The lodger is carting his boxes out into the hall. I've been working at home today, so I can't escape him. I'm really struggling not to go and help. Every bone in my body wants to go and help him, and I know it's not what I want to do. I always rescue birds with broken wings. I find it incredibly difficult to put me, and what I need first, and when I do it seems to come back and bite me.
He has created this situation. I must remind myself that I did not do this. I did not make this happen. He must take responsibility for the consequences of his decision. I must not rescue him, even if it is just to help lift and carry. Or should I help? I don't know.
I am so angry and confused about the whole thing.
Phew! Decision has been made for me. He has help.
I still end up apologising.
Tuesday, 30 November 2010
The Lodger Departs
I have lived with around eighteen or so people in shared flats over the years, three as lodgers here. The majority remain amongst my friends. There have been good times, arguments, disasters and all sorts but I have never before felt completely uneasy with a housemate.
After less than two weeks of being here Stephen is leaving. I am relieved. I have been an exile from my own home, as the thought of being alone with him was so uncomfortable.
I could deal with the stuff everywhere, with his strange habits and weird smells but what I hated was the day he asked me if I knew the 'Truth'. He is a conspiracy theorist. He believes that 9/11 bombings were an American plot. He believes that the world is about to be taken over by a small elite group, and we will all become slaves to a new system. And on, and on....
The thing that brought it all to an end was his extreme response to a simple household request. I had bitten my tongue about so much and didn't mind, but asked him to do one thing and it turned into a stream of accusations. Accustions that were delivered as questions. Questions there was no good repsonse to. This is my home, and I can't live with someone whose actions make me feel vulnerable.
With him being a psychotherapist, I thought he'd be a balanced, calm rational sort of person to have around the house. Instead what it does seem to mean is that he's very good at manipulating a conversation and maintaining his cool. I've never, ever argued with someone so soon after moving in with them. And it's been a long time since the last. I am still shocked.
I can't pin all of this madness on him, can I? I must have played my part. Perhaps I wasn't clear enough about the arrangements here, or what he could expect from me.
He is selfish. He takes no responsibility for himself, and everything can be blamed on someone else.
He has no sense of humour, and that makes life very troublesome indeed.
He is going tonight and I am glad.
I am looking forward to feeling safe and having an ordinary night, alone.
After less than two weeks of being here Stephen is leaving. I am relieved. I have been an exile from my own home, as the thought of being alone with him was so uncomfortable.
I could deal with the stuff everywhere, with his strange habits and weird smells but what I hated was the day he asked me if I knew the 'Truth'. He is a conspiracy theorist. He believes that 9/11 bombings were an American plot. He believes that the world is about to be taken over by a small elite group, and we will all become slaves to a new system. And on, and on....
The thing that brought it all to an end was his extreme response to a simple household request. I had bitten my tongue about so much and didn't mind, but asked him to do one thing and it turned into a stream of accusations. Accustions that were delivered as questions. Questions there was no good repsonse to. This is my home, and I can't live with someone whose actions make me feel vulnerable.
With him being a psychotherapist, I thought he'd be a balanced, calm rational sort of person to have around the house. Instead what it does seem to mean is that he's very good at manipulating a conversation and maintaining his cool. I've never, ever argued with someone so soon after moving in with them. And it's been a long time since the last. I am still shocked.
I can't pin all of this madness on him, can I? I must have played my part. Perhaps I wasn't clear enough about the arrangements here, or what he could expect from me.
He is selfish. He takes no responsibility for himself, and everything can be blamed on someone else.
He has no sense of humour, and that makes life very troublesome indeed.
He is going tonight and I am glad.
I am looking forward to feeling safe and having an ordinary night, alone.
Monday, 22 November 2010
Lodger
I have a new lodger, a friend of a friend, and I don't quite know what to make of him. In his early to mid forties, he's an intense sort of a guy. A former psychotherapist who's decided to give up the rat race.
He's suspicious of government, systems, taxes and the like. If you don't pay tax, who pays for your medical care or for the roads to be fixed? Surely we're all in this together? I don't doubt that many systems in our world are corrupt, but rejecting them all seems impractical to me. Surely we have a collective responsibility?
