Ups and downs of a waddling duck: Our Book.

Ups and downs of a waddling duck: Our Book.

Our Book.

Those of you who know me, or have read sufficient of my posts, will understand that writing, for me, is deeply therapeutic.  These last few weeks have been extremely difficult and yet I have felt unable to document my feelings for fear of reprisal from those who perhaps consider that I have brought my misfortune upon myself.  I hope that anyone sharing that opinion will halt right here and exit without comment.

For my friends, family, followers and those just comforted by truthful accounts of life, I hope that sharing my sadness can help you somehow in your own situations.

So, after seventeen and a half years of being together, the last five of which have been post Brain Injury, I have called time on our marriage.  It was not an easy decision to come to.  How could it ever be except in the most extreme of circumstances?  but for me at least I feel it is the right path to follow.  Not the path some would have chosen, but here, right now, in my shoes, with my history, my weaknesses, my imperfections and my limitations, it is the path I need to travel.

I am, understandably, highly distressed that it is ended.  I feel bereaved in many ways.  The person who has shared my thoughts, dreams, love, longings, anger, sorrow, passion and pain, is gone.  I hope not out of my life entirely but his role in my story has changed and that hurts deeply.  In truth, the man who I married left five years ago, and whilst the new version is wonderful  in many ways, the pressure and strain of the last five years have taken their toll.

What saddens me, more than anything, has been the attitude of others.  For some reason people feel a need to take a side .  I guess for many people the concept of change is terrifying and perhaps needing to blame one party is understandable.  Life is much easier to bear if we can convince ourselves relationships fail only when someone does something terrible or brings about their own destruction.  Accepting that sometimes fate deals a bad hand, that can result in overloading and collapse - well if we accept that, we also have to accept (frighteningly) that we may be next.

Am I excusing my own failure?  perhaps.

Going back to the title of this entry though - the book.  I recently tried to explain to Chris that in my opinion marital relationships can be more easily understood if we liken them to being as a novel.   Some people manage to create epics - hearty volumes which fill the pages and go down in history as being inspirational and something to aspire to.  Just as the literary greats make it on to lists of 100 must reads, these marriages, by being the exception rather than the rule, stand out.  The marital equivalents to Tolstoy's War and Peace - how apt.  My relationship had it managed to survive much longer would have be entitled War, War, more War and finally Armageddon.

These 'books' come in all manner of genres....there are romances, tragedies, mysteries, comedies - more often than not the genres merge throughout confusing both the characters involved within, and those who look on  from the outside.  No two novels are ever the same.....some mirror others at times but essentially the style of writing, the intensity, the depiction can never be identical.  This is why it is painful when others try to compare- to determine whose book is more favourable......and who is the villain in each.

Some believe that a book must never end......that even if the pages are blank, or filled with drivel,  meaningless nonsense or painful tales they must continue until an epic has been created.....not understanding that the length of a book is not the determining factor for greatness, rather the content and the way it enables others to feel as they read.

I would imagine as an author, part of the talent of creating is also  knowing when enough has been written; when to add more would simply spoil what already exists.

As a book lover myself It upsets me when I feel I need to let go of my books, for want of space usually.  Regardless of whether they are here on my shelves though or deep in my mind I will always treasure the reading experience that a great book has provided.  It would be ludicrous to think that once I am finished I would destroy the book out of contempt,  simply because it is over.  That is no way to treat something which once gave you such pleasure.

This is one of my greatest sadness's.  That at the end of so many years, so much metaphorical writing, I feel we are encouraged to view our stories with disdain.....to try to forget them altogether, to learn to dislike the tale, to disregard rather than cherish the memory of it.  I have read hundreds and hundreds of books in my life and I can safely say that to appreciate a great story I do not need to remove or lower  my admiration of any other great book.  Each is entirely different and able to be appreciated in it's own way.  They cannot always be compared and to love one does not mean you cannot have loved another before it.

Of all the sadness that exists in divorcing this is the saddest part.  The thought that one day, the person who once meant your whole world, whom you have created new life with, is no longer there.  That the aspirations you both had have fallen by the wayside and now it would seem, or so people say, that there is no room for even a friendship to exist.  I struggle with this.  Relationships fail, for a multitude of reasons; infidelity, intolerance, lack of respect,  selfishness, aggression, arrogance - many reasons why couples lose faith in one another - many human frailties which we all share.

Ultimately no-one can judge.  And when it comes to understanding why I am ending our tale,  the crux of it, for me, is simply this.....that the book Chris and I have written has become so sad I do not wish my children to grow up believing that this is what a story should be.   They deserve better than to watch as two people destroy each other in the name of love. 

