...Think, Think, Think...

The Beth of New

For those of you who are interested (so arrogant of me, to think that you're interested in my bullshit!) I have still heard nothing from the man.  I have uncovered information that leads me to believe he may be in LA, but I have no idea if this is permanent.  Naturally, I've tried to find out.  Quelle surprise, I've had no reply.  No reply to "So, looking at your profile, it certainly looks like you've moved to LA.  Is this in preparation for when you go, or have you already moved?.  Not even any reply to "I haven't heard from you for over 2 weeks and online it looks like you've moved to the other side of the world.  Whats going on?"

So here I am.  When I uncovered this info on Monday morning, I cried.  I was really upset.  How could he do that?  Then, after somewhere between five and ten minutes, I stopped.  Why the fuck was I crying?  What can I do about that?  If he's gone to LA to work for a few weeks and can't be bothered to tell me, I can't do anything about it.  If he's taken the coward's way out and just moved out there with so much as a goodbye, I can't do anything about it.

That realisation, the notion that life is just a river and I just have to flow with it - its helped a lot.  The Beth of old would likely have spent that whole day in bed sobbing, calling every 10 minutes, emailing. Trying to track him down like some depraved bloodhound.

The Beth of new got dressed, went out and had lunch with a friend and then spent the rest of the day chilling out and watching movies.  The friend I had lunch with couldn't work out why I was so passive.  We've worked together in the past and he's seen me get wound up over things.  I never get really angry over relationships.  Upset?  HELL yeah.  Never angry though.  I always kind of think that anger is only upset manifesting in a different way, so I just go for the pure form.

The next day, the Beth of new went and had lunch with another old friend.  Someone I don't see much, but when I do see things are just like they were when we last hung out.  He's an absolute sweetheart and I can only hope that everyone has a friend like him somewhere.

Yesterday, I went to London.  I used to love going into the big city, but yesterday I noticed it didn't have the same appeal as it used to.  I think I'm too polite for it.  I say please and thank you.  I apologise if I almost blind someone with my umbrella or decapitate them with my stupid bloody rucksack.  I had a disappointing wander around the Tate Modern , there were lots of school trips and I'm not sure a modern art gallery is any place for a child.  At least not when I'm there.  I managed to spend a bit of time in the Rothko room, which is my favourite part of the whole place, only leaving when a tour guide brought a small crowd of people into the room to explain about it.  It made me want to scream "Do you have to have this spoon fed to you?!  Are you all such lazy slobs that you have to have someone lead you by the hand round the museum?!  Can't you figure it out for yourself?!"  Its modern art people, no one can tell you what it means.  Thats sort of the point.

After that, I set about spending money (I'm so good at it, it'd be a shame not to).  First stop, Screenface in Covent Garden to get some new make-up brushes.  Then to Waterstones on Piccadilly to buy The Game by Neil Strauss.  I'm about 150 pages in so far and its pretty good.  I was on my way to get some lunch (at 3pm, mind you) at Wagamama and I was stopped by one of those charity-get-you-to-make-regular-donation-workers.  Only one of the good ones.  You know the sort that manage to lure you in by being witty and complimenting you and all the other things that appeal to the ego?  He was one of those.  We must have been chatting for a good 20 minutes, if not more. He asked me if I was swedish.  I get that a lot.  Its the extra-fair/blonde combo I think, because I'm not.  I'm a mixture of English and Welsh stock, with a healthy dose of MENTAL thrown in for good measure.  Anyway, a nice chat later and I'm now donating a small portion of a my meagre wage to help disadvantaged kids.  Its a good cause, as long as they don't take them to galleries.

After lunch and my random chat with a stranger, I had a quick browse in Lush on Regent St and bought some Bath Bombs (I love 'em.  They cost about the same as a whole bottle of normal bubble bath, but who cares) and then went and met fellow blogger Clare for the first time.  We've read eachothers blogs for what seems like forever, we've emailed and texted but never met! We grabbed drinks in Starbucks (I love Starbucks but apparently they're very bad and whilst convincing me to give cash, charity worker mentioned above recommended Monmouth Coffee which I'll try next time I'm over that way) and ended up wandering around because it was raining and nowhere had anywhere to sit!  It was nice to be able to put a face to a name after all this time and we're going to have lunch sometime soon hopefully.

Today I've been lazy.  At some point in the above shopping escapade I bought series 4 of Northern Exposure and I stayed in bed til 1pm today, being a lazy cow and watching at least 4 episodes. I can justify that as tomorrow I'll be up at 5am-ish, leaving my house at 6am to go to a meeting.  I had a text from the person I'm going with to say "Are you still ok for 06:00"  To which I could only reply"I'm as ok as I'm ever going to be for a 6am start".

