Tag Archives: my husband

My (Not So) Spotless Mind

It’s nearly 8:00 p.m. on a humid December evening, and I’m sipping a martini in an old, beautiful hotel down by the beach. Frank Sinatra apparently stayed here at one point, one of many luminaries who have. There’s Christmas music being piped into the cocktail bar here, and it might even be him singing. There are chandeliers, atmospheric lighting, poinsettias and a gorgeous Christmas tree. There are also a couple of overweight, fanny-pack wearing tourist-y types perched at the bar, but I’m trying to block out their image.

You’re probably thinking that I’ve been whisked away to this island paradise by some rich, debonair new beau. But, no, I have come here alone to celebrate my birthday. And I’m not staying in this hotel. It’s too expensive for the likes of me, alas. But I also can’t complain about the quaint, renovated 1920’s cottage I’m renting. It’s pretty cosy, and although it sleeps six, there’s just me, my pit bull and my chihuahua.

I should also point out that I drove 3.5 hours to get here. There was no flying. This is not the Caribbean. I haven’t even left the state. Despite this, I am quite impressed  by the island. I’m actually a little sad that it took me  more than eight years to pay this place a visit. I didn’t realize quite how striking the Victorian architecture was in the older parts of the town. The city where I live usually is so devoid of history, and there are so few old buildings.  I find this quite disturbing. I don’t like feeling disconnected from the past. What with the almost constant sunshine and high temperatures (this year worse than ever!), there are no seasons to mark the passing of time. No seasons. No old buildings. Sometimes I feel like I’m trapped in some kind of unchanging dream-like void.

But these old, Victorian, wedding-cake like buildings have posed a bit of a problem. As has the beach. I did not quite realize how romantic this place would be. It was perhaps not the smartest idea for a soon-to-be-divorced woman to visit a seaside town in the middle of winter. And not just any old seaside town. This is a seaside town that has been compared to Dickens’ Miss Haversham. All this faded glamour! All this potential that is now gone! God, this town is  a symbol for my fucking life.

I spent the first two days reading “Fevre Dream” by George R.R. Martin (I’m currently obsessed by Vampire novels), taking the dogs for walks on the beach, and sobbing because my marriage is soon to be over although I’m no longer sure I want it to be. I’ve been missing my ex-husband-to-be for a couple of weeks now. This was a bit of a surprise because, before this, I was relatively accepting about the whole situation. But then for one whole week, I kept on having these weird, intense dreams in which I would be reaching out for MM but I could no longer get to him. I trust my subconscious. I trust it far more than my poor, addled conscious mind, which doesn’t know whether it’s coming or going half the time. I trust it, and that’s precisely why I was disturbed. I didn’t really know what those dreams meant. All I know is that when I got in the car to drive here there is nobody I would rather have had with me than MM.

Before these dreams came along, my mind was almost “spotless” (in the sense of “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” in which the main characters erase their memories of their lovers after a painful break-up). I wouldn’t say I was happy exactly, but the Seroquel kept me very fucking level. I would have a sad thought, but instead of “disappearing down the rabbit hole” – as my therapist calls it – I was able to “check the facts” (more therapy speak) and see the pros and cons to every situation.

I haven’t, by the way, heard from, or wanted to hear from, RG since Hallowe’en when he texted me out of the blue to ask me to some stupid party. I was too busy changing my cats’ litter (seriously) to agree to go. I simply cannot believe that I would ever have been interested in such a turd let alone waste several blog posts writing about the wee fucker. RG is now just a distant bad memory. If I happened to find myself in an inebriated and horny state in a bar and came across him, I cannot guarantee that I wouldn’t shag him again, but if he texted me asking me to meet up, I would ignore the text. No desire to see him whatsoever. All he ever was, I suppose, was a distraction to keep my mind off my marriage breaking up.

UPDATE: 11:20 a.m. on Monday December 10th. I meant to write more last night, but this old Republican guy at the bar (with an absolutely monstrous-looking moustache that covered his entire mouth) kept on buying me martinis, which was nice of him given that I spent the entire time insulting his politics. I finally stumbled home, blind drunk, around midnight on the road beside the beach.

This is my last day here. I’ll be leaving in a few hours.


