Discontent

I suppose it was discontent that led me to Google. That and an unexpected reminder hidden in a hangover meme. It said something about forever Tuesday. Thus it was that I found myself back on the endless tuesday blog.

It no longer meant anything to be there. It had long since ceased to be significant. I returned to the blog as a statement to myself. A one finger up. A sod you then. 

I was reading the words of the man I once loved but hardly knew. Most of the words barely registered. I wasn't there for him. I was there because of now. It's the reason we make our lovers jealous, why we pretend not to care, why we are aloof. It's why we wrap our vulnerability up in a blanket of disinterested, when all we want is to be completely loved. So we grab the power back by doing something we don't really feel. We protest. We stamp our feet. Just so we feel less rejected. 

Of course it doesn't really make any difference. It's no small victory. The victory only arrives in realising that there is no rejection, only someone else's choice, which might not reflect our own. 

Rule breaker

There is a woman waiting for the bus, much like I am. I say much because she's breaking unwritten rules. We, the would be passengers always look towards the bus. We await it's approach by staring determinedly. As if this would speed up its appearance. If we chat, our gaze is still on the arrival of the bus. We may glance down, text, Facebook, get vaguely lost in Pinterest but the focus never really deviates. The woman keeps glancing in the opposite direction. The direction I happen to be standing in. This is a tad unsettling. Do I have food on my face? Skirt tucked in my knickers? Mirror checking and shirt smoothing suggests not. Thus I have taken defensive action, I have applied my earphones. Earphones are a well recognised symbol of Don't talk to me because I am not a maker of small talk. Yet, as a breaker of social conventions, she'll probably say hello anyway. Ugh.

Yours,

The Antisocial RGF

Xxx

Third time lucky

I have written of my first and second love. These words are of my third. Not the third time I've loved, I've fallen in numerous times. But there are three significant times. I'm in third love right now.

There are moments with my wonderful third love where I'm so lost in emotion that it's overwhelming. It sweeps in and sends me spinning. It's exciting yet I feel completely at ease with him. This is what real romantic happiness feels like. It is largely perfect.

Nevertheless, in the background there's a nagging fear. Not born out of us or him but which was seeded in the past and has taken root in me.

I remember feeling a tremendous sense of security with my first love. We'd never break up. I knew this. Ours was a perfect love. I recall a female friend of his joking that even our bladder movements were in sync. My naive 17 year old self thought this was a sign. Moreover, I thought she was being sweet. In wise hindsight, she was poking fun at him, a timely reminder that asked did he really want a serious girlfriend in his second year at uni. Of course he didn't. When he walked me to the train station, on the weekend that she made this joke, I was firmly locked in a bubble of love. We were unpoppable. I didn't remember the fragility of bubbles. I didn't see any sign of doubt in his eyes. That weekend was the last time we spoke face to face. Though the dumping actually happened a few days later. If mobile phones were employed by the masses back then and if texting had been invented, he would have text dumped me. As it was, he payphone dumped me. I received the news via my parent's landline. I spent years after trying to unpick the memories. Why hadn't I seen the signs. If I'd known, then at least first heartbreak wouldn't have been punctured with first shock.

Subconsciously I guess I vowed that I'd be ready to face the pain next time. And I have been.  I've spotted all the signs, in all the relationships. I've second guessed. I've clocked things that didn't even exist beyond the realms of my paranoia. And I've definitely generated numerous self-fulfilling prophecies. I still do it now. Lost in love with a great man, who is in love with me. Even though he's kind and sensitive and full of compassion, I still brace myself for impact. It's a habit I need to break.

Though my first experience of love paved the way for my future. Neither history nor a crystal ball will save me from pain. They'll just prevent me from fully enjoying my love right now.

Xxxx

Journey

The train was almost steamy in its approach. In that it had more chug than usual. Despite this unexpected Thomas the Tank Enginesque arrival, I briefly felt like a commuter, as I clambered on. A real commuter. The kind that begins at leafy town and ends in Euston. Except that I'm not. Two mini train rides and a bus hop does not make it so. It just sort of hints at it, slightly.

Once on board, I wandered past a ‘fellow’ commuter. Except that he was a real one. I could tell. He had all the kit. This man does not wander, even on his day off. The commuter aka Pinstripe (on account of his sharply lined shirt) was hunched expertly over a laptop. Very few of us can hunch expertly. He was one of the elite or so he'd probably tell you during a protein shake power lunch.

Much like Pinstripe, I sat down, and curled myself around some important apparatus. Unlike Pinstripe, my focus was a faded, grocery filled shopper. I reached in and pulled out the chocolate buttons. Unfortunately, half the pack had gone before I'd finished a Marian Keyes short story. To clarify, short is not an exaggeration. I've tweeted longer prose. Fortunately, if you eat fast enough, your body doesn't spot the calories. Ahem.

