There is a lot to be said for letting them know who is boss.

I am the angriest bear in the pack.  That is what the social worker told me as she sat on my sofa drinking my tea.  I was pretty impressed.  The angriest?  Really?  But I was pretty upset too.  I mean this is what my 8 year old daughter had told her and the social worker lady was giving me her perception.  However as she continued talking alarm bells started ringing.  "She says that you don't do things together, that she would like to really spend some time with you.  She also says she feels she doesn't have any friends..."

"Now, hold on just a minute, this is a typical Daughter of mine whine, none of that is true, we do do stuff together all the time, and Millie had one of her friends over only the other week.  We went swimming together last sunday..."

"And she loved that!" said the social worker with soppy look on her face that made me really very afraid. I continued "We went to town last saturday and spent an HOUR browsing the toyshop looking for the best thing to buy.  Not a quick in and out, c'mon, hurry up pick something I don't care.  I mean we really DID that toy shop.  That was quaity time!"

Now listen, I frightened my daughter because she is a messy destructive bugger who will not be told nicely and she left food all down the sofa to go bad and then stuck her young nose in the air when I asked her to clear it up and when she tried to walk away I grabbed her and I did yell at her "Don't you just walk away from your mess like your cunty father!"

Because I am angry.  I didn't know I was the angriest bear in the pack, but boy am I pissed.  That I must listen to Daughter say "Oh Daddy has lots of money" when I am paying £600 a month of debt that we had as a couple when we were married.  I get no money from him, I'm scraping to make each month and it is really hard.  I've started going further into debt because I can't buy all the things I need each month and I resent that I may become bankrupted because Bruce "thinks of that as your debt".  Meanwhile he holidays 4 times a year and has not taken the children once.  Oh boy I need help to process the anger I feel about these things.  Daughter tells me "Oh daddy has lots of money" but she still has to wait another 4 months before he will replace her computer, which broke.  I would love to do it sooner, but I am not going to have the money untuil next year.  That is when my loan is paid off and I get some small relief.  My problems will be far from over however.

Clearly I have been dwelling in self pity a tad too long and this has rubbed off on my daughter.  However now she has had the comforting balm of the social workers  her own self pity has become unbearable.  She cried about not having friends this evening, and refused all comfort of having the names of her friends listed.  I think this happened because there were no biscuits left.

Daughter runs on carbs.  Her diet is pretty poor and I'm going to have to get her off the carb based diet a little, get her eating more pulses, as she is up and down.  The thing that was hard to deal with is the accusation that we never do anything when we do stuff all the time.  Tonight we went to the park and walked to the shop for some sweets.  At the park she got in a proper grump because there was noone to play with.  I think she was grumpy with me.  Next time I will bring my phone so I can call Mary Lou and see if Bea wants to come out.

I think the think that has shocked me the most is that my daughter shopped me to the social.  That is not trait.  That is not like me.  She didn't even talk to me and she had all week when I wasn't angry.  Now the children have the upper hand.  I cannot believe that they said I was angry most days.  These things are not true.  I'm angry when I am ignored 5 times of going up to get Jamie down for his dinner.  In fact I was seething that it went cold and I ate alone but I didn't shout.  Because that is disrespectful and I will not have disrespectful lazy useless children, sorry it is not on the option list. 

Do you know why?  We have enough of those, thanks.  There are enough lazy, ill-disiplined, boring, whinging, self-pitying, messy, dirty, lying, bratish little snot nosed children in the world already.  In fact, there is no room for any more, you see that position is occupied.  The alternative, to become aware, resourceful, planning, clearsighter, ambitious, achieving, bridge-building, communicative, rewarded, joyful children is what I want.  

And they will never get there while they are storing their snack foods down the sides of the sofa cushions.

But I don't want to be the angriest bear in the pack.  I need a little help.

Back to the back to the back to the back to the...

I'm going way way back to the early days, when I wanted to be outlaw renegade.

Shake it out!

There are times of trial in everyone's life but when in those time where trouble heaps itself upon strife isn't it tempting to think that you are being punished as if for sins?  You look at your life.  Has it not been a good one?   Look at the ones you love.  Didn't you treat people right?  Maybe the way I behaved was wrong, maybe I made some very ill-judged decisions and exposed the tender belly of my life to the ravening hoards.  And what of the outcome?  Did I want this?  Did I want to sit in my tidy, light-filled sitting room decorated to my taste and with no extraneous kit not of my choosing?  Did I want a huge walk-through closet for my bedroom with mirrors and tassels and ceiling fans?  Yes.  Do I like it better than what I had before?  Yes.  It suits me very well.  What of sharing, though?  Of blending lives together and the harmony that stems from not being alone?  Don't I want that?  Tricky question.