I digress....
He's got ME, and I can sympathise with that having had an oft named and unresolved fatigue type illness/condition/whatever in my very early twenties. He doesn't work and has just sold his house in the south, with an ambition to move abroad and live a self sustaining life.
He seems to be a believer in the alternative medicine sphere. And, why not? If something helps you feel better, whatever it is, then we must all do what is right for us.
I just don't know what to make of him. My previous lodgers have been friends or weekday residents. But, he'll be here full time for the next two to six months. The extra cash is nice, although losing my space will be a challenge.
I am a broad minded person, whose life and career are not founded on the material or selfish. Part of me admires his goals of an alternative life, but the other part of me values the society and community I am part of and recognises her need of some home comforts and frivolity. I try not to judge the choices of others.
I think it's good for me to have someone else around. Living alone is a very self indulgent way to exist and really rather too nice! Reminding myself how to share my space and compromise can only be good practice for when the time comes when I finally find someone to rub along with permanently.
In the meantime my flat feels like a health food shop. There are aromatherapy oils and weird food supplements in the fridge whose names I cannot pronounce.
Have I let the right person into my home?
He's suspicious of government, systems, taxes and the like. If you don't pay tax, who pays for your medical care or for the roads to be fixed? Surely we're all in this together? I don't doubt that many systems in our world are corrupt, but rejecting them all seems impractical to me. Surely we have a collective responsibility?
I digress....
He's got ME, and I can sympathise with that having had an oft named and unresolved fatigue type illness/condition/whatever in my very early twenties. He doesn't work and has just sold his house in the south, with an ambition to move abroad and live a self sustaining life.
He seems to be a believer in the alternative medicine sphere. And, why not? If something helps you feel better, whatever it is, then we must all do what is right for us.
I just don't know what to make of him. My previous lodgers have been friends or weekday residents. But, he'll be here full time for the next two to six months. The extra cash is nice, although losing my space will be a challenge.
I am a broad minded person, whose life and career are not founded on the material or selfish. Part of me admires his goals of an alternative life, but the other part of me values the society and community I am part of and recognises her need of some home comforts and frivolity. I try not to judge the choices of others.
I think it's good for me to have someone else around. Living alone is a very self indulgent way to exist and really rather too nice! Reminding myself how to share my space and compromise can only be good practice for when the time comes when I finally find someone to rub along with permanently.
In the meantime my flat feels like a health food shop. There are aromatherapy oils and weird food supplements in the fridge whose names I cannot pronounce.
Have I let the right person into my home?
Tuesday, 9 November 2010
The World Over
Although I've had a site meter gadget installed on my blog for a long time now, I don't look at it as often as I might. It's only the introduction of blogger's stats page that's highlighted recently where most of my visitors come from.
In the last month I've had visitors from Russia, Afghanistan, Congo, Spain, Canada and so on. It amazes me that people stop by from the world over.
I have two people to thank for bringing the majority of visitors here.
First of all there's Kim Ayres who listed me amongst the blogs he follows. I love his list, it's like a library to be dipped in and out of. There's always someone with something interesting to say. Kim himself writes beautifully on a diverse range of subjects and shares his photography over at Ramblings of the Bearded One.
And secondly there is Charles C. Finn. A poet, and someone I know nothing about! But other folk must do, as his words are the highest source of traffic because I once quoted him in a post. You can read the whole piece here. I often wonder what is going through the minds of those who search the internet with these words.
Thanks to all who do for stopping by. I amazed and humbled by the corners of the world that gather here from time to time.
In the last month I've had visitors from Russia, Afghanistan, Congo, Spain, Canada and so on. It amazes me that people stop by from the world over.
I have two people to thank for bringing the majority of visitors here.
First of all there's Kim Ayres who listed me amongst the blogs he follows. I love his list, it's like a library to be dipped in and out of. There's always someone with something interesting to say. Kim himself writes beautifully on a diverse range of subjects and shares his photography over at Ramblings of the Bearded One.
