Detailing Butterfly
Sitting in deck chairs on the backyard verandah on a mild Tuesday night, a couple sip red wine and chat quietly. Her feet are stretched out on his lap, and his stubby fingers caress her legs, making lazy patterns along her ankle and up her calves. Looking out past the bushes and over the citrus trees, his eyes wander the rooftops and windows of neighbouring houses. A dog lies at their feet, every once in a while sitting up to do a cursory wander around the verandah before settling back down. The distant quiet hubbub of traffic sounds like ocean waves thrumming on the shore. Quiet and stealthy it filters through the neighbourhood.
As an early spring breeze caresses the two, she shakes herself out of a deep reverie, takes a drink of red wine and starts to tell him what’s been on her mind lately. Money problems, general insecurities, moving house, dramatic changes in her life, fear of commitment; all her worries pour out as the vino sets to work, loosening her tongue, guiding her on the path to honest unfiltered thought.
He sits, head down staring at his glass as the words wash over him, slowly filling up his senses, wave after wave. Not daring to look at him as the words spill out of her mouth, she tries to distract herself from worrying too much about his verdict on her harried thought process. She begins to notice the wooden fence palings that separate her house from the next and how they make stark contrast against the neighbouring house’s brickwork. She can almost feel the roughness of those bricks against her fingers. As she continues telling him that she’d like to stay at home a little while longer before moving in with him, he looks up at her with grin that is half rueful and half bemused, telling her, “You’ve pretty much moved in anyway.”
‘Yes that’s right,' she thinks, ‘it’s all in the details.’
True Butterfly
I had an attack of the guilts today. I did something that perhaps I shouldn't have. And for a few moments today, I sat there staring into space battling my conscience.
And while at the end of the day I 'did the right thing' the thoughts have been haunting me ever since.
I am proud of what I did. I like what it says about me - that although I hesitate in 'doing the right thing' given time, I do come around, and deep down I am a honest person. I am a good person.
Should I write here what I did? His information, his personal life isn't really mine to tell. Yet I also feel the need to vindicate my actions and feel good about myself. I feel the need to brag. Although perhaps it's not much worth to brag about.
I came across some of my boyfriend's personal papers today. And against my will, well, alright, curiousity got the better of me, and I found myself reading them. And the more I read, I suddenly felt like I was seeing things that I shouldn't be reading - that if he had wanted to tell me, he would have.
And finding out what I did, I suddenly got scared. Because finding out some things by yourself can be pretty scary. You sit there and think, 'he didn't tell me about this.' And you feel like maybe he was trying to hide something from you, and your entire perspective on the relationship changes.
And then you hear footsteps upstairs and know that he's coming back, and you hurriedly put all the papers away. And pretend that everything's ok. Except that everything's not. And after a while, he notices it too, and asks you what the matter is.
'Nothing,' you say.
And while he moves in and out of the house moving bottles to the recycling bin outside, you sit there battling your conscience.
'Should I ask him?'
'Maybe I should research this first. He'll tell me in good time. And when he does, I'll pretend that I never knew, and inside I'll be happy that he finally got around to telling me.'
'But that's not very honest. How would you feel if he did something like that?'
'I should be honest and just tell him I found it, and ask what it means.'
'What if he thinks I've been snooping? I shoould respect his privacy. I shouldn't pry. He'll tell me in his good time if he wants or chooses to.'
And so the argument went, round and round, and round.
As he made breakfast for me, I finally got up the courage. Asking him to sit with me for a moment, I gathered up my courage, closed my eyes, told him what I did, and asked him what I had been reading meant.
He was apologetic, explaining he would've told me, but it was just that he was scared. He was worried that I would get scared. He then asked me if I was scared, and I admitted a little. But the more I heard about it, the more I realised I wasn't scared. Once I found it out it wasn't what I had originally thought it was, I was ok with it. And I was actually in fact more hurt that he had originally chosen not to tell me.
For fifteen minutes today, my entire world changed. It tipped on its axis and turned topsy turvy. Suddenly the security and love that I had grown accustomed to started to crumble and collapse - and I wondered how I could get out of the situation I was in. Suddenly I wanted out.