Anyway, twentyish buttons later, I'd lost myself in an imaginary world of first class travel, on board massages and freebies. Magically adrift I was, until the loudest sneeze in the world pulled me back to reality. The train shook, well pretty much, and it was parked at the time. I tried, uselessly, to locate the previous owner of the sneeze. Then, my ears clambered into the fetal position, as sneeze two erupted. A moment later I located the sneezer. It was Pinstripe.  

Upon leaving the train, I checked his face for Bang and Olufsen. Zero amplification. Pinstripe, you may be a serious commuter but you lose on sneeze points. We're marking on the silence. My sneeze might not reflect the gentle mating call of the woodland faery but they're definitely unassuming. Thus, I'm calling it a draw.

The RGF xxx

Bittersweet

Sometimes people carry out an action and know with absolute certainty what the outcome will be. We hope the response will be different than the one we anticipate but we know it won't be. Yet we do it anyway. Just to check that we're right. Unsurprisingly, it plays out exactly as we expect. We feel a messed up mix of disappointment and weird achievement. I believe it’s known as bittersweet.

Flavour

If you could choose any flavour, would you still choose vanilla?

Tove Lo, Disco Tits

Middle moments

A piece of the day,
Between cloudy morn
and starry nights.
When paths cross,
in middle moments.
Our love traces edges
on times gone
and those yet to come.

The ideal height revisited

http://1974haze.blogspot.co.uk/2016/10/the-ideal-height.html?m=1

Back in October 2016 I wrote a blog post entitled The Ideal Height. It was a light hearted tick list of criteria. Specifically, it was man criteria. A bullet pointed array of boyfriend material in a Haze remix style.

Time has past. And like all good remixes, we embark upon the remix of the remix. In short, or perhaps I should say, in tall - the ideal height has altered a tad. By 3ish inches, to be imprecise. The ideal is now standing tall but not too tall at 5 foot 11 and a bit.

The list and it's wonderful variation is detailed below.........

Blue eyes, long hair and indie style:
His eyes are brown and far more fall into than any I've known. His hair is not long, nor in fact, even particularly present. I suppose I might say his sense of style is indie but mostly I'd say it's his. He can carry clothes combinations off that the rest of the population would look ridiculous in. On him, these clothes work. He left my house today in a Power Puff Girls top, a floral blouse as a jacket, a patterned scarf, some black spray on jeans and a bob hat. I didn't want him to leave. I probably never will.

Planetary awareness:
We're working on the planet thing. It's probably not his strong suit. Unless Mother Nature is a big fan of fly tipping.

Kindness and solid ethics:
Fortunately kindness to people is his middle name. Well not literally otherwise he'd be Simon Kindness to People Soane but figuratively he's all up in that shit. Big time.
As for ethical. Hmmm. See fly tipping.

Intelligence:
Some people get the brains, some people get the looks. Others are lucky fecking gits and get both. He's in the third group.

Big words:
There aren't enough hours in the day, words in the dictionary and there are far too many inconvenient breath interruptions for my man to say all his words. He's the Gabber equivalent of communication. (Gabber, for those uninitiated, is a form of hardcore dance music. It plays at 150 to 190 bpm. In other words it's fast. Really fast).

Wisdom:
I've learnt much since I met him. He has the kind of knowledge that only the wise tap into. He knows that knowledge grows by sharing it and he recognises that the knowledge is not static in nature.

Tardy:
I'm told he's fairly tardy and I've certainly spotted it in his working life but he doesn't tend to be late for me.

Poetic and rock guitaring:
He might be a modern day Donne. John Donne that is. If you're dating a Donne, rock star guitaring doesn't matter.

Passionate about music and a varied taste:
If varied music taste is Smashing Pumpkins one moment then Take That the next, then varied taste is definitely his. And he's passionate about it. Actual tears are shed at tunes. He knows how to feel and he doesn't hold back.

Empathetic and Bill Bailey funniness levels:
I feel like our shared empathy and humour is amplified by and through each other.

Extrovert introvert please:
He has his quiet moments, probably. Actually, I'm not sure that he does. It's all about the interaction - with beings, places and things. As it is, I have enough introvert for the both of us and I can extrovert off his extra extrovert.

Bearded:
We, and by we, I mean he, can flow from stubble to short beard with aplomb. I feel that his beard is my beard. A good thing because I'm sure vice versa wouldn't work for him.

Short sighted:
I joke about his failing eyesight. If he ever gets an eyesight test, I hope the loss of Haze filter doesn't lead me to wryly say should have gone to specsavers.