I hope my friends that you can understand.....but more importantly that whatever chapter you find yourself in right now it is a happy one. x x

The Reading Festival.

Not to be confused with a sophisticated celebration of the literary arts ......where boden clothed women and blazer clad men discuss the merits of Tolstoy, Austen, Woolf, Orwell and Shakespeare.  THE READING FESTIVAL is a celebration of musical talent, INCREDIBLE talent yet marred by the presence in the audience of the largest chav conglomeration I have ever seen in one place.  Not wishing to appear all aged and unhip, yet probably about to do precisely that,  I felt my experience of the event was tainted by the witnessing of children (technically adults but in my minds eye far from that) attired in what can only be described as threads of fabric......girls in denim shorts cut so high and tight  that I considered it necessary to provide free samples of Canestan and topless boys routinely whipping out their tackle in what I can only assume was an attempt to impress but which inspired in me only my gag reflex.

And then there were the toilets.  These, I believe were indicative of the problems in the world today.  When I was younger, attending various festivals, I distinctly remember there being an unspoken comprehension that the boys toilets were naturally foul but the girls at least had the decency and decorum to wipe, flush and clean as necessary.  You just knew that in the ladies you would be greeted by fresh loo roll, pleasant smells and a dry toilet seat.  Somehow over the last 20 years though girls have ceased being female and have joined the men in becoming neanderthol animalistic dirt bags.  We saw toilet seats smeared with faeces, used tampons discarded on the floor, urine in the sinks and women doing stuff in cubicles which should only be saved for the most intimate venues.  It occured to me that I would prefer my daughters to come home and confess to murder rather than turn in to one of these cretinous creatures.  When did we girls get so equal we turned in to men?

And furthermore the litter.....my mother raised me never to ditch my rubbish anywhere other than a bin, so I have to admit to feeling traumatised at the sight of 90,000 people discarding their waste wherever the fancy took them.  There were moments when the urge to scoop it all up was overwhelming and I almost donned a high viz vest grabbed a roll of black bags and started my one woman mission to preach the 'bin it' message.   In the end I abandoned my urges and satisfied myself with fantasies of public executions for the main culprits. 

Aside from the general debauchery, drug taking, nudity, foul language, moronic behaviour, crass speaking and filthy personal hygiene, I did witness some of the most incredible musical talent I have ever seen.  I was moved to tears on a few occasions and really did feel that the perfect life for me would be one where materialism was done with and music reigned free. 

Also one where anyone with an IQ less than 100 is automatically euthanised.

To have and have not.

Everyone, everywhere, this month must have been tuned in to the phenomenon which was the Olympics.  I must confess that I barely watched any of the events....timewise my life is constrained to mere snippets of freedom and, quite honestly, I didn't choose to spend the few seconds I have to myself watching supremely honed women powering along race tracks confirming both how inadequate my life has been and how doughy my thighs are.   I did however see some snapshots and was duly inspired.  And so it is that I have mentally committed to complete a Marathon in May next year (when I say complete this would include being unconscious in the rear of an ambulance for the last ten miles).  Realistically  I understant that I shall never achieve the svelte muscular configuration that these Olympian girls display, but then I doubt their inverted breasts and twelve packs would harbour a healthy baby either.  And I have had four  (Physically healthy but mentally questionable).  The fact that I was doughy before motherhood is, naturally, irrelevant.

So yes, I am going to sign up for the Edinburgh Marathon in May next year.  (Any criminals reading - this  means that our house is easy pickings over that weekend.  The down side being there are very few items of any significant value to be had but feel free to help yourself to a Hot Cross Bun from the freezer as we are desperate to use them up ).

Returning to the title of this epistle.  Having or having not.  Lately life is a real muddle.  I say muddle rather than mess as mess would insinuate something which I am dissatisfied with.  I'm not.  I have come to understand over the last few years that perspective is essentially what predicates our happiness and my expectation of events is realistic at best;  pessimistic more probably.  Nothing....and I really do mean NOTHING surprises or shocks me anymore and I have accepted that I am about as in control of events as I was of the car when trying to race my brother's scalextric at the age of 7.  Sometimes events just have a mind of their own.

What I feel acutely aware of today is.... well  three things.