My Name Is Trouble

It hasn’t been a good week. You might remember that my car was towed two weeks ago after I  parked it in the wrong place outside RG‘s apartment complex (that’s what drunk, obsessive horniness does to a girl). This cost me $190. Another result of my obsession with RG was that I neglected to transfer money into my “bills” bank account that same week, so two direct debit bills overdrew my account – another $80 in overdraft fees. I therefore didn’t have enough money to pay my rent this month.

Of course, those of you who have been reading my two blogs faithfully since (when?) 2007 will know that, um, I am rather “handy” when it comes to scraping together some cash in a short space of time. For those of you who don’t know me this means that I moonlight as an erotic masseuse whenever necessary (in other words, I give handjobs to random dudes or, in some cases, regulars). Now that MM and I have broken up, “whenever necessary” pretty much means “all the fucking time” because I obviously have double the amount of bills to pay. Some women have made a career out of writing about their “sexploits” in the erotic massage/escort industry but this is not really my thing anymore although my last blog started off being about that. It’s just a job really.

Today I finally managed to get together all my rent money, which was actually pretty hard.  It is not easy for me to make money as an erotic masseuse because I refuse (absolutely refuse) to email potential clients pictures of myself, even if it’s just a shot of my naked torso. This is a curious thing given that I have shitty boundaries in all other areas of my life, but when it comes to erotic massage I’m boundaried up all the way to the hilt. I can’t stand the idea of emailing pictures of myself to some random dude who can then do with them what he will. Sometimes I think that I must have been a member of the Maasai tribe in a past life (they believe photographs steal the soul) because I am obsessed with having control of my image.  In this digital age, there are very few men out there willing to come see an erotic masseuse sight-unseen.  Although this makes it hard for me to make a living, it is also a good thing because those who do come (or, ahem, cum) are either regulars or those adventurous few souls who can tell from my ads/emails that I’m well-educated, funny, sane and über-discreet, and they appreciate these qualities in me. Very rarely do I meet an asshole. My clients are almost always well-educated, respectful, middle-class men.

However, I digress. I finally scraped together the rent money, a feat made all the harder by the fact that one of my tyres blew out on the way to work yesterday morning.  I was doing 65 (or, well, probably at least 70 since I’m nearly always late for work and end up speeding) and I had always been terrified of a tyre blowing out on the highway. It actually wasn’t all that bad. There was just a huge rumbling sound, which I attributed to a passing truck at first, but then my car lurched to one side, so I knew the tyre had blown out. Since I’m an idiot, it didn’t occur to me to put on my hazard lights, but I just got off at the next exit and turned into the first place I could where there just happened to be (hallefuckinglujah! Praise be to God!) an auto repair shop. Just as fucking well because I ain’t ever changed a tyre in my life and I sure as hell don’t intend to. One hour later, and $90 poorer, I drove off with the tyre replaced and my ego slightly inflated from the hardcore pick-up efforts of LeRon, the playa mechanic.

As if all my financial/blown tyre worries weren’t enough, last night I received an email from MM saying, among other things, that I have Borderline Personality Disorder (I agree – distinct possibility there) and  – this was a new one from him – Narcissistic Personality Disorder. This really cut to the bone because I have read the diagnostic criteria for NPD and I definitely recognize myself in some of them. I truly am very self-absorbed. I know it, and it is shameful. I am acutely aware that all I write about in this blog is myself/my problems/my pain. However, I do not agree that I lack empathy for other people at all…..or do I? I am genuinely terrified that I have NPD because I don’t want to be such a bad person! Please tell me I’m not such a bad person!

I guess  I really should tell you now how my relationship with MM ended. I’ve been putting it off for such a long time because it was just too painful to write about. It is a long, messy, nightmarish story but, in a nutshell, I ended up calling police on him one night. Early on that night we had had yet another huge argument and, amazingly for me, I actually managed to disengage from it by locking myself in the bathroom. MM was drunk, and I knew there was no point in actually having a discussion because it would get nowhere. He then kicked the door open, and continued to rant at me which led to me mocking him mercilessly (I probably said stuff like “you’re a pathetic loser” or “this is why I don’t want to fuck you”). MM had been physical with me before (usually when I was smashing stuff or when he was trying to restrain me) but I never thought he would ever intentionally hurt me. Things were getting out of control in our relationship, and I was scared that I was going to break a bone if he pushed me into or over something, but I never thought for a second that he would ever hit my face. And he didn’t. However, as I was mocking him, his fist came flying towards my face, and he only just stopped himself in the nick of time.