I'm proud of the fact that I was able to be honest with him - telling him what I'd done, and expressing my fears to him. I'm proud that I didn't hide what I had done and pretend that I had never come across the papers in the first place.
And while perhaps they weren't a big deal - arguably not even to him - it was to me. Because for a little while it felt like he had been hiding from me, and the man that I had grown to love, was in fact a person I knew close to nothing about. So much of his past is a black hole to me and I get scared prying. I need to work on that.
But at least I can look back at myself today and think to myself - I was honest with myself. I was honest to him, I was honest to me, I was honest to the relationship. I didn't hide. And I was willing to take the consequences if it had come out that what I had feared most had come true. I would've played with the cards I'd been dealt with.
Things happen for a reason they say. Fate has a way of catching up with you. If it's meant to be yours, it'll be yours. And for a few moments today I choose to adhere to this philosophy a little closer than I usually do. Because to me, I just proved to myself that I can be a honest person. That I will not hide. That I will not pretend. I will be true.
Dysfunctional Butterfly
Feeling kind've tired and exhausted. Mentally anyway.
Emotionally, I'm all colours of 'blah.'
Today's forecast says:
You feel driven and determined. You are almost manically motivated. You have a point to prove, an obstacle to overcome, a battle to win and a test of strength to triumph under. Is it possible that you could be expending more effort than you need to? Neptune's opposition to your ruler suggests a degree of fantasy or delusion. You are right to think that you can be successful. You are wrong, though, to imagine that your enemies are particularly powerful or that it will take your every last ounce of energy to achieve your desired result.
Home life is bland and dry. Mum doesn't talk to me.
The thing I noticed on holiday was how much I missed my family. There no longer is a family at home. I miss knowing and experiencing their love. It's funny how it's the people that make a family. A family isn't just one, because that's what they are. It's the individuals.
I ponder sometimes on the fact that things have gotten so bad at home. I never in my wildest dreams imagined that I'd be in a situation where my mother writes me off. Where she dismisses me out of hand.
I won't be home for the majority of next week. It's my boyfriend's birthday. And we're moving to our new home on Sunday evening. I get the feeling that mum's going to take it bad.
Looking back there were so many moments when perhaps in hindsight, I realise I should've tried more, harder, or whatever. But right now, in the heat of the moment, I just can't be bothered.
What does it mean when you can't be bothered? I seriously don't see this getting any better. She won't budge. And I can't see myself budging either.
My boyfriend pointed out to me once, that perhaps I've just gotten lost in what she has spent 23 years telling me I should feel, when I can't help the feelings I have.
I never ever imagined that I'd become part and parcel of a dysfunctional family. A family that is a family, and isn't at the same time.
But there it is. And here I am.
Travelling Butterfly
Just got back from my flight. Am at a bit of a loss what to say or do. Mum's not home yet. I'm broke for the next fortnight, and every once in a while I'm still wondering if I picked the right guy to spend the rest of my life with.
I thought that after seven days of seeing each other 24/7 I would get sick of him. Yet for the last three days all I've been saying is, "Can't we stay? I don't really want to go."
Lots of mini worries and concerns. I don't think I really got into the holiday spirit until Friday. By which time, I only had a little while left.
It was funny how easily we slipped in to spending time with each other. It seemed perfectly natural to be with each other constantly.
I'm feeling a little out of it and sleepy. It might be the travel sickness pills. There's just so much that happened this week, that I just want to sit down and rehash it all. Sit there and sift through it all. Yet, I can't be bothered to at the same time.
I'm just all, 'blah.'
I'm downloading all my photos that I took during the week. Sad to say that none of them turned out right - least none with both of us in them. Either he made a funny face, I made a funny face or we both made funny faces. Nothing photoframe worthy. And that's what I was banking on for getting him for his birthday.
Don't really know what else to say or how else to express it.
Feng Shui Butterfly
Where to start? Probably from the beginning of last week huh?
So we decided that we would get the house - but whether or not I move in "full time" are just little details.
