*Sniff*

Sorry I've been a bit absent, the last couple of weeks have been a bit rough and I've had a few demons to wrestle with and evict. Not helped by the bloody cold that turned up last week and decided to hang around as sinusitis. Bastard thing.

I just don't have the physical resources to work through a cold, so I took a couple of sick days in the vain hope the cold would get the hint and just fuck off. Instead, it took it's shoes off, put it's feet up and made itself very comfortable. So now I'm drinking gallons of tea, taking my usual comfort drugs and feeling very sorry for myself. Well, it's got to be done.

As you may remember I went along to my GP to ask for some blood tests to ensure there wasn't an underlying cause of my rubbish energy levels. That's when the trouble started. He spent the first half of our 10 mins trying to say that my rubbish energy levels were linked to my Mood Disorder. Basically, when I got so low over the summer with the various disasters, my body released various stress hormones with the result that my energy levels were crap. I was a bit surprised by this diagnosis. I had hitherto been unaware that he felt I had a Mood Disorder. I just thought I suffered periodic depression. The next half of our appointment he launched into a non-smoking lecture, rounding it off by saying I had an Addictive Personality.

Quite.

In the remaining minutes of our consultation he laid out the argument in terms of Nature and Nurture and I went home thinking 'I'm screwed'. My genetics are faily dodgy and my nurture is a long, long story that I bore my counsellor with every Friday afternoon. I just wanted to curl up and howl. It took me a while to process things and on the third day I woke up mad as hell.

Those labels he so carelessley slapped on me are at best demeaning and at worst a serious misdiagnosis. I wikied Mood Disorder. Basically, it's like a doctor putting cardiac arrest on a death certificate. If you're dead, your heart doesn't beat. Mood Disorder, is a catch-all phrase to describe all manner of depressions including SAD, bi-polar and post-natal depression. How does that help? It's not like he was offering me any chemical assistance either.

Which leads me on to my so-called Addictive Personality. This one made me stew for hours I tell you, until a friend who counsells families of alcoholics had a bloody good laugh at my expense. I have alcohol in the house which has dust on it. I also have an emergency stash of Valium (shhh! don't tell anyone). Someone with an addictive personality couldn't leave these things be. They'd have to be consumed. Yes, I smoke. But I don't smoke as much as I could. I stick within my comfort zone. As for my sex addiction, my gambling and me being a crack whore...yeah right. Hardly. I'm not a control freak either. I don't keep these things around to test my ability to say 'no'. I have alcohol in the house in case I have company, or for cooking, or in case I fancy a drink. My alcohol consumption is about 2 units a week, if I drink at all. Come the Festive Season, Hottie and I will be downing a few glasses.

It has lead to me seriously thinking about changing my GP.

The Occaisional and I have continued to see each other on weekends. He said resolutely a couple of weeks ago, he doesn't want a relationship and he thinks it would be best if we didn't have a physical relationship. Which is why I made him breakfast over the weekend.

I'm bemused by it all. I do want a relationship, I do want committment, yet, here I am swapping bodily fluids with someone who won't commit. The weirdest part about it all, is I'm actually quite alright about it. It's really good being with someone who cares about me; I enjoy his company, he's sharp and witty and I do fancy him. He makes no demands of me. I don't have to listen to a blow, by blow account of his every working day, or make him dinner or meet his parents. We meet up, have a drink, catch up. He's not seeing anyone else, I'm not interested in anyone else. We aren't courting each other. I suppose it's friends with benefits. I have no idea whether this time was the last time, if there will be a next time.

I do know this much. He gives a shit about me. We won't walk off into the sunset together, I could put money on that, but I'm pretty sure we'll be friends for a long, long time.

Yeah, I'm learning.

Car Update

Had car seen to today.

The Great Ursus met me there. I kept my eyes forward and walked straight to service desk. I was in comfy clothes (but not scruffy). I did see the back of the BMW Salesman's head, but did not approach.

When the car was ready, Great Ursus dropped me off at the front doors, I walked in, keeping eyes forward and went straight to service desk. I think he must have had a word with the guy, cause he was definitely cagey and less jokey this afternoon and he walked me the long way round to my car. The way, I wouldn't bump into BMW Salesman.

I'm glad it's over. The car is MOT'd, the service is due in 13,000 miles, so we'll go through the little dance again.

Whatever.

I am pissed off, but not for the reasons you might think.

I'm pissed off because I chose to go out with a bloke who didn't care about me, or like me enough to be friends afterwards. I find it very saddening that we can't even share a polite 'hi, how are you.'

It means I wasted my time. That pisses me off. I'm not going to do that again.

Writing out the Crap

It never ceases to amaze me the joy and impact writing has upon me.

I wrote the last post because I had the niggle lurking in the back of my brain, much like having a large spider creeping around the living room floor. Writing about it allowed me to chase down the spider, stick a glass over it, slide a sheet of paper under it and evict it.

After I wrote the post, I had a flick through my previous posts. What I saw there made me proud of what I have achieved in quite a short space of time. I've been patting myself on the back since.