After this, MM went off to the local bar (yup, the same one where RG hangs out all the time) and got absolutely fucking plastered. When he came back lots of shit went down, and I can’t say I was entirely innocent. At one point, I ripped his iPhone out of his hand because I thought he was calling another woman (turned out he was just leaving a really drunk, incoherent voicemail for his best friend) but he was hardly an angel either. He grabbed me and shoved me around, trying to get the cell phone back; aimed a kick at me; followed me around ranting at me when we were back in the house; threw my dinner in my face when I finally sat down, trying to ignore him; grabbed my cell phone out of my hand when a friend called; smashed it on the floor several times…and God knows what else. I wanted him out of house and asked him to leave, but he wouldn’t. Eventually I just ended up calling the police, which ended up with my cell phone being smashed on the floor several more times until I could finally get through to the police. Well, the police came and tried to talk to MM, but he shut himself in a room and refused to come out. He talked to them through an open window, clearly totally wasted, and eventually the police got tired of that, and asked me to let them into the house. I did, and they knocked on the door of the room MM was in, but he still wouldn’t come out. The police eventually kicked the door down and, when MM still refused to cooperate, he got tasered twice. Yes, twice.

The result of all of this is that MM now has three criminal charges against him: interfering with someone making a 911 call; assault of a family member and resisting arrest.

I don’t feel guilty that MM was tasered (this was his own doing – he could have cooperated with the police) and the fact that he was actually was a solace to me in some weird way. I don’t mean that I wanted him to get tasered (of course I didn’t!) but the fact that he got himself in a situation where he was tasered showed me that I wasn’t the only crazy one in this relationship. MM made a point of telling me that I was the crazy one all the time.

However, I do feel guilty that MM is now facing a domestic violence charge. By all rights, both of us should have assault charges. There is a many a time that MM could easily have called the police on me for assaulting him. Maybe he should have. Maybe that would have been my rock bottom, and I would have been a better person for it. I feel immense guilt that MM’s life could be ruined because of me. I feel like no man should date me – that I’m mad, bad and dangerous to know. No wonder RG decided he didn’t want to see me anymore. I have crazy seeping out of every pore.

But, guilty as I feel, I believe that MM does not accept full responsibility for his actions. Any time he was physical with me, he justified it by saying I “provoked” him. I accepted this response because I thought “Well, it’s true. I am pretty crazy. The guy was probably driven to act that way”. But he’s a grown man! Nobody can make a full-grown adult do anything! Instead of blaming me for the mistakes he made in his life, I think it would suit him better to ask himself why he continued to stay in a relationship with me because I was (no doubt about it) totally abusive.

And, boy, do I feel guilty about that. I know for a fact that I ruined MM’s self-esteem. I don’t know why I was so verbally abusive but I was, and I sucked all the life out of him. The terrible thing is that he still loves me. Even today, he told me how much he loves me, and that he will always love me. Perhaps I feel the same way. I have no idea. I’m not sure my poor, fucked-up brain can actually process what feelings of love are.

I feel terrible that MM has to spend $10,000 on lawyer fees, attend court dates, stupid state-mandated therapy sessions and whatnot while there I was fucking RG without a care in the world. For one whole month, I barely gave MM a second thought because I was so wrapped up in RG. What kind of person am I? Could it be true that I have no empathy whatsoever?

MM loved me/still loves me, and I gave him nothing. And when I say “nothing”, I mean truly nothing. I had the time and energy to put into running after RG (a loser, alcoholic drug dealer) but I couldn’t even give a scrap of affection to MM who was my fucking husband.  I know how much he must be hurting because I have been there myself. I have been that person – the person who was mistreated by an emotionally unavailable partner who then spends months, if not years, wondering “what’s wrong with me?!”. I can’t believe I then turned the tables and did that to another person.

I can’t believe that, after everything I’ve done/ all the pain I’ve caused him, he still loves me. He is the first man in my entire life who has ever loved me. And I treated him like a piece of shit. Threw it all away.