And once I let go of the fear that he expected oodles amount of commitment from me, I was able to relax and get excited. So for the last week all that I've been saying is an excited, "we have a home!"
The last two days I have found myself pouring over Feng Shui books. Yes, this is a superstitious little butterfly, who follows her starsign, and is seriously considering buying all manner of crystals, mirrors and windchimes in order to ensure that this house is good for her.
What can I say?
My mother's one of the most superstitious people I know. I've grown up around her telling me where to put my bed, how my room should be placed, and why we can't have certain things in certain places throughout the house. And because often there is no harm in it, I find myself believing. Especially when they are supposed to bring about good fortune.
But see, the more I started reading up, the more I started researching on Feng Shui, the more depressed I got. If I am to believe all that I Ching stuff, the house is more compatible for him than for me. While our bedroom will be in a 'good' spot per se, because there are two doors, potentially (if I read it all correctly) it might well symbolise an ending to our relationship.
There's also potential for our 'passion' area to be lacking, since we can't exactly put our bed along the south wall (because then our bed would be facing the door), and well, yeh.
I'm not too sure about the tree in front of our house, or the fact that the main entrance to our house is to the side, and a little difficult to find. On top of which, you can see the cricket ground's light pole thingy from our back verandah, which if I understand correctly is bad 'sha.'
And then I'm worried that the house door is facing a fence. I have to go back to see if it meets one of the steepled roofs of our next door neighbour. And then there's those two spare rooms - which we I doubt we'll ever use to their full potential, and the fact that our living room has a walkway running through it.
According to all the books I've been reading, I'm supposed to hang crystals, mirrors and windchimes everywhere to compensate. But I asked my boyfriend last night whether he believed in feng shui, and he said no. So how am I going to rationalise hanging a windchime at practically every doorway, not to mention the kitchen? He's going to think I'm nuts.
He's already amusedly pointed out that I'm the 'hippie' of the two, because I play around with astrology, and will make comments like a derisive "she's a capricorn".
But yeh, the more I've been reading the lately, the more I've begun to question how much I should invest in all this feng shui stuff. Sure I've grown up around it all my life, and the idea that I can place my destiny in safe hands and protect myself from harm by having a few trinkets by my side makes me feel somehow more reassured and safe, but at the same time - what happens when I get told that the house we chose isn't the right one for me, and that potentially it could be bad for both of us? Relationship wise anyway?
I was tempted as I was reading at one stage to simply invest in a consultant. But I don't think my boyfriend will tolerate that. Hell, it's going to be bad enough making my own impact on that house without him making derisive comments. He's going to have to indulge me.
I sound like an insane woman don't I? I hate sometimes that I'm so superstitious. I'm tempted to just let it all go, and just enjoy my time in that house. But then the worrying thoughts creep in - what if I had a chance to save this, had all the tools, but was just too scared to do anything about it? Had the cure, but didn't use it? At the same time, do I really want to be a slave to feng shui?
I find that my approach to feng shui is probably the same approach I take to all my 'new age' type beliefs. I believe half heartedly in astrology. If I read something that's truly depressing or I don't want to hear about, I block it out. If I am to believe all that stuff I read about palmistry, then this boyfriend who I think the world of and am totally crazy about - isn't going to be my last. In fact, he'll be the first of four major relationships, the last of which I'm supposed to meet around my thirties I'd say. So I'm not supposed to be destined to marry him.
But how can that be? Who says that is my future, when at this current moment, I seriously feel like I could spend my entire life with him? He is mine, as much as I am his. He fills a void in my life, makes me feel loved. Or perhaps is he just compensating for my father? Is this the right way to go about it? But then there's that argument that we all look for traits in our partners that echo our parents. They fill in the parts of ourselves that are lacking. Their job is to fulfill and enrich our lives. And after they have cured our 'disease' of sorts, is when 'true love' comes into play - the decision to stay with this person after he has cured you - that is 'true love.'
I'm going away for a week on holiday. We're going up to the tropics. Sunshine and a little warmer weather than what I've been experiencing lately. One whole week with only him. And then the following week, we're going to move into our new home.
