So, we have a hung parliament.
And in the throws of her denial that the whole, messy affair ever happened, Theresa May has done what any emotionally unstable Londoner would do, thrown herself into the rebounding arms of the first who’ll have her. In this case, the utter lunatics at the DUP.
It’s a terrible decision. For her, for them, for the entire country.
Of course, most of our terrible decisions don’t result in an onslaught of concern for the whole of the UK. Most of our decisions don’t involve bigots, anti-abortionists and whatever might happen with taxes.
But you have to sympathise. We’ve all made terrible decisions when rejection is involved, and most of us can’t know what it’s like to be rejected by most of the country. Except rather than fly away on a broomstick, this wicked old witch is staying. And she’s brought some friends.
It made me think about the men I’ve seeing (fucking) recently. They really are little more than a kind of left-hand rebound from a rejection that (thankfully) hasn’t happened. Things are great with Charlie; wonderful in fact — aside from the fact that we’re several thousand miles apart.
But we’re making plans for me to come over and visit in October. Which, from what he said in our last chat, would likely involve meeting with the mother. And camping/hiking. But the mother would be the scarier prospect.
The thing with Charlie is that he is jut a very special person. I realised that the other day when we were FaceTiming and, after I had said something (I don’t remember what), he did the joking “Yes, Dear.”
It was a tiny, passing moment; a little blip in the middle of a crowded conversation. But to me it signalled the start of the wonderful terms of endearment which only two people in complete comfort with one another can have. Familiarity that can purge away any remaining awkwardness, so you can reach a point of unity with another person.
It doesn’t address the issues we have, mainly the distance and what happens when even the visits become not enough. Do I look to move there? Does he move to London? Do I move into his beautiful Californian home and start an entirely new life?
Christ only knows. And it’s an issue which concerns me far more than Ms May and her terrible decisions for the UK.
The house in California. With him. It’s an idle fantasy that I slip into every now and then, especially at the moment to distract me from what on earth I’m going to do about my work situation. With the agency contract over and a rejection or two to content with, I don’t know where or how I’ll be moving on beyond a little freelance work.
Men have always made things more complicated; that’s just been the way it is in my experience. Even when I’ve been really into the guy. But with Charlie, everything just gets more simple. He can calm me down without it being condescending; he is handsome without making it obvious; he makes me feel special without it being a cliche.
Sometimes it almost feels like we both know that we are supposed to be together, everything between now and forever is just filler.
It’s how on earth it’s supposed to come to pass that confuses me.
I try to stay thankful and grateful about things, but is having a (sort-of) boyfriend who is half a world away and no steady job really the best start to a positive mindset?
Perhaps I’m just having sex with these large, muscular men in order to escape the two realisations in my life right now: I have no steady income and am back in that situation where I dread the conversation turning to work (and, let’s face it, we’re in London so it will ALWAYS turn to what is going on at work). I hate hearing about other people’s successes and work triumphs because I have no platform to do so any more. The international agency I was working at seems like an age ago already. I just wish they’d call and say there’s another contract; a full-time role; anything so I was back in that wonderful, stimulating environment.
With no job and no Charlie, I will confess to feeling more than a little lost. A hard thing for me to admit, but there it is.
I have no clear direction either personally or professionally, and I do not know exactly how or what or why…Well, about pretty much everything.
I’m not surrendering to the despair which I know is lurking just at the edges and threatens to consume me; waiting out of reach and out of sight. Sometimes I think I may have fallen too far to ever truly recover. I think that I have made bad decisions and that they may have crippled me, in a way that could prevent me carrying on. Sometimes I wish I could somehow hit some cosmic reset button, to how far back exactly I’m not sure…
…But far enough back that I could take it all back and begin again.