Hopefully, that meeting will finish early enough that I can be home with enough time to have a nap before I go out in London again tomorrow night.  Its my friends birthday and as I'm going to start making an effort to actually go out more, I'm going into Soho with him and his friends (all gay I think).  IT means I get to have a look at the 2 potential boyfriends he has, try to ignore his most recent ex (twat) and have a bit of a giggle.  Its a bit out of character.  Not very me to cnsider being out late in a bar.

The thing of it is, I've realised that I've been Me for a while now and I don't think Me is very happy.  I'm considering switching to "New and Improved Me - with added happy".  I'll report back soon and let you know how I get on.

Directional Uncertainty

"The way I see this is that you're dealing with the existential question "Who am I?  Why am I here?  What am I doing?".  You're here because in order for you to answer that you need to work out where you're going and to answer that you need to make sense of where you've come from.  I suppose what I'm doing is sort of Trans-personal Physchotherapy if you like."

"Yeah, I think you're right.  I think you should add that to your business card. Lecturer. Counsellor.  Trans-personal Psychotherapist.  Sounds good."

Above is a snippet from my last session with my counsellor.  He's right.  I am wrestling with those existential questions.  The catch is, the questions are winning the bout.  I feel like I'm pinned and the count is at the split second between one and two.

Since that session, which was over a week ago now I haven't relly done much that was very exciting.  I don't think anything happened that shed much light on my current quandry either.  Straight after the session I rushed home to finish cooking dinner for the boyfriend who I was seeing for the first time in 3 1/2 weeks.  I made a hash of the roast potatoes (metaphorically speaking) and he was polite about it and ate them anyway.  I've not heard a peep out of him since.  No texts, no calls.  Back to the standard way.  As I've probably mentioned before, its at around the 2 week mark I get antsy and upset.  For now, I have no issue with it other than wishing he'd text.

This Thursday just gone I had a massage.  I have a good friend who recently split from her husband of 27 years and moved out on her own.  Its only in the last month or so that I realised that she certainly hasn't come to terms with everything yet.  A colleague of hers is a trained masseuse as well as design assistant and offered to come over and give us very reasonably priced, very relaxing back massages.  Throughout the course of the evening, I sat and listened to my friend and another colleague of hers (not the masseuse) share their tales of woe as well as those of their family and friends when it comes to relationships. 

The stories ran the gamut fom husbands to paid no attention, to husbands who were alcoholic and abusive to others who were long-term cheats.  In some sense, it made me realise how lucky I am that the man i have, although elusive as fuck, doesn't beat the crap out of me.  On the reverse of that, its hard to beat the crap out of someone you don't see. 

It was depressing.  Horribly, painfully depressing to hear all those stories.  Not for them, although I do understand that it must be horrendous to be in one of those relations, but for me.  Is that really what I have to look forward to?  Is this where I'm going to end up? In my mid 40s and bitter and man hating?  Watching my friends gradually morph into women who feel the same? 

None of the stories had ahappy ending.  There wasn't a "She's met a lovely man now and she's really happy.."  none of that at all.  Just the misery. 

After that, it was talk about how fat they all were (except the masseuse, who is absolutely stunning and certainly doesn't look the 41 years that she's clocked up).  Talk of diets.  How thin they used to be.  The exercise they used to do.  I obviously realise that I'm at least 15 years younger than these women - but it terrified me.  It was a glimpse into the future that shook my to my core.

I hear all those things and as I girl who has always thought that getting married some day was important - I'm questioning even more the things that I want and the person that I am.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to swan off to India citing that I need to find myself.  Thats bollocks,  I know where I am.  I just don't know where I'm going or what I really want out of life.  Even more frustrating than that, I don't know how to figure it out.  I guess all I can really do for now is take every day one step at a time.  One menial task after another, interspersed with a few fun things here and there.

This afternoon, I watched a movie leant to me by a colleague at work that I've had for about 2 months and it hasn't been off the shelf.  There was one quote it in, virtually irrelevant to the rest of the movie that stuck with me:

Hell, I've always been old Ben. Ya' know what though, I don't mind. I mean if my muscles ache, it's because I've used 'em. It's hard for me to walk up them steps now, its 'cuz I walked up 'em every night to lay next to a man who loved me. I got a few wrinkles here and there, but I've layed under thousands of skies with sunny days. I look and feel this way, well cuz I drank and I smoked. I lived and I loved, danced, sang, sweat and screwed my way thorough a pretty damn good life if you ask me. Getting old ain't bad Ben. Getting old, that's earned.