How to kill yourself painlessly

You can tell it hasn’t been a good weekend when I find it hard to get out of bed, and google “how to kill yourself painlessly”. It’s embarrassing to admit it, but that’s what I did. Here I am, a teacher of juniors and seniors in high school, and I, myself, have yet to outgrow my own teenage angst. Anyway, when you google the above, you actually will find a link to this man’s website. It makes for quite interesting reading. And it’s nice to think that you can end your life quietly and painlessly without having to blow your brains out, or jump off a building…or anything else bloody and disfiguring.

His name is Jerry Hunt, and he came up with a fool-proof way of killing himself in 1993 when he was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. You can read all about it here.

Oh, don’t worry. I’m not really suicidal. I can’t manage to achieve anything in life, so why would you even think that I’d manage to take my own life? I’m cringing as I write these sentences because I do realize that they are so self-pitying and self-absorbed. It’s so embarrassing that I can barely even bring myself to write about it. I started blogging at the end of (what?) 2006 or 2007. I’ve got married, I’ve started teaching…and, yet, still I’m not happy. I’m just not very good at life.

I feel trapped – in every single aspect of my life.

I feel trapped living in this little podunk town, teaching kids – who for the most part – don’t really care. I would probably like teaching part-time, but doing it full-time is just too much. I can’t deal with the work load. If I could wave a magic wand, and have my life the way I want it, I would live in a little cabin in the mountains with plenty of time for myself to write and sing.

Maybe this will happen one day…but when? I’m nearly thirty-three years old, and I’m bogged down with debt. I can’t afford to work only part-time.

If/when I get certified at the end of this year, where will I go after that? The sensible thing would be to stay here for another year to get some more teaching experience, but this idea hardly fills me with joy. I would like to get out of this state, and move somewhere else, but it would be hard to find a job with so little experience. Some other states wouldn’t even accept my teaching certificate from this state.

I feel trapped because I own eight pets – six cats, and two dogs. They bring me so much happiness and pleasure, but I would probably have left this country long ago if it wasn’t for them. I would like to take off to a brand new country, and start all over again, but I can’t because I would never be able to afford to take them with me. People suggest that I could just find new homes for some of them, but I would never do that. These animals have always been there for me, no matter what, and I just couldn’t abandon them because they’re “inconvenient”. Nonetheless, they stop me from being free, and travelling, and seeing new places and meeting new people.

I feel trapped because I’m married to a man I would probably never have married if I hadn’t needed some way to stay in the country. I wouldn’t just have married anybody to get a green card – there were real feelings there – but I would probably still be single if I hadn’t needed to get married. I’m really not sure I love him. We haven’t had sex in God knows when, and I cringe when he hugs me, or wants to cuddle. I want him to stay as far away from me as possible.

He does a lot for me now that I’ve started teaching (makes me dinner most nights; cleans the house; takes care of the animals) but he does everything so begrudgingly that I don’t know why he even bothers. I suppose I don’t really blame him. It must get pretty tiresome to help somebody who gives you nothing in return. I don’t know why, but I just can’t bring myself to put anything into this relationship.

I am tired. I’m tired of working twelve hours days, and then having no money to show for it at the end of the month because I’m supporting both of us (this place is so poor that it’s been really hard for him to find a job). I wouldn’t mind if I thought there would be an end to this, but he has no career to speak of, and it doesn’t look like he ever will. He wants to be a graphic novelist, but he never does any work. He has all these pipe dreams about how to earn money as an artist, but he never gets started. I can’t go on spending every penny I earn to support both of us. I’d like to put some money aside for a “rainy day”, so that I can start afresh somewhere new.

I just don’t feel well. I think I’m suffering from anxiety and depression, and I think that my husband probably is too, so we can’t help each other. I can’t give him anything because I’ve got nothing to give. Every weekend, I spend the whole Saturday in bed, dreading the idea of getting up. It’s nearly 4:00 p.m. on Sunday and I’ve only now got out of bed! I have all my lessons to plan for tomorrow, and all my grading to do, also, so, as usual, I’ll be up into the wee small hours of the morning doing what I actually had all weekend to do.