Profoundly sexy:
Sexual chemistry is a many-splendoured thing. With some it's explosive, with others it's cataclysmic. That's what we have. The second kind. I lose and simultaneously find myself in his presence. I have never been this excited before. So yeah, he's profoundly sexy.

Has a job type thing:
Work. Ah work. Hand in glove, cheese and pickle, Sherlock and Holmes, that's Si and paid work. This sentence is dripping in sarcasm. However he is employed and he volunteers to help the homeless. The latter elicits far more enthusiasm than the former.

Two hour texting turnaround unless alien invasion occurs:
Aliens invade Stockport every week. This is a fact. It must be because we do not enjoy a two hour turnaround all the time. Nor does he message me in his sleep, which, to be honest, is an affront to romance but we are in regular contact. Im not left wondering where he is or whether he's still coming.

Open and honest:
As time passes I think we're both becoming more open. He speaks his truth. It's his modus operandi. It doesn't get much more honest than that!

Would save me, fight the zombies and the demons, should it be required:
If on the set of Sean of the Dead, he'd be the first to seek refreshments in a suitably located drinking establishment such as The Winchester. Then he'd fight the zombies, glass of cheap plonk in hand. An avid Buffy fan knows how to fight demons. He's basically a skooby. Sharp branches at the ready. Always.

Useless talents:
Hmmmm. I don't think he has any. Plenty of useful ones though and some of these are relevant outside of the bedroom.

Heddonism:
Oh he's hedonistic. Probably more than I am. But he drinks water and eats fruit and whatnot. There is wholesome too. He's balanced. Erm pretty much.

Swears but never in front of my family:
A man who uses words aplenty, is kind and empathetic, is a man who swears in all the right places. Ish. No one is perfect.

Sweetness personified:
I don't have the words to convey how sweet he is. To me, to my people, his people. In fact, to all the people. He's never seen me in a onesie but I know that if he did, he would tell me I'm beautiful because that's how he sees me.

It is not the list but the person that matters. I have remixed The Ideal Height because we don't know what ideal is until we stumble across it. I know now. I have found the one. My soulmate. My unicorn.

Indeed, one might even say that I have found my ideal height.


Xxxx

Alarm

The alarm pulled me into reluctant wakefulness this morning. It would have been a reasonableish occurrence but it's Saturday and we have nowhere to be. Unlike every single working day, I got up immediately and creeped downstairs to put the heating on. You creep when you have a kid and plan on a lie in. Though extra sleep is generally an unreachable dream. I also grabbed my phone.

I have this thing I do. When I've gone to bed early and my boyfriend is out with friends, I look forward to his textual updates in the morning. I feel like I was there by proxy. The proxy being garbled messages in WhatsApp. Sometimes I have quite a few to make sense of. The sensibility within each steadily dissapating as his drunk progresses. On the upside, the frequency of his I love yous increases and though its drunky, its also lovely.

Back to this morning. So it was with  moderate enthusiasm that I checked WhatsApp at about 7.30. It would have been maximum enthusiasm but it was 7.30. It's hard to fully embrace the things that stop the sleep. Waiting in WhatsApp was one 23 second video. Rather than the array of ramblings I was pinning my ridiculous hopes on. Still, it'd probably be 23 seconds of him declaring his undying love for me.  Ive watched it twice now and I'm still not sure what the words were. There may have been dancing. It's hard to say. Certainly the phone camera moved a lot. Right at the end I managed to identify the word beautiful. Whether this was aimed at me or was one's boyfriend summarising the majesty of 23 second monologue, is anyone's guess but the smart moneys on the latter.

These messages also span the gap between my fairly early get up and his generally late get up. They fill the space with echoes of the man and as I love the man, so too I love the echoes. Sadly, only members of The Magic Circle can stretch 23 seconds of nonsense over something like 4 hours. Thus I'll wait for high noon, which is when he tells me our paths will next cross. I wonder if he's confusing high noon with high tea..........

The RGF xxx

Face in my heart

You are like the air. 

I breathe you in. 

It is indelible now.  

Permanence lit by iridescence. 

Your beauty within, amplified by your presence.

Xxxxxxx

A kind of life poetry

I watched about 50% of romantic indie film the other night. I'll refrain from sharing the name in case of audience.

The male lead said "it seems like guys spend their time trying not to get married then they meet a girl and think I can't let this one go so they get married and women spend their lives waiting for Prince Charming then marry a guy who has a good job".

I think there's a lot of truth to this. It felt beautiful.  Like a kind of life poetry. The kind that makes you sigh.

Xxx

Holodeck apocalypse

There is music in you and I find that I'm humming it constantly. We are a holodeck of love, with apocalyptic kisses.

As I pull all my knowledge and experiences forward to this moment - I truly believe that our connection is the most magical I've known.