It's getting close to 9, and I still have so much to do.
Maybe I'll get to some kind of solution with the whole feng shui thing. By the end of today I was just about sick of it all, and ready to throw in the towel. I mean, who cares? If it's meant to be, it's meant to be. But then again - given the ability and chance to enhance my life - I'd be stupid not to, wouldn't I?
Do you believe in feng shui - and all those things that are supposed to enrich our lives?
Housing Butterfly
The world certainly changes fast. Mine has tipped topsy turvy in less than 3 days. After six months it looks like I'll be moving in with the boyfriend. We discussed it last night, worked out a budget of sorts. And while today wasn't the first time we'd gone house-hunting together, (it was the second) =P we/he/I never imagined to find a place.
I'll be honest in saying I wasn't even prepared to look at the place properly. All I register is being faced with hallway that opend out into a warren of rooms after walking into the front door, freshly painted trimming, a front bedroom with a window seat, a smaller room off to the side, a walk through room, a fake fireplace and a pretty much newly renovated kitchen. The place is big. At least to my standards of two people, one of whom has old tacky furniture, the other who you could arguably say has no furniture at all.
The place just looks so much like a 'family' home. Like a place you'd expect your grandparents to live in and have little kids running around. Or maybe a couple with a child. Not a place for a couple. And certainly not a place for a couple like us.
We saw three places today, and the one we saw last was the one we both agreed on. Fruit trees in the backyard, a verandah full of sunshine in the afternoon (if I remember correctly) and stained glass windows.
OMG. It's actually starting to sink in.
Mum was fairly mellow. Only said to me in a strange tone, "I didn't expect you to come home at all" and I again seem to want to automatically fall back into daughter mode. I tried to be enigmatic and say to her, home is home, and I will always come home, even if I don't live here, or whatever. But I don't think she heard me.
Sitting quietly in the car trying to deal with it all, I suddenly felt like my entire world had turned upside down like one of those tourist balls you can buy. You know, those snow balls, where you tip it over, and then tip it back again so that all the white stuff goes everywhere.
One minute I'm arguing with my mother, next minute I'm making semi-concrete plans to move in with the boyfriend within the next three months, and then suddenly we're on the verge of renting a place.
But my boyfriend did point out that it's not all set in stone. That the landlord might not even like us. That they might not like it that we can't move in straight away, because we need time to get our affairs straight. You know, money, and me getting myself sorted. So who knows, by saying yes, it might well mean that we won't get it. And I'll take that as a sign any day. In fact, I want to place my bets on that. At least that way, I get first hand experience at how to deal with the idea of moving out.
I'm looking around at all the stuff in my room, and the things that I'll want to take with me. Do I want to take furniture? A wardrobe? A bookshelf? A quilt? Blankets? Books? That lamp, my stereo, the notice board, all the desky things. What about my filing cabinet full of uni stuff? My thesis notes, all my uni books, my photos.
What does one take with them when they move out anyway?
The only thing I know for certain is I take my computer, my cd player, and my clothes. They're all givens. Most of my cd collection is at work anyway - the disks themselves, if not the cases.
Moving out with the boyfriend? In a house that looks more like a 'real' house. If we get this place, I'll get the master bedroom as my 'study' with its window seat and walk out to the front verandah. I've always wanted a window seat. I can't remember if there were inbuilt wardrobes or not. Like I said, I wasn't really paying thorough attention. I was too busy noticing that the place seemed a bit big. But it's a real house - which was I wanted. A place with doors. With rooms. No half-assed 'open living plan' that meant every corner you turned you saw the other person.
We saw a place near the CBD that basically had two levels, open, that was essentially hewn out of the rock. He loved it. Thought it was quirky. I was more concerned with the fact that I'd have no privacy. It was either the bedroom or the living area. What about 'me' time? Sure a laptop means you can use it anywhere, but that doesn't mean I *have* to use it everywhere. And you'd get so sick of the place. Round and around and around. You, me, you, me. No place to go, no room to hide.