Firstly, that I belong somewhere other than where I am - attempting to blend in with the myriads of similarly aged folk, aspiring for material greatness and career satisfaction.   I want to join a commune, where ideals are mutually appreciated, music is beloved, resources are pooled (along with a few other things which I can't mention on here for fear my in laws will denounce me) and deep/alternative thinking is welcomed.

Secondly, that I want a facility to eradicate prior error.   Not just to alieviate guilt, but because, as far as I can see, most relationships struggle because parties cannot let go of the past and thus move forward.   I watched a film many years ago (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind) and felt total appreciation of the Directors insight into relationships.  The concept is simple....if we could meet our current partner, freshly, with no recollection of past mistakes, we would fall in love with them once again.  In reality love is tainted by recollection of fault.  Sad but true.

And thirdly......that we all focus far too much on the have nots than the haves.  When was the last time you looked at your life and felt satisfied listing all the wonderful attributes it holds?  If you are anything like me then probably not very recently.  Here's where I go all Jerry Springer-like - if only we could all, as human beings, look at the blessings/positives in our lives and ignore the negatives we would find ourselves in a most contented place.

I have laundry to do = I have clothes.  I am overweight = I have food.  I have marital differences = I have a husband.  My husband is always at work = we have an income.  My children are a nightmare = I have children, who are alive and well and healthily rebelling!  I have a messy house = I have a home.  You get the idea.  And it IS cheesy, and trite and all things we hate.  But more importantly it is true.

We all need to start looking at the haves.  Ignoring the have nots.  And finally finding the key to satisfaction.

Amen.  

Everybody.................

It's not often lately that I have the time, urge or inclination to post here but this morning the desire hit me like a wave of nausea and I feel an urgency to spew forth my emotional vomit in this metaphorical sick bowl, so to speak.  I have said it before but writing, for me, provides a catharsis which thinking alone does not.  

On the way in to work I saw several young people, school aged, coupled to their partners, holding hands, smiling adoringly and generally looking like the cares of the world were most certainly no-where near their developing shoulders.  It made me nostalgic for the days when a certain smile or look  from a boy could literally send me heaven bound and being "asked out" by my latest crush felt better then than I imagine winning the lottery would now.  Such simplicity.  I then compared this 'phase' to  it's spectral opposite - a married couple at work, not employees but rather residents, in their twilight days who have moved in together and occupy the rooms across from one another.  Married for something like 57 years, they greet with a kiss each morning, hold hands at the dinner table and speak to one another with such loving concern that my heart skips a beat each time I hear it.  And I wonder, how do we get to that.

I know all marriage is flawed and there is no such thing as perfection.  However it troubles me that perhaps these couples who manage to navigate through the treacherous landscape of coupledom are somehow gifted in a way that others are not.  Have they too had to bridge the many craters created by such impacts as infidelity, illness, financial strain, depression, absence etc.  Are they super beings who have overcome in a way that others can't, or is it simply that they were blessed in a way others aren't?

I haven't got the answer of course, but I can't help thinking it may boil down to one essential element.  Respect.  A small word but with a whole plethora of ramifications if it is missing.

I also wonder whether a huge part may be expectation - a subject I have mentioned before, but which is such a fundamental element of happiness it deserves further comment.  Something occured to me yesterday (not often that I have epiphanic moments but there it was).   I was putting my make up on (never pleasant because it involves looking at oneself in the mirror for several minutes at a time which invariably leads to self hatred and mockery) anyway I realised that when I look at myself and feel negativity it is usually because in my minds eye I have someone else's face I am comparing it to..... not another naked-hyper-pigmented-had four-children-and-lots-of-stress-battered face, but rather a beautifully decorated, photo-shopped, ten years younger than mine face.  This is not a fair comparison and will inevitably lead to much depression and eating of cake.  In the same way I feel I compare (you compare, maybe we all compare)our relationships to those that we see around us.  What we fail to recongnise always is that these are the "made up" versions.   The real marriage is kept safely behind closed doors.

This isn't a new concept.  I am constantly reminding myself to be realistic and completely understand that what we see of others is never the genuine article.  Furthermore comparisons are futile.  Someone has to come off as the lower party and being on either side of that equation is unpleasant.  

So it's not a new idea or epiphany - more a gentle reminder to myself.  Be grateful, have respect, try not to compare and probably most importantly be forgiving - to myself as well.  

I have a dream

Actually I don't - I just thought as it is Martin's birthday I should pay him some respect.  Personally I do not dream as he did...he had a vision, of a united people sharing mutual respect and harmony.  Perhaps if he had spent a Friday in December 2011 queueing in Asda at peak time he would realise that the prospect of a united people was delusional. In fact an afternoon in the Ford household would also prove his theory wild.  Harmony between most human beings is unfeasible.