I have done a lot of relating in the past year, mostly hopelessly badly and without any clear idea of the motivation (of both parties) or ground-rules.  I have exploited this fact to become a total mirror to the other, hopelessly and without intention.  I suppose that it's a bit like follow my leader, in uncharted territory you follow someone who seems like they know where they are going.  I gave out what they expected to find, tuning each time to the mentality of the next new person.  Sometime the results were pleasing and amusing, sometimes it wasn't interesting to me.  Sometimes I was the one who knew what she was doing and why but at others I was being led along.  None of it felt even slightly right.

I've convinced myself too often that these bizarre situations are normal and it's funny now but with  a little perspective I can see that I really was looking to inflict pain upon myself, pain where I felt none, because losing Bruce was an emotional ground zero and I was right on it.  I would love to start shaping it into something with more form, because each episode it like a chapter in itself and the whole year has been a journey from losing it all to having it all, in emotional terms.  I'm going to say it because it's not ok but fuck it:  I am so lucky to have this opportunity to grow and to learn and to train and to sculpt my psyche.  I am ready, I know the lessons get harder and the rewards are imaginary at best, but this is the true meaning of "Bring it on".  This pain, this trial, whatever has given me the chance to live as one with myself.  Not as the Vv inside your mind, or in the minds of lovers.  I inhabit an independent personhood which I can now direct to putting at the centre of all my care hehe.  And folks, it's taken me the best part of 20 years to figure that out.  I gave my first 20 years to guys, and they were ok, but very needy.  The next 20 years I shall give to me.  And if a get 20 more after that then I should know intuitively how to spend them.  Here's hoping.  Love you all bye x

This could be Heaven, this could be Hell.

I had to move house over Christmas.  I probably needed the distraction, as Christmas last year was when my whole marriage relationship blew up and expired.  So I've completed a year of being single and finally got out of the old house.

It felt so damp towards the end, so given up and abandoned.  I resisted the need to move all year, it just didn't seem possible, there was so much stuff, combined detrius of modern living.  Stuff in the loft, stuff in the garage, stuff overflowing from every cupboard.  Sometimes we need to pick through the stuff and make a cut.  Sometimes we need to ask why we have so much useless stuff in our lives.  In the end I took a half dozen boxes of books and bags of clothes that I don't really want but couldn't just throw away.

I met someone who has done the opposite.  They have moved city just taking a basic life starter kit.  A bed, a bike, table, chair, sofa.  Two boxes of personal effects.  A selection of books.  I look around their minimal Ikea furnished apartment in the right part of town and I like the way they operate.  There are just a few anchors to the past: A photo of a tree, a postcard in a frame.  Everything else is looking forward, a blank canvas, waiting for the next vista to be painted upon it.  By comparison, my canvas is a gnarled board, rough and unsanded, thick with grain.  The vista exists before a colour is applied.

People say to me "It must be good to move out of that house, away from all those memories." but the tricky thing is that I have taken the memories with me.  The rugs on the floor and the paintings on the wall all have memories.  The books on the shelf and the shelf itself has memories.  The view from the French windows is of the valley, and in the centre of that view is old house in which I lived for 15 years, the place where I met my husband, made and raised my family.

Coincidentally, my next door neighbour also lived in that house for 15 years.  She was born there.  We are a big higher up the valley here, on the south-facing slope and the new house has south-facing windows to scoop up the light.  It is a different place and it will be home, just as soon as I deal with all these damn boxes.

Time

Shifting sands, a great healer, is money, will tell, and tide waits for no woman.  Is on our side?  Is against us?

Has passed, that's for sure.  I've had so much I wanted to write down, but to be frank, I didn't know if I could tell those stories.  About being so paralysed by choices that inaction is the only action.  About still being motivated by my love for my departed husband.  About waiting on a phone that never rings, about spending whole weekends without speaking to a soul.  About the hurt that can only be eased by hurting oneself more.  Stories of recklessness and solicitation, rejection and acceptance.  I know for a fact that I am not attractive at the moment.  The anxiety of the past 6 months has changed my face, the lack of hugs has made my shoulders stiff.  With these splinters in my heart I cannot heal myself.  I'm mourning for what I thought I had.  If it is that easy to pass over a long marriage, then why do we bind ourselves with this silly little contract in the first place?  I thought I had a great love.  Instead I find I had a great big coward who just wanted a wife to dominate and walk all over him.  All I ever wanted was a partnership of equals.