I’m an adult, and yet I’m completely disorganized and inefficient. There are numerous things I’m good at (writing/singing) but I don’t know how to use these talents. Everything just seems like such a huge, insurmountable obstacle.

Before writing this, I spent some time researching psychiatrists online because I would like to visit one and be prescribed some kind of medication. I want something to make it all better. NOW! I don’t want to fucking talk to a therapist because that has never worked very well for me. I just need something to help me get out of bed, and feel a little bit better about myself.

I was looking for a job, and then I found a job…

And heaven knows I’m actually not so miserable now. More like conflicted.

I went to a teacher job fair about a month ago, which was the usual depressing meat market of hungry, desperate wannabe-teachers trying to impress school administrators. If you’ve never been to a teacher job fair, and don’t know what it is, just imagine hoardes of people lining up like drones to talk to representatives from schools, hoping they’ll be interviewed and offered a position. Everyone is dressed to kill, and too nervous to talk to the people around them because they are the “competition”. Of course, people do make small talk, but it’s always uneasy because you can tell that the “competition” is wondering who the fuck you are, how much experience you have, and if you’re more qualified. If we were all allowed to bring knives or guns into the arena, I’m sure the place would be a bloodbath within seconds.

Here’s a picture, but it does nothing to depict the tension and generally depressing nature of the event:

I wouldn’t mind going to these things if they were actually worth my time, but they always seem so pointless. You stand around for ages waiting to speak to a school district, and then when you finally do get to talk to somebody, they seem completely uninterested but take your résumé anyway, saying they’ll call you for an interview. Of course they never do. The only reason I go to job fairs is because it panics me to see how many people are looking for teaching jobs, so it puts me in a more ruthless job-hunting mindset.

At this particular job fair, I was more depressed than usual. I had been mailing out résumés left, right and centre in the previous weeks, but hardly ever got any response. I had been to two interviews, and the interviewers couldn’t even be bothered to contact me to tell me I hadn’t got the job. This is apparently the norm these days. Whatever happened to fucking manners? Are people really too busy to send a simple rejection email? Or are they too cowardly? Don’t they realize I would rather be rejected than waste countless hours checking my email to see if they want me?!

My state of mind hadn’t been helped very much by this New York Times article which stated that teachers in 2010 are “facing the worst job market since the Great Depression”. It was becoming more and more obvious that I wasn’t going to find a teaching job. Why would anyone hire me? I’m getting certified through an alternative teacher certification program so I don’t have a nice shiny BA or MA in education from a university. I also have zero teaching experience unless you count the pathetic two weeks of student teaching I had in 2009. Back in the good ol’ days, I’ve heard that this didn’t matter; apparently all you had to do to get a teaching job then was have a pulse. These days, though, with countless experienced, university-educated graduates looking for jobs, I was hardly an attractive candidate.

Back to the job fair, though. Right at the very end of the day, just as I was about to skulk home, tired and dejected, I noticed another school district right at the very back of the hall. I had ignored them before because I didn’t recognize the name, which meant that it must be miles away, and my teacher certification program wouldn’t let me take a job out of the district. “Ach, what the hell”, I thought, and went up to speak to the principal anyway. I liked him immediately, and he told me to come for an interview on Tuesday! The catch? The high school is in the middle of fucking nowhere – three hours away from where I am now, and an hour and a half from any other decent sized city. It’s in a town of about 3,500 people!

MM and I discussed this job, and we both decided that we would never be able to live in such a rural environment. I was just about to email the principal to tell him so, when I checked my inbox, and found an email from him checking if I still wanted to come to the interview. “Well”, I thought, “if he’s so keen to interview me, I might as well go for the sheer hell of it”. Also, I had never been to that part of the state before, so I thought it would be interesting to see it.

To cut a long story short….I got the job, and will be moving down there in around a month! Yikes! The idea of living somewhere so small is scary (everybody – and I mean everybody – knows each other, or is somehow related) but the town is way cuter than I imagined, and I’m so fucking ready for a change of scene. My life where I am now is going nowhere. There is nothing for me to do here. Also, I’ll be teaching in a very low-income, minority school district, and this is what I always wanted.