And secondly there is Charles C. Finn. A poet, and someone I know nothing about! But other folk must do, as his words are the highest source of traffic because I once quoted him in a post. You can read the whole piece here. I often wonder what is going through the minds of those who search the internet with these words.
Thanks to all who do for stopping by. I amazed and humbled by the corners of the world that gather here from time to time.
Thursday, 28 October 2010
The phone is not my friend
I don't like the phone, and I don't really know why.
It's fine in a work setting, part and parcel of our day to day.
In my home life, I don't like it. I put off calling people. I put off answering or returning calls. I haven't had a land line for four years now.
It doesn't feel like a thing I want to do, call people that is. I email, I send cards, I arrange to meet folk by text message and see them face to face.
As a teenager I spent hours on the phone, often to people I'd seen a few short moments before. When did my aversion to the phone appear? I'm not certain.
There are a very small handful of people I actively call. Even then, I prefer to call them rather than be caught out. I don't mind if it's a purely practical thing, but the notion of calling just to chat isn't something I enjoy.
I never quite figured it out. It's impossible to read people in the same way as it is face to face, but the same can be said of email.
A ringing phone should be a nice surprise or an opportunity to catch up with someone you haven't seen for a while. Instead it just seems intrusive. In a world of mobile technology calls can be screened, and I do.
Boyfriends seem to be the exception to this. There's a excitement in getting to know someone, knowing chat is just chat. Knowing they want to talk to you. Knowing you can do just that, and nothing else. There is an anticipation or, further down the line, comfort in hearing the voice of someone you want to be close to.
Despite my reluctance to communicate this way, I've just spent an hour chatting a friend and it was lovely.
It's fine in a work setting, part and parcel of our day to day.
In my home life, I don't like it. I put off calling people. I put off answering or returning calls. I haven't had a land line for four years now.
It doesn't feel like a thing I want to do, call people that is. I email, I send cards, I arrange to meet folk by text message and see them face to face.
As a teenager I spent hours on the phone, often to people I'd seen a few short moments before. When did my aversion to the phone appear? I'm not certain.
There are a very small handful of people I actively call. Even then, I prefer to call them rather than be caught out. I don't mind if it's a purely practical thing, but the notion of calling just to chat isn't something I enjoy.
I never quite figured it out. It's impossible to read people in the same way as it is face to face, but the same can be said of email.
A ringing phone should be a nice surprise or an opportunity to catch up with someone you haven't seen for a while. Instead it just seems intrusive. In a world of mobile technology calls can be screened, and I do.
Boyfriends seem to be the exception to this. There's a excitement in getting to know someone, knowing chat is just chat. Knowing they want to talk to you. Knowing you can do just that, and nothing else. There is an anticipation or, further down the line, comfort in hearing the voice of someone you want to be close to.
Despite my reluctance to communicate this way, I've just spent an hour chatting a friend and it was lovely.
Thursday, 21 October 2010
Decisions, decisions....
I'm just back after a lovely week or so of a conference, visiting friends and another wedding – the second in two weeks. I've also just agreed to a week's holiday for a friend's 40th and I am number 13, the only single person.
What do all of these have in common – I was the token single girl in amongst a multitude of couples. It stings a bit. Not because I am unhappy or jealous but because as others bring their plotting and planning to the table, I only have my voice. Being the minority isn't much fun.
There's a trip afoot for Hogmanay to a tiny Scottish island off the west coast. I'd love to feel the bitter cold sea air on my face and walk the island's paths and hills.
But, there's a but.
The group is, once again, made up of couples and the token gay man – too I become the gay man's substitute partner at social occasions. I love these people, they are my friends but I don't love an unmixed group.
It makes me feel lonely.
As others turn to kiss each other and welcome in another year, I will wait in line until someone remembers I am there.
Of course, I can host another party here at home or be amongst different friends. I wish I didn't have to decide now. A deadline is looming.
If don't go I know I will be sad to miss it. If I do, I know I will be sad that there is no one to kiss me a happy new year. I know I'd be fine. Feeling left out, no matter how unintentionally on the part of others or self indulgently on my part, is never much fun.