I also had a bit of an 8+3 moment as Hottie would say. It's when you realise that 11, comes from 8+3. I realised that while I've been so busy trying to establish new patterns so I can have new and better relationships with men, I've also been doing the same thing all over again. Hidden within all the good words about wanting to be in a committed relationship etc, etc was the intensity that has always plagued me. Wanting to push things too far, too fast. Does that make any sense?

So, I am taking deep breaths and letting my shoulders drop from my ears. I put myself in the hands of the Goddess. I will walk where she shines her light and trust that she will make the best opportunities available to me. I don't have to do anything. I don't have to push for anything. I'm just going to see where the path takes me. I have to say, I am having far more fun than I thought was possible. I say, yet again, I am blessed.

Fun and Games

You might remember me obsessing earlier in the year, about the BMW Salesman.

Fear not, here's the summary:

I saw him, the car lot full of shiny cars and the tongue rolled out of my mouth. I started to drool in a very un-ladylike fashion. I parted with my hard earned cash for my fabulous Beemer and flirted and schemed any which way I could, to land the BMW Salesman. Please note, I did not stalk him, though I wondered if I was perhaps being too unsubtle. He finally got in touch, we went for drinks and a couple of dates and I fell head first into Lust. With hindsight, it's clear he was just not that into me. He kept cancelling, wouldn't call, wouldn't text; you know, that kind of stuff. Eventually, a few days after my birthday, I went over to his house to find out what the hell was going on; he admitted he didn't want to see me again. I'd left his front door open.

Fair enough. It smarted. But quite frankly, life with me is bound to be filled with open doors, foot in mouth moments and is likely to get occasionally messy. If he can't handle it, I wasn't going to push it. So I walked away without a backward glance. I won't lie, it dented my ego, but then things with Boy kicked off and I had more important things to worry about. Life is all about prioritisation. Fairly quickly I realised I didn't miss him. In fact, I'm hard pressed to think what we did have in common. He wasn't my friend, and I knew he played games with his ex, so I kept my dignity and haven't been in touch at all.

It made me both sad and glad in equal measures that our fling was so short and I haven't even had a friendship to show for it. At least I found out he wasn't worth my time; I can live with losing 8 weeks to him.

The problem is my Beemer's MOT and service is due in a couple of weeks. Which means I have to go into the dealership and possibly bump into him.

One thing I don't lack is pride. I am proud enough, that I would like to go into the Dealership looking fabulous, with a gorgeous man on my arm. I am happy to say I do know some gorgeous men, who perhaps would not be averse to a little game of 'Look What You've Missed Out On'.

However, the older and wiser part of me, does not want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I was trying to get his attention. I certainly do not consider him to be suitable boyfriend material, nor do I want a roll in the hay with him. In fact, I don't want anything more to do with him.

Therefore, I have arranged with the Great Ursus to come pick me up from the dealership, we'll find a tacky film to watch, have some lunch and pick my car up when it's ready. I am still going to look fabulous, but it will be for my benefit, not his.

Possibilities

A friend asked me yesterday whether I could envisage living here in Palais de Roses with a man. It was a casual question that I have been giving some thought for the rest of the evening and this morning.

Truthfully, I don't know.

Probably not.

My bedroom is exactly that; mine. I have everything exactly where I want it. Could I cope with some bloke leaving his socks and yesterday's pants on my floor? No, I think it really would drive me nuts. I am slowly decking out my home in rugs and artwork, which is exactly to my quirky tastes. Could I tolerate another person's collection of Royal Doulton ballerinas? Umm...no chance. When the Viking came to stay on his rest days, I was aware of my territorial behaviour and his endless patience of it. I am used to sleeping with only the Cat and the thought of having another body in bed with me, snoring and sweating in my bed is slightly uncomfortable.

However, there are ways and means to get round this. And fortunately, we live in an age where it's possible to come up with all kinds of solutions to these quirks.

He could have his place, I have mine and we get together throughout the week at mutually agreeable times with occasional sleepovers. Though I suspect that's a step up from dating and a stage before co-habitation. I'm not convinced that's a long-term strategy for a relationship.

I still believe in marriage. I would want a co-habiting partner of mine to want to acknowlege our relationship socially and legally. I suspect the way round my territorial nature would be to get a new house, so we both build our home together. Separate bedrooms would be an option. Perhaps it would be a question of suck it and see. If the relationship is strong enough then it should be possible to explore the options. Find a solution which fits both of us, rather than compromise which would make both of us unhappy. Ultimately, if we can't accept each other for who we are and aren't prepared to shift things around until there's an acceptable fit, there isn't much point being together.

All of this is fairly moot anyway.

I am enjoying being single and celibate. On the occasions I'm awake at 3am, I quite like padding around, going outside for a crafty smoke. It is no longer the time when I'm the only person in the world alone and awake. Two months ago, I did not believe it was possible. But I've learnt to sit with myself, I can now listen to the silence and be content.

Who ever he is, to break into my peace, he'd have to be worth it.