                                                                                    Maggie McGlone - The Guardian

Thats what I want to be saying 40 years from now.  Just got a figure out a way to life my life in such a way that I can.

Random Beth Facts #1

I'm a quiet person.  I talk a lot, but I have things to say.  I know people who are the type that give a running commentary for everything they're doing - it drives me nuts.

I love second-hand book shops.  I tend to look through for the names of the people who owned them or the little inscriptions of the ones given as gifts.

When I get a text message on my phone, my alert sound is Dr Zoidberg

My favourite precious stone is Ametrine

If I go out for indian food, I order the same thing every time.  An indian restaurant is the only place I don't deviate from the regime.  Poppodums, Chicken Tikka, Chicken Korma, Pilau Rice, Bombay Aloo, Nan Bread.  Its not that I can't eat anything spicier, I just like to really enjoy what I'm eating.

I'm scared of horses.  I have no idea why.  I can only suppose in a previous life I was killed or hurt by one.

I believe in reincarnation and karma.

I aspire to have the ability to wear high heels all day, rather than to wear trainers walking to the office and changing when I get there.  Its the pussy's way out.  My feet should be tougher.

In terms of art and music, I love things that are encompassing, that make you feel wrapped up in them. Two examples of this that spring to mind are the Rothko Room at the Tate Modern, and the song "Play Dead" by Bjork.  I find both overwhelming in a very profound way.

On a cultural theme, I'll hop over to film and announce that I love John Cusack.  Love him.  He's so extremely underrated as an actor.

I used to carry an emergency Galaxy Ripple in my handbag.  I stopped when I realised I wasn't saving them for emergencies.

I passed my driving test last November.  I still don't own a car.  The responsibility scares me a bit.

Seeking Comfort in the Familiar

As mentioned in my previous post, for the first time in about 8 months I went and had a session with my counsellor.  He and his wife both work as therapists of some sort.  He lectures in mental health nursing at a nearby university and his wife is an acupuncturist and naturopath.  They don't have a living room, they have a therapy room.

That room is one of those places that makes you feel like you're totally safe from the crap in the outside world when even though you're actually closer to it than you are when you're living your day to day life.  You peel back all of the layers and admit things out loud that you're barely able to admit in your head. It has a particular smell, that room.  I'm not sure what it is, other than its one of the oils that is used after an acupuncture session.  I love that smell.  I try and remember it when I'm feeling like I'm having a stressful moment.  It makes me feel protected somehow.

I find it fascinating how a total stranger can look at you and read you.  He sees through all the bullshit.  He knows exactly why you're doing what you're doing and makes you face up to it. 

The boyfriend hadn't contacted me in any way shape or form for 10 days at the time I had the session.  I explained to my counsellor (who I'm attempted to refer to as Donnie as a nod to Woody Allen) how things had been better, the communication was a lot better than it had been previously and then this past week-ish, it had gone to shit.  I got no reply to a "Miss You" text, or to a "haven't seen you for 2 weeks and would be grateful if you could make time to see me this week" voicemail, or finally to a "I haven't heard from you for a week and a half, you're not at work, I'm worried" voicemail."  I told him I was hurt and angry as it really isn't that hard to send a text to say "Hi babe, really sorry, things are mad - will speak to you soon."  I'd have been cool with that.  I wouldn't have been wondering why I was being ignored or worrying that something awful had happened.  I wondered why, when on Thursday night I'd left that voicemail saying I was worried, he hadn't called me the next day to say everything was ok.  Why would you make a worried person wait any longer than necessary to put their mind at ease?

My counsellor pondered for a moment and said, "You're such a clever girl Beth.  You're perceptive and witty and just bright as a button.  Why do you make yourself a doormat?"

Because thats what I am when I'm involved with a man.  I know why too. 

I'm terrified of turning into my mother.  She's a nag. When my dad gets home from work, she's on his back straight away.  There's always something.  I don't want to be like that.  So when my boyfriend says he's busy at work, I don't make a fuss.  I just let him get on with it knowing he'll call/text when he can. 

So in my utter fear of turning out like my mother - bitter and spiteful and ungrateful - I put myself in the position of being walked over.  I allow a lot of people to get away with things that I really shouldn't.