What do all of these have in common – I was the token single girl in amongst a multitude of couples. It stings a bit. Not because I am unhappy or jealous but because as others bring their plotting and planning to the table, I only have my voice. Being the minority isn't much fun.
There's a trip afoot for Hogmanay to a tiny Scottish island off the west coast. I'd love to feel the bitter cold sea air on my face and walk the island's paths and hills.
But, there's a but.
The group is, once again, made up of couples and the token gay man – too I become the gay man's substitute partner at social occasions. I love these people, they are my friends but I don't love an unmixed group.
It makes me feel lonely.
As others turn to kiss each other and welcome in another year, I will wait in line until someone remembers I am there.
Of course, I can host another party here at home or be amongst different friends. I wish I didn't have to decide now. A deadline is looming.
If don't go I know I will be sad to miss it. If I do, I know I will be sad that there is no one to kiss me a happy new year. I know I'd be fine. Feeling left out, no matter how unintentionally on the part of others or self indulgently on my part, is never much fun.
Monday, 11 October 2010
Letter to the man who is not my lover
I saw you last night. I didn't expect to. In amongst the friends, there you are with your girl. I was caught. I knew this could, would perhaps, happen at some point. I just didn't know how it would make me feel. Leaving my friend would create questions. I stay, pleased to see you and utterly unnerved by your presence.
I have met her before only in passing. I know who she is but we are not friends. She is skinny, pretty and child like, and friendly to the person she doesn't know.
I tried my hardest to behave as if nothing has passed between us. To ignore you would be strange.
As we chatter and mull over quiz questions, there is your gaze, held a little too long, as we talk amongst our friends.
There is a look of knowing behind those eyes. Those bright, pale eyes which I cannot deny. We cannot speak of what has been said, but it is there and present.
I am shocked by how I feel. I am full of jealousy, confusion and a little pity for her, knowing what you have said to me. But you, well, you are under my skin.
I do my best to be normal, whatever that is. But my heart is racing.
I had put you and your words out of my mind. I had resolved that, as flattering as they are, they are ultimately meaningless without action and that I deserve someone who can do as well as say. I write it off as a surreal episode, a dream.
Yesterday evening has undone it.
When you look at me, talk to me, it is as if you see all of me. There is no hiding who I am from you. For a change, I don't mind this. I try not look at you or think of your words but they are there, hanging between as we talk.
Very recently I rejected a man who I once loved. He is married and a father. After fifteen years, we have found a great friendship but a drunken night left him asking for more. I said 'no' with ease. I don't want someone else's man. Could I do this with you?.
This is not something sexual or frivolous, there is a fire in my belly, at my very core, that wants to reach for you and know you will hold my hands.
I know you are not mine, and are unlikely ever to be. I will not chase you, or seek you out. But, if you came to me, I could not turn you away.
I have met her before only in passing. I know who she is but we are not friends. She is skinny, pretty and child like, and friendly to the person she doesn't know.
I tried my hardest to behave as if nothing has passed between us. To ignore you would be strange.
As we chatter and mull over quiz questions, there is your gaze, held a little too long, as we talk amongst our friends.
There is a look of knowing behind those eyes. Those bright, pale eyes which I cannot deny. We cannot speak of what has been said, but it is there and present.
I am shocked by how I feel. I am full of jealousy, confusion and a little pity for her, knowing what you have said to me. But you, well, you are under my skin.
I do my best to be normal, whatever that is. But my heart is racing.
I had put you and your words out of my mind. I had resolved that, as flattering as they are, they are ultimately meaningless without action and that I deserve someone who can do as well as say. I write it off as a surreal episode, a dream.
Yesterday evening has undone it.
When you look at me, talk to me, it is as if you see all of me. There is no hiding who I am from you. For a change, I don't mind this. I try not look at you or think of your words but they are there, hanging between as we talk.
Very recently I rejected a man who I once loved. He is married and a father. After fifteen years, we have found a great friendship but a drunken night left him asking for more. I said 'no' with ease. I don't want someone else's man. Could I do this with you?.
This is not something sexual or frivolous, there is a fire in my belly, at my very core, that wants to reach for you and know you will hold my hands.