Hindsight

As I fast approach the grand old age of 40, I realise I run the risk of becoming a little bit wiser than I used to be. I have made the best of a bad job and learnt some valuable lessons. Lessons that I seem to be putting into practice.

I was banging my head against the wall on Friday; completely frustrated with myself. I felt I hadn't learnt anything and my old patterns had re-asserted themselves. My counsellor, wonderful woman that she is, kept smiling at me and eventually butted into my self-focused rant. She pointed out the changes I have made, the choices I am making now and gave me the pat on the back that I had been unable to do.

She's right.

I really have broken some well-ingrained patterns. When I stopped to think, I realise that I've been obsessing about the fact that I haven't been obsessing about men. Rather than making and engaging in fantasies about men, I am casting a wary eye. While laughing and drinking coffee, I am careful not to be too flirty, I am assessing their behaviour, I am making judgements about their choices, their language and the way they treat me.

Considering I am supposed to be alone. Sob. Boo. Woe is me. I seem to be surrounded by male company, which is just great. The Occasional (who I really ought to re-name) and I have had drinkies together last weekend and it looks like we'll repeat the experience this weekend. I think he's ever-so fanciable...but I don't want him in my bed. I know he cares for me, but I'm not sure he cares for me that way. I'm not looking for an occaisional shag, I'm looking for a lover. Someone who thinks about me when we're not together, someone who is willing and able to commit.

That's the goal. I know, I'm repeating myself.

However, what has surprised me is that I'm having fun. I didn't expect this to be fun. I thought I was going to be dragging my arse feeling dreadful. Quite frankly, apart from my rubbish energy levels, I feel great. I feel pretty. I feel pretty on the inside! How cool is that?

The other thing I didn't expect was how protective I feel of myself. I don't want to waste myself and my time on a loser (please note, The Occasional is NOT a loser, he's just not interested in that kind of relationship with me). Oh wow.

What's this? Is this self-esteem I see before me?

I felt wobbly and not myself at all. My counsellor says that's as it should be. I'm embarking on a journey into new territory. It'll take time for things to settle down and until they do, I will be sharing it all.

Sideways

I am once again, gainfully employed. My former employers and I have come to a temporary arrangement whereby I will work 16 hours a week over 3 days. This means I'll be able to work around Boy's school day and be here for him when he gets home.

It's strange isn't it. My Boy is on the cusp of manhood, he needs me just as much as he did when he was a wee one, but he needs me in a different way. He needs me available, but not constantly next to him. He just needs to know I'm here if he comes unstuck. I am fortunate that I can take these steps to ensure his needs are met, without financial repercussions. I do count my blessings. I truly believe I am blessed.

Yesterday, I trooped off to work, nervous about what I might find. I found the time slipped by. It was good to see everyone, catch up on all their news and gossip. It was good to be useful again. However, it has knocked me sideways. Six hours of work has exhausted me. Today I feel...bleugh. It's the best way I can describe it. However, I have got a few things done around the house, not as much as I'd hoped to get done, but at least there's a pot of stew simmering on the stove and the plants are watered. Thank goodness I warned them that I wasn't confident I could go straight into the thick of things. This week and next I'm doing two days and then I get properly into the fray. Next week I go for blood tests to see why the hell my energy levels are so crap. This is so completely dull; not being able to do the things I want to do.

Tonight, I'm going dancing with my friends Gee, the Great Ursus and his lovely. I'm looking forward to it. I've been wanting to go back to dancing. Although I really love Salsa, it's difficult not having a dance partner and I don't particularly like dancing with other women. I'm so pushy I usually end up leading, which can cause a few problems especially when the other woman think she's supposed to be the bloke. I don't dance to pull. Some salsa venues are a bit like meat markets, filled with sleezy men who've figured out the 1:3 ratio of men to women works firmly in their favour. Folk dancing is great. Most of the dances are mixed and as you dance in a big circle or in lines, it doesn't matter who's next to you. The dances are lovely to do. The key thing with folk dancing is don't stop and don't let go. There isn't the emphasis on form, though there are the occasional dance Nazis, but most of the dances performed originate in small rural villages far flung places. They take place as a social event, with most of the dancers having had a skinful of raki or just wanting to have a good gossip as they move in a sedate fashion round the village square, it takes the pressure off. And the music is gorgeous.

Although I feel knackered, I still feel chilled. Had a quick flurry of texts with The Occasional late Saturday night, culminating in him asking if he could come round. No, he couldn't. It was sweet of him to think of me, but I'm not up for anything casual anymore. Unless a bloke can give me a bloody good reason, I'm going to keep enjoying my solitude. Don't get me wrong, I'd really like Prince Charming to show up, but unless he's willing to spend some time and effort, I'm not interested. I'm after something long-term and meaningful. I'm after some old-fashioned courtship. Coffee, dinners, walks by the seaside, that sort of thing. I'd like to be able to take my time to get to know him, see if there's a proper fit. So I'm putting that out there and we'll see what happens. You know I'll keep you informed. In techicolour detail. For I do over-share.