Pretty Shit Year

Another year and another disaster.
What is it this time? Where to start?
Pats has died. I am single again after 13 years. I am on my own. Yes, it was me who called it quits, I couldn't bear being nothing but a flat mate anymore. Nor could i face another night of sleeping in our bed while he spent time with the booze in the living room. I have had enough of being taken for granted. No more being a doormat.
AS a result, I have been relegated to the big bad evil, because I moved on. I made the decision and that automatically means that I am to blame.
Our friends claim they feel awkward. In fact so awkward that I am no longer welcome in our usual pub when they are there. They, get this, said we were selfish in breaking up because of the impact it would have on them. This being the same friends who practically encouraged me to do this because they noticed I had been unhappy for a while.
And they don't want to take sides. Yet they clearly are. He has told everybody and thus I am the big bad who needs to be ostracised. Even asking them for help constructing  wardrobes for just half an hour elicits only the suggestion that maybe a book could do the same thing for me. Quite frankly: screw you! If that is how react when a friend asks for help , then clearly you are no friend!
All of that is not exactly designed to make me feel cherished, welcome or anything remotely like being appreciated.
then this morning came the body blow i feared was coming, but had hoped was just my paranoia.
THe one person I had my heart set on, the one person, who stood by me, the one guy whose messages, pictures and emails made me ready to face the world, told me we had no future as a couple because there was an ocean and a continent between us, that it was better to stop now and try and be friends, rather than face the harshness and heartache any ill-fated long distance relationship seemingly inevitably must end in. 
I do not deny that having a long distance relationship across the Atlantic and the US is tough going. I know that physical contact is important in relationships, believe me, I know. I know we only spent fleeting short moments in each others company and I know that they were not enough, that I wanted more

FUUUUUUCCCCCCKKKKK! Why am I doing this to me?
I should just have let it lie. Bumping into John accidentally and feeling butterflies is one thing. I won't claim it was unavoidable but it it was a chance meeting. And it felt good. Did I have to then email him and say that it had been good bumping into him? Did I have to suggest meeting up for a chat when he was next in the area? Probably not, but I didn't think, couldn't stop myself, it felt right. Then, when he got back I couldn't make it, didn't want to upset Frank, it was his week off after all.
Then Wednesday, John's email. "I'm possibly coming through on Friday ... does that work for you?" And after deliberations for half the morning I said "yes". Had even concocted a lie for Frank. Then you phoned. The plan changed. Instead of an evening meeting, it was 2 o'clock at the station and a long walk in Pollock Park. Suited me well, in fact it was better. Lie one was followed up with lie two, my friends had canceled, he was none the wiser.
The day came, I walked to the station took the train waited, listening to the Sisters of Mercy crying out for "more". We went to the park and after slightly awkward beginnings of re-acquaintance things went smoothly. A nice afternoon. Me mainly silent, John telling me of the place he went as a child, his friends, dead and alive, Ralf, Kerry, Lee. Had food. John thinking deeply, as always, me feeling slightly inadequate, having lead a sheltered life compared to him, nevermind Ralf. I've never met a more beautiful person than you. No wonder I'm still smitten. Which makes me feel awful. And I cannot talk to anybody about this either, which does not make it any easier. There is a reason why Larry Brown called his short story collection "Big Bad Love".

Had a lovely afternoon out in Pollock Park and now have lots to think about again.Also want to go back and finish reading "Fay" or at least read some of the short stories in "big bad love".
Listening is a very well-worth activity, if done with care. Don't quite know how I feel just now other than that I feel very happy for Ralf to have John. I also feel I want to go for a stroll with Frank more often, we don't talk a lot when we're in the house but I feel we should.

The things you come across accidentally...

Ages ago, when my friend had just moved house she invited us to her flat warming party. Being the nice person that I am I decided to bring along some food. It had to be easy, make an impact and be simple to transport. The answer: quiche.

Like I said, it's been years and I had all but forgotten about the recipe, a bummer really given that I don't tend to use recipes. In fact, the only part of the recipe that was written down at the time was the basic short crust pastry recipe I pilfered from some cookbook. Sadly, what make a quiche is not the pastry casing however, it's the filling.

Well, today, while looking through some paperwork, I found my fillings, at some point I must have written them down after all.

 

The wet ingredients are the same in all cases:

2 whole eggs and a tub of double cream. After that it's pretty much whatever takes your fancy.

 

Classic Lorraine: 1 leek, finely sliced

200g bacon lardons or chopped slices.

Fry the bacon, add the leek and lightly fry until the leek has softened. Season with fresh nutmeg, salt and pepper. Leave to cool then either mix with the wet stuff and transfer into a blind-baked pastry shell , or pop it in first and pour the wet mix over.

 

Spinachi:    ½ red and yellow pepper each, chopped finely

2 cloves of garlic sliced or crushed

        4 spring onions, alternatively 1 medium red onion

bag of baby spinach leaves

        1 tsp Italian/provencal herbs, salt, pepper

Lightly fry the peppers, onion and garlic in some olive oil in a pan, when the peppers start to soften, put in the spinach and let it wilt. Watch out the garlic doesn't burn. Take of the heat and transfer to a colander to drain any spinach juices. Once dry and cold give the mix a rough chop , then mix with the wet and into the pastry case it goes.