I know you are not mine, and are unlikely ever to be. I will not chase you, or seek you out. But, if you came to me, I could not turn you away.
Friday, 8 October 2010
A little success
Less than four months into my new job, today I got a new job title. I'm not even out of my probation let alone on a permanent contract. I became 'Head of....' rather than the manager I've been for the last two jobs and in a fantastic organisation.
It's an odd thing. My job is the same, as is my salary, but somehow that doesn't matter. I'm not concerned by status, but my last proper boss (before the self employment) and I had a very poor relationship. It undermined me, and all of my confidence. It helped destroy the shaky and dwindling sense I had of who I was.
I don't care what anyone calls me, but what I do care about is that not only have reminded myself that I am actually capable, but that other people trust me too. I'd forgotten what that felt like.
I didn't know my title was changing before it was announced to all the staff. It's lovely to have a little validation and excitement about my future again.
I can do, and be good at, what I love and believe in. I feel very privileged and pleased.
It's an odd thing. My job is the same, as is my salary, but somehow that doesn't matter. I'm not concerned by status, but my last proper boss (before the self employment) and I had a very poor relationship. It undermined me, and all of my confidence. It helped destroy the shaky and dwindling sense I had of who I was.
I don't care what anyone calls me, but what I do care about is that not only have reminded myself that I am actually capable, but that other people trust me too. I'd forgotten what that felt like.
I didn't know my title was changing before it was announced to all the staff. It's lovely to have a little validation and excitement about my future again.
I can do, and be good at, what I love and believe in. I feel very privileged and pleased.
Sunday, 3 October 2010
Unstuck
Last night I saw the musician. The man who three weeks ago blind sided me with his words. Words that I didn't, couldn't, see coming.
We sat in my car in the small hours of the morning like teenagers. Not going home, not wanting to leave each other. The last time I saw him felt like some strange dream. I had no idea how he felt.
I don't know how to capture the intensity of this emotion, his words, my feelings. I am tired and confused.
Our hands tangled and untangling, foreheads pressed together, just sitting. Desperately trying to figure out what to say.
He tells me he is at risk of falling madly in love with me. He tells me I am in his head, his thoughts. He misses me.
I love these words. This time I believe him.
What to do?
He is in a relationship. He is not married and has no children. They have been together for a long time. I suspect he stays because it is familiar and settled. We daren't talk about it. I don't want to know.
He asks me if I could cope if there was a transition from there to here. I don't know if I answered. It is pointless. These are just words.
I will not be a mistress. He doesn't want this from me anyway, but still I need to say it. I tell him I deserve a whole relationship, that I am angry that he can tell me how he feels without any thought to what I am to do with that information. I won't have my heart played with.
No matter how hard I try to fight this, and stop his words, I can't. He asks me if I feel it too, and I can only say 'yes'.
There is only one other man in my past who has spoken to me so intenesly. One man, who truly and passionately loved me. I ran away from our relationship because it was too much when I wasn't ready. That was a decade ago.
The musician is talented, clever and attractive. He is a well known face in my little corner of the world, so I was always surprised when he took the time to chat to me. I am surprised to discover that he comes a little unstuck around me. He's wondered why I'd bother with him. He tells me he is nervous and excited when he sees me, that he babbles and fumbles for words whilst trying to impress me. It looks like he and I are a little in awe of each other. Blimey.
Eventually, we agree we must go home. We agree we need to think. We agree that we need time to find out if our thoughts are just madness.We agree that we will not have an affair. We agree that we will let each other know if minds are changed, risks run from.
I suspect, however, that we may freeze. Neither of us pursuing the other because he is someone else's.
The thought of him is dangerous. He makes my heart sing and it terrifies me.
We sat in my car in the small hours of the morning like teenagers. Not going home, not wanting to leave each other. The last time I saw him felt like some strange dream. I had no idea how he felt.
I don't know how to capture the intensity of this emotion, his words, my feelings. I am tired and confused.
Our hands tangled and untangling, foreheads pressed together, just sitting. Desperately trying to figure out what to say.