The second one we saw I liked. Except that the backyard wasn't really a backyard and that wasn't feasible for his dog. And I'll admit, I wasn't too sure about the neighbours. But the place overlooked a park. And the bedroom had a gable roof, with the window and stuff. Which I thought was really nifty.
And then this was, the third. After seeing the first two, I began to appreciate why people loved harbour views. So I wasn't 100% sure if I wanted to live in the inner suburbs. But there we were, and while it might not be 100% perfect, it sure does look like a 'home' home. I can see us curling on a couch in the living room, watching television at night before retiring. While I'd love for the master bedroom to be that - the master bedroom, he's all 'it's too noisy'. And I shouldn't really complain. I get a big room to do my own stuff in - yaay.
But that means that the bedroom becomes the smaller room. Which might be a bit tight. We could fill that place up with so much lovely stuff. "Build our futures together" as he put it. Buy things that were 'ours.'
I'm hoping.
I'm also a superstitious little thing. What if it's bad feng shui? =P ha! Mum used to tell me all these things about it, and having a little insurance invested in something like that isn't necessarily a bad thing if things are going well. But I'd be responsible for making the place good.
Maybe I'll be lucky and the landlord will say no to the negotiations. He's doing it as a private lease, anyway.
It's just that my boyfriend insists that it's a great deal.
"Places like that, at a price like that don't come often, do they?"
"No, they're very rare. I wouldn't be so eager if I didn't think it was perfect."
Moving out of home after 23 years to go straight into a house with a boyfriend I've only gone out with for 6 months. Tell me, is it too fast? I think it is. So much has happened since we started going out. But he insists that it's not fast. He believes it's fate that we found this place so soon. You know, the cliche that things only come when you're not seriously looking for them.
And we weren't really. I kept on repeating to him last night and this morning how scared I was at all this change. And I think that he kinda hoped it'd take a while for us to find a place that we both agreed upon, let alone put together the rent and such.
But here we are. He's going to ring the guy tomorrow. Hopefully we'll get the place, and hopefully not.
I'm going to leave this one up to fate and the stars and such. If this guy let's us negotiate it out, then this is the way it goes. If not, I'm fine with that too.
Deep breath now...
Defeatist Butterfly
I feel compelled to write if only to acknowledge change in my life. I don’t know what this means. I no longer harbour enough angst or troubles to blog about this passionately. I get a bad feeling that we are on the verge of another argument.
Last night’s arguments had all been made before. I hate mercury retrogrades.
All I wanted to do this morning was run. To leave, to escape, to get out.
It’s obvious that I’ve hurt her by letting her know that I don’t want her to care about me. My boyfriend will never understand my culture, and no matter how hard I try, I don’t believe I will be able to explain it to him properly. On top of which, well, I don’t know.
I’m sitting here at work, my eyes gritty and tired from crying all night and morning. I think I only had about five hours of sleep, if even that. I stared out the window this morning and watched the stations pass by. Granville, Lidcombe, Strathfield, Ashfield, Redfern, barely registering them.
And suddenly I’m at work. I’ve spent the morning clearing my desk of all the papers that have occupied it for the last few weeks. Scrubbed it down with alcohol because the desk cleaner’s disappeared.
I’m just sitting here at work waiting for the day to end.
Y’know, I’ve never been in an argument where I’ve felt completely useless. No matter what I said it was thrown back at me in all the wrong contexts. Every word I ever uttered in sarcasm, anger, hurt or whatnot, all came back at me like they were serious accusations. And suddenly I felt so defeated. So useless. I’d lost my thread of argument. I’m lost. I don’t know where to go anymore.
I don’t think I’m numb, but that’s the only word that comes to mind. No matter how much I sleep, I can’t sleep this one away. I think I will move out. I’m waiting for my cousin to get back to me. I emailed her this morning for advice. If she is in agreeance, then I will move out, for good. My mother hates me. She hates that she loves me. She’s a sick, twisted, bitter woman who’s had her security blanket torn from under her.