Hey, wait.  I have other stories too.  Better ones.  About taking risks and finding the payback rewarding.  About trusting one's instincts and impressions of others.  About meeting beautiful new people and finding pleasure in old friends rediscovered.  Ok, but these are not stories.

I decided that I needed to go for a job interview.  In London. Why did I want a job in London?  Well, I didn't so much but I find that there is nothing like making an appointment to overcome inertia and make things happen.  Plus there were a couple of people in London that I wanted to meet and I needed an excuse to be there.   I figured that there is nothing worse than someone saying "I am going to drive 130 miles to come and visit you..." for loading the whole thing and making it disasterously awkward.  Whereas saying "I'm in town, mind if I drop by for a cup of tea?" is so much less imposing.  I so did want to meet this beautiful boy who had been showing me kindness via the virtual network for several months.

So what are the basic rules?  Meet in a busy public place (umm, turned up at his flat), always tell somebody where you are going (I virtually ommitted to tell myself), arrange a casual date so you can extracate yourself should he prove to be a nutter (I was invited to stay overnight).  As a matter of public record, the postcode goes into my draft messages folder on my phone.  I jumped into my car and drove across to London.  I love driving in London, I have such poor knowledge of the capital and yet always seem to be in the right neck of the woods... genetic memory I believe.  Ok, so I'm tell a story...

It was February and very cold and dark.  I was in shock and reeling at the death of my marriage.  Then this beautiful man pops up on the computer and "drops me a line".  Such a gentle, lovely communication, it made me feel warm inside.  We shared some impressions and I got a glimpse of someone living with people but seperately, attached but self-detached.  Someone who was inspired by art and culture.  Someone with a full life with a hole in it.  Now I cannot see a hole without wanting to fill it (ooer) so I was ever so keen to meet him.

Ahh, I would love to write about it but it is too personal.  Instead, a few impressions.  A beautiful 1930's appartment building, a beautiful man, lovely flat, great food, awesome vinyl collection, kindness, patience, warmth, closeness.  I feel I have a friend there.

And so now I have met him.  And he is lovely. He makes me feel like a teenager again (blush). But where does that leave things?  I guess these things will become apparent in time.  I applied for a job in London at a time when I didn't know what my role was anymore.  I didn't know where I fitted in to my own family, even.  I mean the kids have their dad, and he has a partner who cares for my children.   I wanted to run away and start a new life, far away.  But I do see that children need their mother, and actually I do need to live in this house for a while longer.  I need to create my new existance here in the ashes of my previous life.

This written 19th April 2011

Writer's bloc party

The ideas for this blog just come thick and fast, but pretty soon the self-editor asserts itself.  I would love to write you about my shemale friend, about how she came all the way out here from Kensington to cook me fish and how it ended up being a very fun and playful night.  And how I got spanked for the first time and at first thought I hated it, but found myself thinking on it and finding it very sexy after the event.  There are things that wouldn't bear picking over.  Like my delight in finding someone that was interested to discover more about pegging, and how I was happy to share my thing with them.  And about how they would come back for more if I would consider it.  But is this simply chronic and unneccessary oversharing?  How much information is too much information?

This written April 2011

Why did I ever stop ranting into the Void, eh?

Crumbs doesn't time fly?  August already, so much has happened and yet nothing at all.  I stopped writing before because I got hung up on the honesty question, I wanted to be as open as possible and yet I found myself quite unable to say certain things.  Maybe because I put my name all over this account rather than (sensibly) keeping it anonymous.  Maybe because I wonder if you can really say this stuff without sounding like a total freak.  I really don't think I'm a freak.  Maybe because the evenings got longer and I got out more.  So if I can't write beautifuly crafted essays maybe I'll just compose some lists.  Here goes:

Notches on Bedpost (since last blog): 14
Shags that were worth a damn:  5
One night stands:  11
Boys buggered  2

All in all, and enjoyable if fairly sordid and unproductive time.  Clearly some of the above deserves exposition (there are some great stories there) but now is not the time hehe.  Anyway I hope you are having a nice time and I'll write soon x