He tells me he is at risk of falling madly in love with me. He tells me I am in his head, his thoughts. He misses me.
I love these words. This time I believe him.
What to do?
He is in a relationship. He is not married and has no children. They have been together for a long time. I suspect he stays because it is familiar and settled. We daren't talk about it. I don't want to know.
He asks me if I could cope if there was a transition from there to here. I don't know if I answered. It is pointless. These are just words.
I will not be a mistress. He doesn't want this from me anyway, but still I need to say it. I tell him I deserve a whole relationship, that I am angry that he can tell me how he feels without any thought to what I am to do with that information. I won't have my heart played with.
No matter how hard I try to fight this, and stop his words, I can't. He asks me if I feel it too, and I can only say 'yes'.
There is only one other man in my past who has spoken to me so intenesly. One man, who truly and passionately loved me. I ran away from our relationship because it was too much when I wasn't ready. That was a decade ago.
The musician is talented, clever and attractive. He is a well known face in my little corner of the world, so I was always surprised when he took the time to chat to me. I am surprised to discover that he comes a little unstuck around me. He's wondered why I'd bother with him. He tells me he is nervous and excited when he sees me, that he babbles and fumbles for words whilst trying to impress me. It looks like he and I are a little in awe of each other. Blimey.
Eventually, we agree we must go home. We agree we need to think. We agree that we need time to find out if our thoughts are just madness.We agree that we will not have an affair. We agree that we will let each other know if minds are changed, risks run from.
I suspect, however, that we may freeze. Neither of us pursuing the other because he is someone else's.
The thought of him is dangerous. He makes my heart sing and it terrifies me.
Wednesday, 29 September 2010
A Journey
Somehow two weeks have slipped by without me writing a word here, and as I now sit in front of my laptop, I still don't know what is is I have to say. But, I do feel like typing.
It's been an odd couple of weeks which culminated in a very unplanned day out. A morning coffee turned into a day of confessions, sharing of heartaches and much fun.
I have a friend whose heart is broken. We found him on his own in the pub on Saturday afternoon in a pitiful state. He was brave and tired.
He met a girl in the US a few months ago. A relationship and anticipation began. He's just returned from her. When he set off he never doubted that a plan would be made, that he'd found he girl of his dreams. His 'one'.
He told us his story of days at the zoo and walking in new places, of promise and the future. Tears so close we couldn't hug him, he had to just keep talking without interference.
This vision was quickly robbed from him as it all started to fall to pieces. The girl sounds unsettled, insecure. The reasons why of the tale don't really matter.
What matters is that he tried. He believed in the dream and travelled thousands of miles to find out if she would share it with him. He still believes that one day he will be loved in the way he so much wants. Despite the failed relationships of his past, he's moving towards that person.
I admire him. He is scared and still keeps trying. He is braver than me, who hides from the very risks that are worth taking and doesn't really believe that she will ever be loved.
We ended the evening a group of single frineds, relying on each other for solace and companionship - an alternative family - laughing.
It's been an odd couple of weeks which culminated in a very unplanned day out. A morning coffee turned into a day of confessions, sharing of heartaches and much fun.
I have a friend whose heart is broken. We found him on his own in the pub on Saturday afternoon in a pitiful state. He was brave and tired.
He met a girl in the US a few months ago. A relationship and anticipation began. He's just returned from her. When he set off he never doubted that a plan would be made, that he'd found he girl of his dreams. His 'one'.
He told us his story of days at the zoo and walking in new places, of promise and the future. Tears so close we couldn't hug him, he had to just keep talking without interference.
This vision was quickly robbed from him as it all started to fall to pieces. The girl sounds unsettled, insecure. The reasons why of the tale don't really matter.
What matters is that he tried. He believed in the dream and travelled thousands of miles to find out if she would share it with him. He still believes that one day he will be loved in the way he so much wants. Despite the failed relationships of his past, he's moving towards that person.
I admire him. He is scared and still keeps trying. He is braver than me, who hides from the very risks that are worth taking and doesn't really believe that she will ever be loved.
We ended the evening a group of single frineds, relying on each other for solace and companionship - an alternative family - laughing.
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