She’s about ready to disown me altogether. She threatened to burn the rest of my letters and photos, the cards and all the things I ever made for her to spite me. There’s no getting through to her. She is lost to me. And in a way, I am lost to her.
“[your mother’s] a bad influence on you.”
No, going home is never a good thing for me.
I’ve been accused of as a selfish child, a wilful teenager. An immature adult. What else is left? Where else do I go? I have to step into the mouth of the lion’s den. Not out of choice, but out of no other reprieve. I feel so defeated.
There is no connection between us. I don’t think there ever really was. Not a real one. A tenuous one at best. And most of it was her deceiving herself that I loved her half as much as she loved me. And I hate that this is the case. But the more I think about it, the more I thought about it all those years, the more I realise that it is most likely true. I don’t love her – not really. She’s just always been my mother. No more, no less. And I think in a way I despised her. I’m so tempted to ring my father up and ask him why he left her. If she pushed him away. If there was more to it than the fact that he fell for another woman. If there was a moment in time when he realised he no longer wanted her, and why that came about. Mum has never been high on my list. I’ve only ever found her annoying. Found her a pathetic little creature that clings to others for sustenance. I think I watched her go through their divorce with dispassionate eyes. And while she did fight for certain things, the fact that she clung to us, and put so much responsibility on me, I think I resented it. I wanted my freedom to do as I choose. And suddenly I was thrown into a situation where I was required to act a certain way. I guess in a way I never got the chance to explore and really ask myself what I wanted out of life, and given the opportunity to experiment.
There are still moments when I can’t bear to leave family, but those times are coming far and few in between. It’s getting to the point where there’s nothing at home to offer me. The mother daughter relationship has deteriorated to the point where all we talk about is money. It’s my last remaining connection with her. This is it my friends, this is it.
He will never understand.
Needing Butterfly
I've forgotten what it's like to live at home. And I'm chickening out by spending the next two nights with him, followed by working on Saturday night. So I won't see family until Sunday.
Not that it matters anyway.
We are three people who just happen to live under one roof. My brother and I still talk to each other, but my mother and I are just like two ships passing in the night.
We can sit in silence for hours on end. Well, not hours. But you get the idea.
I had so much to blog about but now I'm too tired. Have to wake up early tomorrow. One of our managers is getting fired and the CEO is having a staff meeting with us tomorrow to inform us of the structural changes to the company. Yippee!
You know, I can't even tell if I'm trying to escape anymore.
I just need my boyfriend, because sometimes it feels like he's the only one that needs me.
Baulking Butterfly
I'm tired. I'm unmotivated.
But even more importantly - I don't want to go home.
It's my brother's 18th birthday tonight, and I'm dreading it. I've never been in a situation where I've dreaded going to a family celebration. But suddenly it seems much easier to just stay with the boyfriend.
Mum was in one of her childish moods last night when I went home after spending the weekend with my boyfriend.
When she drives me to work in the morning, there's nothing to say. No talk, no chit chat. I had to find out all the birthday plans from my brother. I just suddenly don't want to go. And if this continues, I may well move out, because it will seem stupid to stay there. But as I watched my mother's back as she walked out of the living room last night I found me reminding myself to wait it out. "It takes time." Or so my cousin once said to me.
I think I finally made the decision on the weekend, that I will in fact, move in with my boyfriend sometime next year.
I don't know if it's the smartest decision I could make. I don't know if I'm truly ready for it. But waking up in a sunlit room with white walls in a bed with white sheets and a warm quilt, I could suddenly picture waking up every morning like that. And it felt nice. I think he was pleasantly surprised at me mentioning wanting to move in with him.
Is it just me being scared and wanting to run away again? Or was it a genuine desire to be with him every morning like that? Because I've never felt that feeling before. Not at his place, at his previous place, or even when we went on a short trip to the vineyards. It was just Sunday morning.
I don't want to go home.
Grouchy Butterfly
I feel very irritable this afternoon. Not totally with it perhaps. The usual 3’o clock lull where you sit there staring at your screen and think to yourself, “I don’t want to be here. I’m feeling sleepy and unmotivated.”