 

Broccoli     1 head of broccoli in small florets

        1 punnet of cherry tomatoes/ small tin of sweet corn

        1 red onion

        Bunch of basil leaves/ 3 slices bacon, chopped

Blanch the broccoli, then shock under ice cold water to retain its colour. Saute the onion , bacon and sweet corn in a little olive oil. Mix carefully with the broccoli, put in the casing and pour over the wet mix (season it well with salt and pepper, and maybe some finely chopped red chilli).

 

Pop the whole lot in an oven and bake till set and lightly golden on top.

Inverbeg Trip

ain't this great?

The big question on my mind is when did flirtation turn into an affair? When did it happen? Where? Was it when chatting became a daily routine? When talking about music, goats, and planes began to matter? Precious little of what we talked about was sexual, in fact I can only remember it being mentioned once. "What are you into? This that and the other, you?" "Not x, everything else is very much negotiable?" Was that when it started?
Or was it when, getting called on the images projected, I admitted the lie and and frantically did everything to change the now tainted impression? Perhaps. And yet I somehow think it was earlier. Why should I have cared? Why did I wait somewhat anxiously for your reply? Was happy when you said you'd gotten it. "give me time to digest this." "ok" and yet I was there every time you turned up in "our" place, ready, saying hello, hoping. It was too late then. A dog could not have wagged its tail more eagerly, wanting to please. "I think we should talk , on the phone". I was apprehensive, but still I phoned you. The number graciously provied. "you sound more Glaswegian than I thought" "well, that's just me, pick up accents quickly. It's me though, honest, really, the German." "oh I can detect the accent. Listen..." You sounded different, too. Not what I expected. "Friends is fine by me" we both decided. You have your man, I have mine. And still gehst du Kerl mir nicht aus dem Kopf.
Then silence. until we next met in "our space". I hadn't been there in a few days, work , culture my man had kept me away. Then you said "hello". "how are things?" "fine, too much work, the usual..." "I'll be in town" You had been, so recently, I remembered. "why ?" "need to get some clothes, didn't get it all done last week." And then the question, the one I had hoped for and yet not expected. "Do you want to get together?" "No," I say, "too much work." but there is the excitement, the strange feeling in my stomach. The chat continued. Normal stuff. You are back in form, tired still but healthier. Oh, what the hell. "Yes, let's meet. Work can wait. I'll just have to pick up the slack somewhere else." "Are you sure?" "yes". The minutes stretch, the conversation suddenly purposeful, driven. The date is set, so is the time. A place to meet decided upon quickly. We'll meet. Talk. Like Friends to be. I'm comitted now. Won't let you down. It's not in my nature.
The set day: work is tedious. I'm unfocused. A slushy feeling in my stomach, only good to focus on one thing. And although I dash home and even change my pants I don't understand that this is an affair. Blank it out, completely, live for the moment. Angst ridden, nervous. Itake the bus psych myself up. The music of my teenage years for distraction. The bus arrives, I'm early. Get off a stop earlier then I need, just can't bear it. Being sixteen again, stagefright. Best to walk it out of the system. Forgot to put on aftershave, great. And no deodorant to be gotton anywhere. Well, you are outdoorsy and rugged and I hope you won't mind. I'm at the meeting point. You say my name, come from behind, and here is me thinking I'd spot you first. Rubbish.

Deep thoughts and emotional turmoil

I supose it is entirely possible that the seven year hump drags n into year 8 and 9 of a relationship. Things remain unsaid that should have been talked about. Little things get blown out of all proportions as a knock-on effect of this.
The question on my mind is, though is it normal that after this length of time the relationship with your partner feels more like being flatmates that lovers? You live together, you sleep in the same bed if for less often at the same time. There are moments of tenderness as well as passion but they have taken the back seat.
Intellectually I suppose the physical side of the relationship might be negligible but I am not intellectual. Being physical together is important to me. Sleeping together in the same bed at the same time is important to me, it is a very physical sign of appreciation.
We've never given eachother many cuddles outside our beds and that is wrong too. These days I feel I get more hugs from my colleagues than my man.
I'm sure there are things that bug Frank about me, like the amount of weight I've gained in the last 5 years and my tendency to be messy. I can live with the second, am not sure about the first but the things that really hurt me were when he called me pompous and arrogant and the fact that he does not actually take the time to listen and think about what my thoughts are on some matters. He might not agree with me on somethings and I don't claim to agree on everything with him but at least I try to listen and see where he comes from. or what he does. Somehow in the attribution of blame I feel putting on weight is a far lesser "crime" than turning yourself into an alcoholic. You can ask whether the one begets the other until the cows come home it is a chicken and egg scenario into which external factors have been introduced that work on internal motivations. Nonetheless they will need to be addressed.
And in the middle of it all the question of whether there is an excuse for selfishness on grounds of self-preservation.
A new player has entered the field, well been made to join more like, and now there is emotional upheaval. I know Frank and I had a good thing for a long time. I know we should try and work on it and yet there is doubt as to whether it might not be better to stop?