But why did I say I was conflicted about the job in the first paragraph of this post? Well, let’s just say that MM is not exactly thrilled to be moving somewhere so isolated. There are very few jobs in this part of the state, so now he’s going to have to apply for art teacher positions in a high school. He thinks teaching is “selling out” and would much rather stay here and work on the graphic novel that he never seems to fucking finish. He thinks that moving away will deprive him of a glorious career in art, which seems to have curiously eluded him although he’s lived here for five years.

MM has a very bad habit of being passive aggressive and being resentful towards me, so I’m nervous about what the move will mean for our relationship which, to be honest, has never exactly been perfect. And, if I’m honest, I’m feeling resentful towards him also. He’s thirty-three years old, and yet refuses to get a real job despite the fact that his art career is going nowhere. God knows why he can’t finish his graphic novel (fear of failure? Fear of success? Crippling perfectionism? Or just simple disorganization and laziness?) but whatever it is, he needs to realize that what he’s doing now (or not doing) just isn’t working for him. I find him to be an overgrown spoiled brat, always harping on about how a real job will take so much time away from his precious art. What makes him so special that he can’t find a relatively well-paid day job like every other single fucking creative person out there? Ugh.

Sigh. Will there ever be a day when things will go completely smoothly for me?

New car!

No time to write, as “MM” and I are about to go for a spin in our new car! I’m excited, as I’ve never owned a car before!

Today’s been a tiring day. Went to the gym for an hour, and then ran 4.5 miles. And I’ve just had two clients. Phew!

I’ll post a picture of the car once we get back! Watch this space!

The return of my husband

As I write this, “MM” should be somewhere in Tennessee, driving back home from the Midwest. He was supposed to arrive at the house of a friend of his father’s in Jackson, TN, around 11:00 p.m. last night, so I was surprised when I never heard from him. I didn’t want to call or text in case he answered his phone or sent a text back while driving because I hate it when Americans do this. (Jesus Christ, there’s been a cell phone ban while driving since 2003 in Scotland, and I want to vomit when I hear certain politicians over here drag out the same old tired arguments about “a violation of personal freedom” whenever an outright cell phone while driving ban is mentioned!).

Eventually around 1:00 a.m., I decided to risk calling, and sending a text, but there was no answer, and no text back. I went to bed slightly worried, but I was sure there was a perfectly good reason for the silence, so I didn’t lose any sleep! This morning when I woke up, I got a text from “MM”, sent at 5:00 a.m., saying he was fine, and would call me in the morning. I thought it was odd that he should still be up so late, but whatever.

This morning I called him, and he said that he’d arrived in Jackson at 5:00 a.m., way behind schedule, because he’d fallen asleep for hours in a deserted truck stop. Now, if he’d seen “Fat Girl”, as I have, he would surely have known that no good can ever come of falling asleep in such places. He was awakened in the early hours of the morning by some crazy guy attempting to get into his car (thankfully, the door was locked…not that really helped everybody in “Fat Girl”).

“MM” apparently screamed like a girl (well, he said he “yelled”, but I’m sure it sounded more like a squeal) which made the intruder scream back at him. Apparently they peered back at each other through the car window, both screaming!

The guy then yelled “Why are you following me!? Why are you following me!?”. If I’d been in the car with “MM”, I would probably have passed out in fright at this point, but “MM” managed, quite remarkably actually, to point out that he could hardly be following anybody given that he was sleeping and had been rudely awakened. This brief moment of reason had a very good effect on the intruder as he realized that, yes, it had been he who had tried to break into “MM’s” car, and not the other way round. “Ugh, sorry, man,” he said, “I’ve just been up for two days on crystal meth”. After this he disappeared into the night (shirtless! It was freezing!) to where he had come from.

“MM” seemed to be quite amused by the whole story, but I would have been terrified if I had been awakened by a crazy drug addict at the dead of night. Who knows what he would have done if the car doors had been left unlocked! He could have stabbed “MM” to death just from sheer drug-induced paranoia. I’m not usually a scared “girly girl” type of woman, but I’ve seen far too many horror films to ever contemplate falling asleep somewhere so isolated.

Then again, “MM” probably has more to fear from drivers texting than strung-out meth addicts.

Hello, pretty pretty!