Work it seems is yet again a chore.
Maybe I’m feeling so because I have to go home tonight.
Let’s fill up the rest of this post with random thoughts:
- It’s my brother’s birthday tomorrow.
- I did my budget for the last month and I overdrew 500 dollars. Which means I’m broke. We’re going on a tropical holiday in less than 2 weeks and I’ll be broke for the entire trip. Oh what fun. And I’ll probably overdraw this month also.
- This weekend was one of the best I’ve spent with him.
- I’ve discovered that I get very cogent and coherent after a glass of potent red wine. I can hold complex arguments and my sentences run together like a bubbling brook. Funny that I need alcohol to unhinge my debate skills.
- Only me and my boyfriend would talk about stonemason symbols and their origin during a Roots concert. Only we would spend an evening debating about the social impact of 1950s science fiction over a portugese dinner and a bottle of sweet red shiraz.
- I still don’t feel any better about myself. I hate it when I give away stupid lines and open myself up to someone. If I had it my way I would always pretend to be blasé. But unfortunately when the object of my blasé attitudes is also the object of my affection, well, the blasé falls to the wayside.
I’m all pent up this afternoon. And while I kind’ve know why, it doesn’t make me feel better by any means or comparison.
Damn.
Light Butterfly
I read my horoscope on the weekend, and didn’t believe a word of it. It’s funny how I no longer take horoscopes printed in newspapers seriously. But I’ll still religiously check stars.metwawire.com for my daily forecast fix.
Anyhow, according to the paper by the end of the week things on the workfront will look up, and I have a chance to get a new job opportunity or some such. I scoffed and moved on.
Except that this morning my boss – the one responsible for all the pain I suffered last week will be leaving the company this Friday. Imagine my elated joy.
I suddenly feel like a huge boulder has been lifted off my shoulders. Whereas previously it was my boyfriend who was keeping it from suffocating me, this morning, the boulder has officially lifted.
He also informed me that he had let our previous boss know of my predicament and that most likely it had something to do with the dismissal. He argued that it may well have played a part. And when I pointed out that I wasn’t important enough, he said to me:
“you're well liked by a lot of people baby.
I told you that.
It wouldn't have been all of it, but it may have been part of it”
“you’re well liked by a lot of people” - who’da thunk it. After all that pain, somehow or other I managed to make decent enough contacts to matter. He was reassuring me last week that I was a good person, a nice person. It’s funny though, the things he emphasizes. Like the fact that I’m human and have feelings is a good thing.
In one of those sweet caressing tones:
“You’re a tender little thing, aren’t you?”
I think part of the reason why I feel so relieved and whatnot is also because I never realised the friends I made at work. I suddenly feel a lot more empowered.
I think he pointed out that the office politics going on had to do with the fact that perhaps my boss’s motives were frowned upon. i.e. attacking me was just a way of getting to my boyfriend. Had we not been going out I would have been perfectly safe.
Yet no matter my slight bitterness at having to go through what I did, I don’t believe I’ll ever regret going out with him.
Funny how things work out.
I also find it interesting how my mood swings. When I’m down, annoyed, depressed or whatever, all I want is out. Don’t want his love, don’t want his attention, don’t want his affection. I blame him for all my troubles and hate that I feel trapped. But when I’m happy everything’s great, and I’m thrilled to be with him. The words ‘I love you’ seem to continually pour out of my consciousness and I can imagine being with him always. The world becomes a little clearer, and all I feel is safety and warmth. Like an imaginary blanket is being wrapped around me.
We’re house-sitting this week, and staying at their house, in a different environment, with white walls and spacious clean rooms, suddenly I could picture the rest of my life with him. And suddenly I found myself bringing up the topic about moving in with him.
Y’know there are moments when I wonder whether I should blog in the first place. Whether it does me any good at all, or if it’s just a narcisstic experiment. But I also find that I become unfocused unless I write things out. Writing focuses my troubles and provides an outlet for me. A place to air out my troubles, put them in a little box to put away in order to do other things. Blogging it seems, puts my house in order.
