If we only have one turn

The 'L' word has been brought into my life once again.
Mild panic has set in.
I hyperventilate quietly.

I wish my friend, with his crimson words of wisdom, were here to share this.

He has made his feelings clear.

Running is one thing, clear disregard another.

I gave care, compassion and understanding. It has been repaid by 'running away'.

How often I have read - not heard - this excuse.

I will not read any more lies, I have moved beyond deception.

I live a schizophrenic life it seems. I am in turns very happy and desperately sad, at peace but intensely angry. I try to overcome the negatives but feel at times drowned in their murky depths, unable to kick to the surface for the salvation of free air. I want to breathe deep and feel clean but find myself mired at times in the sticky, filthy dirt that lies beneath the surface.

My life is one that is essentially good. Yes, I’m permanently on the breadline but life is such that I will not fight for child support from the father of my children – their happiness is paramount and life affirming. And at the end of the day, money means fuck all without family. Yes, I am recovering from heart break – I shall recover, however slowly. Yes, I have been betrayed by those who would call me friend but piss on that friendship with astounding ease. Yes, life has been damn tough at times, the result of abuse that has been documented to some extent, I survived though, many cannot testify to their violent pasts.

I am stronger for the experience.

‘She’ – I loathe being neurotic or needy or any of the things I have proven I can be in the past. Its not me, it is She. She drives me to examine every minutiae to the point where it makes no sense. She is the insanity that was carried from Mother Dearest to daughter and is not to be trusted.

‘I’ – am the sane, strong, together side. The one who reasons accurately, sensibly and concisely.

‘Me’ – is the selfish side, the one who looks out for the best interests of ‘I’, the one who has fits of martyrdom that verge on the level of Mother. ‘Me’ has best intentions but can be a little eager in her desire to protect.

I know also though that I am finding the headstrong me of old once again. That neurotic part of me seems suppressed for the time being and I know that Eco Warrior is partly responsible for that, just as I am responsible for taking hold of the nonsense that has been thrown my way in recent months. I have taken life firmly, shaken it, thrown it to the ground and stamped ferociously on it – vandalised it and turned it into something manageable.

I have done a Banksy on it, the result will be open for debate but I personally think its an innovative way of improving shit.

I ramble; I haven’t had enough wine to be poetic…as much as I ever am – so not much. But today things made sense. I hurt still – unreasonably so – but I contain it, I mould it, I learn from it. I quieten the demons as a mother hushes a fractious infant and I lessen my appreciation for those who would hurt, abuse or degrade me. I am learning, slowly.

Trust however…..that’s a tricky one. Not sure I’ll ever manage that again, not completely.

Senses and bodies drenched
I wrapped myself in his touch
Engulfed by him

The olive branch was offered, more chances given than anyone else has ever been party to. It now smells of urine, having been pissed and stamped on.

I am sure fun was had, by all.

Nothing is sacred in this world, least of all honesty and friendship over shallow falsehood. I however have played my very last move in this game of deception.

Eco Warrior just called. He will arrive in 20 minutes.

I'm off to soundproof the bedroom...

Tonight I heard scribbling….that old familiar sound….that beautifully fulfilling and somehow cathartic resonance of pencil, not pen, on paper. It came not from me in one of my moments of compulsive scribbling, but from my 14 year old daughter, #3 child.

She is deep in concentration, with her head tilted to one side, writing almost as fast as she types and seemingly oblivious to all around her, yet able to partake of the banter that regularly injects itself into our idyllic little cottage. She writes eloquently and freely. It is intelligent, reasoned, natural writing that regularly strikes me with its maturity.

Her 17 year old sister writes equally well and in these past 4 years or so has shown a skill and confidence in her writing that both humbles and affects. She will go far, she will influence. She will never make me anything less than proud and she will never fail to strive for higher ambition. She has proven this with her exam driven competitive edge.

I am of course proud of all of my four wonders; nothing on this earth could detract from their constant and unrelenting zest for life and knowledge. They are my influence, my compassion, my love and my reasoning.

They are my inspiration.

I will be touched
And stroked
I will be caressed
And held

I will be kissed
And embraced
I will be surrounded
And senses will engulf me

I will melt
And I will absorb
He will stroke
And I will drink in his touch

With every story, a beginning.

To whom it may concern

I write to you to enquire about your apparent new selling tactics. I must question the effectiveness of these tactics as I suspect they may be letting you down somewhat and lets face it, in these times of severe economic straits, you probably need all the trade you can muster.

These new tactics seem to consist of the usual tele sales pitch, which I received at approximately 18:05 this evening, 25th June, [insert phone number] and went thus:

Me: Hello
Operative: V?
Me: Yes
Op: Hi, this is Sky. Do you have Sky?
Me: *hang up* (I do not believe in wasting time in sales pitches but tend to aim for a firm ‘no’ and hang up, it saves time all round and allows your operative to move on to their next unsuspecting victim)

Approximately 30 seconds later:
Me: Hello
Op: Silence
Me: (exasperated) hello….
Op: *hang up*

Approximately 30 seconds later:
Me: (mildly irritated) Hello
Op: V?
Me: Yes
Op: This is Sky. Do you have Sky?
Me: No and I don’t want it, which is why I hung up on you
Op: (in hushed and vitriolic tones) Shut up, just shut the fuck up, fuck off. Bitch.

Is it just me or is this now common selling practice? And are you going to deal with it? Because had one of my 3 young teenage daughters taken this call, they being well versed in the ‘no thank you’ approach, this complaint would be quite different.

I would demand, not ask politely, that you remove my name, number and all my details from your database forthwith and do not contact me again.

Yours sincerely and intensely irritated

She created the world apparently.

Then she filled it full of beasties and bugs. This in itself isn't my issue with the Big Yin, I just wonder what sort of sicko would create the midge.

And why....I mean really, why....despite garlic being a natural deterent and my best friend that has been used in abundance this month....why would the utter bitch make me a midge magnet?

Me personally and only me!

(Lets just ignore past indiscretions, shall we?)

I'm going go Catholic to spite the cow. Forgiveness my arse!