Just today I was driving home, along my usual route; and for some reason - probably my lack of concentration whilst fantasising about a lottery win and a full body massage from Eddie Iz, I was slightly inattentive and being a bit of a 'woman' driver.  Hence at a mini roundabout I failed to indicate my intention to turn.  As I completed this manoeuvre I noticed the driver of the car to my left (his responsibility to give way to me)  gesturing, shouting and pulling faces displaying his venomous intent (OK so I don't actually know that's how bad he was feeling but allow me some poetic licence).  He looked so angry I couldn't help but laugh -because somehow in this crazy world people have become internally wound so tight that the slightest inconvenience, mistake or mishap catapults them in to a violent rage.  It isn't amusing of course, I realise this but it is comical.

I nearly entitled my article 'the beast within' - that wouldn't be relevant to MLK's birthday though so  could make me appear less cultured.  There is a beast within all of us (in my humble opinion) - whether it be rage or some other vice, it is definitely there...nesting and waiting to erupt at the moment it's development is complete.  Sometimes I feel my own beast growing -  when I contact British Gas or British Telecom (note the pattern....British) about a service complaint and I am passed from department to department, to Newcastle to Dublin, to Deli and back to the UK only to be told that the 'computer is down' and I will need to try again at a later time.  It makes me feel murderous.  I fantasise about stamping my feet on the inadequate heads of all those who have failed to resolve my issue and whose English lacks the necessary level of comprehension requisite for the task.  I wonder if I am becoming a racist....a closet Nazi opposed to the nations of call centre operatives who answer the phones but fail to answer the problem.  And I wonder is it really a surprise when people flip. 

I'm not surprised.  Not that I am planning to flip myself, but I totally get the mentality of having had enough. Perspective is hard to maintain and occasionally people lose sight of the end game. 

I'm glad Martin Luther had a dream.  I'm glad he managed to set in motion the resolution of a huge social injustice, but I wonder what would people like him make of the world today.  I have no doubt he envisioned something far more beautiful than it has become. 

Personally, I dream of a world with no automated call services, where sentences such as "you are currently in a queue and will be answered as soon as the next operative is available"  are banned and where chocolate is completely calorie free.

Am I asking too much?

My Pink Perspective.

This is not to be confused with a 'Rosy Perspective'.  Those of you who know me understand my perspective is far from Rosy....as remote a prospect in my life as a Saharan Oasis.  Positivity just isn't in me.  No, this story involves stinking clothes a washing machine and a spot of nostalgia. 

On Tuesday I was doing the laundry.  In my house this is no minor task.  Practically every other day I sit there on my kitchen floor with piles of filthy, smelly clothing all around me and contemplate how wonderful it would be to have a maid.  I'm sure i'm not alone in this thought, considering how much easier life would be if someone could come and help with the daily monotonous chores.  I would easily sacrifice electricity, modern plumbing and the female vote for the prospect of rewinding time and returning to a day of Nannies and slave labour.  Anyway this particular morning I decided to put in a pink load.  Not colours, not darks, not whites, but pinks.  This is a load peculiar to those of us who have girls and more specifically to those who have more than one daughter.  I digress.  As I was loading the machine and bewailing my miserable lot in life.....work, clean, cook, referee the boys, work a little more, clean a little more, iron, wash, work again, clean...blah blah blah, I remembered a distinct moment in my previous life.  Just after Charlotte was born, when I put in a 'pink' load....pink babygrows, pink dresses, pink knickers, pink booties, pink blankets....and how I cried, yes sobbed, because finally I had my girl.

Yet just a few years later that same pink load was causing me grief and resentment.

And it occured to me that life isn't the thing that has changed....it is me, or rather my outlook.  What I once saw as a privelidge and a blessing has gradually become a burden and a chore.  It's still the same pink clothes entering that machine, only now I have begun to take for granted these little females I so longed for and thus forget to stop and see the wonder and joy of them being here.

So to go a bit Jerry-Springer-like, I had one of those Epiphanic moments, realising that the main issue with mine, yours and probably many people's lives is we lack the perspective we used to own, when the brighter times were here.  I've said it before (as did Ronan) and I'll say it again, life is a roller coaster...the carriage doesn't change, the harness stays in place and the tracks are solid but the view is forever altering.  Sometimes I feel I shall be glad simply to get to the end and remain still for a while, but in the meantime I really have got to learn to enjoy the ride.