the lovely Sean waiting for me. A very sweet girl shampoos my hair very gently, then massages conditioner into my hair. Bliss! No colour for me today. I'm still brown, and unless you part my hair with your fingers in a nit-seeking expedition, you will barely get a glimmer of grey. Sean asks me what do I want today. I proudly produce my magazine and show him the picture. I then explain that I want it cut into the neck, with a little wispy fringe, quite long still at the sides. I realise this is not much like the picture that I have shown him, but he understands. The woman in the picture has the right shade of brown though. I need to remember that for next time. He starts trimming away, oh so gently, caressing my hair with his beautiful hands. I close my eyes, and leave him to his magic. I let my mind wander, thinking about what I still have to do today, thinking about the really funny blogs I read yesterday, thinking about the road trip with
Swearing Mother, thinking about how I must tell Belle that her mum's jam is delicious and the only jam my son will eat, thinking about going away for a break, thinking about ...

'Is that OK on the fringe for you Tina?'

Beg pardon? Did someone say something? Where am I? I open my eyes, just a little, and see Sean, waiting for the confirmation on my fringe. I have fallen asleep. I AM ASLEEP IN THE HAIRDRESSERS! Have I been talking? It is not unheard of. Sometimes I chew when I'm asleep. (Don't even ask). What if I drooled? I check my face for wet patches, but it looks OK.

'That's lovely Sean, thank you'.

When he finishes, I look like a goddess. Well at least my hair looks like that of a goddess. My face, maybe less so. Unless we are getting into the realms of Gorgons. But today, I'm not very goddess-like. You see, I fell over on the way to the hairdressers. It is not the first time I've fallen over. It's not even the first time in the last 2 months. I have a problem with gravity - it pulls me to the floor harder than other people. There were no excuses. Or at least none I could think of. I'm a little scraped on the palm of my hand. My wrist is a bit sore. I'll probably have a bruise on my knee. And my left ankle is 3 times the size of the other one, and hurts like a holy swear word.

It's a good job I had my high heeled boots on, that's all I can say. If I hadn't had them on, there would have been no support for my poor ankle after I'd fallen.

Don't even say they were to blame.

Don't even think it.

Friday, 5 October 2007

Coughs and Sneezes are Diseases

I am diseased. Don't worry, I don't think I have the sort of virus that you can get through your PC. Although, I'm not going to make any guarantees on that one. I tried to tell people at work this week that I had TB. They asked me how I knew, and I told them it was because of all the coughing. Of course it wasn't just a cough. I'm ill for goodness sake, can they not see that? I tried to tell Belle too, but she had me rumbled, and asked the important TB related questions. Had I written beautiful poetry? No. Had I written a novel? No again. Then it wasn't TB.

I started sneezing yesterday. People tried to tell me that this showed that what I had was a cough and a cold. A COUGH AND A COLD. Like it was nothing. It is something. It is something not very nice. You ask the woman who sat in front of me on the bus if she thinks it is nothing. She will say no. If she hears you over the noise of her hairdryer.

It was certainly something last night when I went to bed. I was tired and went straight to sleep. I then woke up, sat bolt upright in bed, coughed spasmodically, like a dog, then lay down and went straight back to sleep. At various points during the night, I woke up again, sat up in bed, and sneezed so violently that I nearly gave myself whiplash. (I don't know what the sitting up is for; it may be that my subconscious thinks I will drown if I keep lying down). I woke up again. There was a heatwave, and I was about to spontaneously combust. I took off my pyjamas, and settled down again to sleep. Only to wake up again, shivering, wondering why I had frostbite, and where the hell were my pyjamas? There was some squinting and rummaging, than I put on my pyjamas again. This was then repeated. Only once. I'm not a freak, you know.

I woke up this morning when my alarm went off. There was a strange feeling in the bed. I was almost frightened to look to see what might have happened. But at some point in the night, I think I had been visited by Paul Daniels. You see, the sheet was missing from my bed. The sheet from under me. UNDER ME. And it was on the floor. The strange feeling was because I was lying on the bare mattress. (YOU THOUGHT I'D DONE WHAT?!) I think that in the night, Paul Daniels had taken hold of one end of my sheet, and yanked it, without me moving at all. I never even heard him say "That's magic!"

The sneezing has been fairly constant all day. I came out of the railway station this morning, sneezing so profusely that I was momentarily blinded, and hurtled into a door.

It is no fun for me, you know.