My mood has improved considerably since yesterday’s Scrooge-like post. After blogging, I wasted some more time surfing the internet (New Year’s Resolution: Stop looking up so much pointless trivia online!) and then I eventually managed to get my act together and take my dogs for a walk. It was so peaceful outside. This town is filled with with “transplants”, and they must all go back to where they come from during holidays, as there was hardly anybody around. It wasn’t even that they were just all inside with their families, as it was dark, and very few houses had lights on. It felt like I had my whole neighbourhood to myself, and it was lovely. I’ve always loved holidays because it feels like real life is suspended, and that time has stood still. I had even forgotten what day of the week it was yesterday and even though I know today is Saturday, it doesn’t really feel like it. I wish every day could be a holiday. I don’t want to back to my real life but, alas, I will have to – I will try to see more clients later on today.

After walking the dogs, I set about preparing Christmas dinner, which seemed like a huge chore at first (who wants to go to all the effort of preparing a special meal only to eat it alone?!) but I was glad I did in the end because it was goooooooood. I had Tofurky vegetarian roast (tasty, but too salty, as all meat substitute products are, sadly); mustard greens and roasted sweet potatoes. My God, I love sweet potatoes so much that I want to be one! Could there be anything more tasty? Before I came to the US, I don’t think I had ever tried sweet potatoes before. I’m sure that in this era of globalization you must be able to get them back in the Motherland, but it’s hardly like they’re a staple on our tables there.

I’m also a huge fan of collard greens, mustard greens and kale, which are all common in this part of the country. The funny thing is that kale is apparently also very common in the Motherland, and was the only cultivated vegetable we had until the 18th century. Indeed, so common is it that it even lent its name to a whole literary movement, the kailyard school, a group of writers who had an overly sentimental, nostalgic view of rural life. Despite all of this, I had never once tried kale while I lived back home and wouldn’t even have known what it looked like (let alone known how to cook it) had it ambushed me in the street yelling “I am kale! I am kale!”.

Anyway, here is a picture of my Christmas dinner:

Afterwards, I settled down on the sofa with what remained of my nice bottle of Malbec from the night before (and some chocolate mint coconut milk ice-cream! Yum!), and started watching “Barberella“. It was one of those films I had been meaning to watch for years, but had never got around to doing so. I was reminded of it twice recently, though – the first time when “Belle de Jour” finally outed herself, and admitted that she’d worked as an escort with the “Barberella Agency”; the second time when I was at a party and someone asked whether I’d seen the film and looked at me like I’d two heads because I hadn’t (Sheesh, I can’t have seen every single film, you know!).

Usually, I’m not overly excited about kitsch films, but I did enjoy it quite a bit. It was certainly a nice antidote to the previous night’s decidely non-Christmas Evey viewing material, “Dogville”. In case you’re wondering, the title of today’s post is one of Anita Pallenberg’s lines in the film (she’s waaaaaaay hotter than Jone Fonda, by the way). Did you know that Duran Duran named themselves after the main villain in “Barberella”, the evil Dr Durand-Durand? I think I did once know that useless piece of trivia, but I’d forgotten.

“MM” and I didn’t even speak to each other yesterday. It wasn’t like we were avoiding each other or anything (we exchanged a few texts), but he called when I was out walking the dogs, and afterwards he was busy with friends and family. He sent me a text in the early hours of the morning saying “I miss you so much. Goodnight”, which made me feel quite guilty, as I can’t say I miss him one whit. In fact, I’m in a fucking fantastic mood! I’m very, very relaxed and chilled out. The tension in my shoulders and neck has completely gone, and I’m just enjoying being by myself. I’m not sure what that means. Perhaps it means I don’t love him, but, then again, have I ever missed anybody all that much? Sure, I’ve missed other guys before, but it was always men who didn’t want me, and I think my longing for them was more obsession than a genuine sense of wanting them close to me.

When it comes to relationships, I do enjoy having somebody in my life so I know that I’m not all alone in the world, but what a drag that you have to put up with so much crap to get that! Life would be so much easier if I could just live on a Barbarella-like spaceship that had a sort of on-board holographic computer, with human emotions, that would talk to me and give me advice, but would basically shut the fuck up the rest of the time. Why the hell has nobody invented such a thing?!