Interestingly enough, I had a text from the boyfriend this morning to say that he'd been so very busy and to apologise.  I did reply, although I was in two minds about it as I'm still hurt that I'm so low priority that my being worried doesn't want a quicker reply.  All I could say was "Thank you for letting me know you're ok, I'll talk to you when you're less busy x"

This afternoon I wondered if my reply was a little short.  Too abrupt perhaps.  But in the grand scheme of things, I felt it was warranted.  I couldn't love him more if I tried and its because of that I'll let certain things slide rather than make a nuisance of myself, but sometimes a little consideration for my feelings is required. 

I have to work out for myself how I deal with these issues and I'm comforted to know that while I'm trying I have the familiarity of that room as a sanctuary.

A quick note about comments...

While I'm happy for people to read my thoughts and I'm always grateful for input from my readers, on this particular post I'm not interested in a barrage of comments telling me he's not worth my time or to dump him. That won't be in any way constructive to me during a difficult time that I'm trying to navigate through and so on this occasion if thats your opinion I would ask that you please don't post it - Many Thanks.

Dude-ness

In a meeting this week, my boss called me " a bit scary", presumably because if I'm annoyed about something I verbalise it.  Usually quite graphically.  Apparently this may be seen as intimidating.

For me, its pretty laughable because I'm actually the softest person you're likely to meet.  I'm just wrapped in a couple of layers of Denis Leary style dry-sarcasm/acid-tongued/piss-ripping fluff. 

Quite frankly, sometimes people ask for it.  They say things SO remarkably stupid or uncultured or uneducated or totally lacking in common sense that I can't help but laugh at them.  Like the person who asked if Gotham City was in Gothenberg and when told it wasn't real and that it was where Batman lived, countered with "but R Kelly sang a song about it?".  Or perhaps the time we were talking about Hulk Hogan and someone said "Oh yeah...he was all green and his shirt ripped when he got angry."  Its hard to just nod, smile and think "bless them" because in my eyes, there's no excuse for that sort of lack of cultural knowledge.

We're bombarded with media information at an alarming rate.  Somehow though, it slips past some people and I can't work out if they're the smart ones for not noticing and not being immersed in the media deluge we're subject to.

Anyway, digression.  My boss says I'm scary.  I used to swear too much but I've toned that down.  I've been told I also need to stop using expressions like "...rip his vocal chords out with my bare hands" and "...guage her eyes out with spoons..." - not that I ever could do that I hasten to add, I just like the descriptive langauge.  So, in an attempt to be a good employee I'm going to try and find a way round it.  A mental image that I can conjure to cause waves of calmness to flood my oft-raged mind.  I've given it serious consideration and decided on a film quote.  Because of course, everything has a relvant film quote. Thats the beauty of films, we can all find something we can relate to.

Wondering which quote?  In my eyes there can be only one:

"Nothing is fucked here, Dude. Come on, you're being very un-Dude."

Being very un-Dude.  Thats me when I'm angry.  Not that I'm all that "Dude" when I'm not.  But I'm more un-Dude when angry.

So thats my mission.  I need to be more Dude.  I could drink White Russians.  I don't bowl though.  Or indulge in any illegal substances.  But the general Dude-ness - I think its do-able.

For anyone unsure of this origin of that quote...you're not a Coen Brothers fan are you?

Whats in a name?

When I reach the time in my life that I decide to have children, I have names already picked out.  If I have a boy, he'll be called Matthew.  I have no real reason for choosing that as a boy-name, other than I like it.  If I have a girl, she'll be called Fleur.  I have a reason for that choice.

My father is the eldest of 5 boys.  His mother desperately wanted a baby girl, but due to some biological factors I don't understand (rhesus positives and negatives) she and my grandfather were unable to.  Had she had a baby girl, it would have been called either Fleur or Fern.  As a tip of the hat to her and how wonderful I think she is, I decided several years ago that I'd call my daughter Fleur.

I've never really managed to work out how I ended up as a Beth.  Apparently if I'd been a boy I'd have been called Tobias Johnathan, but as a girl I just got plain old Beth.  No middle name.  Just a short first name ending -th to go with a short last name ending -th.  There's a possibility it comes from my Dad's mum, as she's an Elizabeth, but Mum denies that I'm named after her.

I've asked what the other name choices were.  Apparently my father wanted to call me Morgana. Its a welsh name, as his father and 4 brothers were born in, and he grew up in North Wales. My mother wanted Morgan.  As opposed to perhaps compromising on Morgana, as it does after all include Morgan they ditched it completely.

Sarah-Jane was an option, but apparently dad bet on a horse with that name and it lost.

I remember a conversation with my mother about the name Lucy and how they'd considered that.

So why didn't you call me Lucy?

"Well, I always think its a name for a very pretty girl."

It seems she always had high hopes for me...