Friday 30 July 2010

The self help fascism

So I got this book out of the library about CBT I think it's called, and how you are meant to conduct a relationship.
Liked some of it, but kept thinking: why wasn't I given this on my wedding day??
Why doesn't anyone make sure you know this stuff?
It's all pretty clear and simple and seems pretty much idiot proof.
F'r instance.
How to talk, how not to row, how to get what you want said to be listened to, how to arrive at solving problems in the bedroom.
Example: If he wants more sex than you, have a set night for sex and try and stick to it.
eg once a week on a Friday. The argument that it 'takes away the spontaneity' is answered by saying : There isn't spontaneity anyway, as always it's one who has to initiate the sex when you think about it. And it takes away the arguments and tension, knowing it's going to happen and getting your head ready for it, kind of thing. It's a nice compromise.
I wonder IF we had read this goddamn book would we be going through this nightmare, with all the associated legal bills and sons upset and all that schtick.
Other idea: Set aside ten minutes or 30 minutes talking time a day or week, in which items are discussed and 'actioned' eg I want you to clean the toilet , and him: I want you to suggest positions in bed, or whatever.
This is the model for all meetings so why expect marriages to be somehow magically and telepathically charmed in a silent and intuitive pas de deux?
He did cite 'lack of communication' for the reason our marriage went down the pan, but ..who was making that not happen? Both of us, in fact. But I DID try, and ..oh well. Then the book goes into how divorce should be avoided as much as humanly possible as it like bereavement only worse and has all these associated health problems ..eeekkk!
WHY did no one tell us this?
Everyone tells us to get divorced, give up, split up , start over- but secretly everyone knows it's at least TWO years of misery, grief, anger, regrets, loneliness, angst, nostalgia, self loathing, more anger, sickness, nausea, insomnia, panic attacks! And that's even for those of us who KNEW it was the right thing to do! Never mind the financial cost and the effect on the kids. Aaargh. AND men seem to have the full range of ages available to choose from but who wants a tired old divorcee in her 50s with a fat arse and two teenagers? Oh dearie dearie me.

Friday 16 July 2010

Hitting a wall

Had a feeling today like in a marathon ( presumably, not that I've ever run one in fact) when you 'hit the wall'. This feels like not so much 'going backwards' as 'stuck' and unable to do this 'moving on' lark that's much advocated.
Feeling huge anger today as well, mostly against the Ghit and his chav nympho obviously, but also more general malaise for the wide world at large.
Sense of unfairness and why can't I have all this hedonistic pleasure that the rest of the bluddy population seem to have in shedloads.
Decided ( again) that sex is vastly over rated and also..eeep..getting naked, and looking at the other bod, also naked? Eeep and ewwww.
Have to shift to plan B.

Wednesday 14 July 2010

The bucket

Salad bowl
=huge tupperware cake container, which occasioned much and many stares and offensive comments today in the staffroom, involving me sat on a low comfy chair with a queue of folk sneering, staring in my 'bucket' and really making really annoying comments, such as
'What's all that in there? What are you eating? Why have you got such a big one?'
and other punch-able remarks.
I told them to sling their hooks, but oddly they were unfazed by my truculence.

Tuesday 13 July 2010

The eggplantinspace

If you actually wrote that article about 'Star Wars' I am humbled by your wondrousness. If not, I am still humbled by whoever *did* write it.
Anybody reading this blog should instantly click on 'eggplantinspace' and 'Love or Hate Movies'.
Got me to thinking ..there are those 'love or hate' aka 'Marmite' things in life, be it The Royle Family, Simon Pegg, The Beatles, or Jazz! To answer anybody wondering:- Hate,love,hate, hate.
I also LOVE Bill Bryson, Shakespeare, hedgehogs, Ireland, and canal holidays.
Hate: chewing gum, smokers, little yappy dogs, overtakers, The Godfather films and football.
I rather think I hate more things than I like.
This can't be good, can it?
Memories and images I can't get out of my head:
the little figure in the pond in 'Don't look now'.

Saturday 10 July 2010

My mum and the stopper

Well today's happenstance is twofold; firstly Mum and the prolapse and secondly Himself (El Ghitt) and the stalling of the financial 'reveal' by demanding he sees mine before I see his, all this via expensive solicitor emails. I would LOL as he knows only too well I have no money as I put it in the joint account and he spent it, on ( drum roll) hotels and sex websites, so very LOL indeed.
Mum has been to 4 different Drs who told her she had cystitis and *finally* she gets an examination at A&E and at last a GP can spot a prolapse , and don't forget she already got an internal exam by a woman GP before this, so wtf?
Phew.
Busy times.
Must hoover now before the Drama workshop..anyone reading this who lives near enough; the Arabian Nights at Bridport Art Centre on 25th July, if I haven't grossed you out with my weird life.
Adios amigos.
Oh- the stopper, this is the 'pessary' gag, which is the interim measure for womb prolapse. Oh dearie dearie me.

Thursday 8 July 2010

Today at the 'depression clinic' Oh dear.

Just realised we all took a vow not to reveal what goes on in that particular venue, but seeing as I won't be going back there, thanks, I can *hint* at some of the Dementor- like malarkey.
I decided today that, yes, I do need *some* counselling ( probs) but seeing as they all made me feel like a cross between Pollyanna and Anne of Green Gables; we can safely assume I aint gonna be going be getting what this varmint needs in that specific locale.
I moseyed on outta there and went to gaze upon the beaoooootiful flowers and fountains in the Borough gardens of our county town.
What's not to like? They have this crazy water fountain gizmo which the wee toddlers were stomping on to get splish splashed..I was half inclined to strip down to my knickers myself and have a go. I settled for sitting on the edge of the marble fountain instead, far more sedate for woman of my advanced years.
I hied me to Morrisons to purchase comestibles and once again earned myself a shot at the crown of 'most eccentric person in Bridport'- hotly contested- by grabbing a young customer on the wrist and ordering him to reach me down a pack of Jordan's nutty crunch.
Upon my return to my gaff in Bohemia, which I freely admit I am totally and actually in love with; I told my son I would dance naked on top of the Eiffel Tower if his Grandad ( his paternal Grandfather, please note) ever said the words:
'Yo bitcsh , I am gonna kill yer blak ass,' which his grandson assured me was a possibility this side of frozen Hades.
Spellings changed to avert swear filter there.

Wednesday 7 July 2010

Taster's turqoise tortoise

Well. Here goes. I just know an eager public are agog for more blogs. And blogs by babes yet. Which this is not, no how, no way, but still.

A couple of Tortoises ( tortii?) are off on a picnic. Being shelled critturs it takes them two weeks there, and two weeks back to their favourite picnic spot.

Upon arrival, She realises the tin opener is left behind.

'I'll fetch it', says she, 'only promise faithfully, not one tiny morsel will you nibble until my return'.

'How can you doubt it?' He counters.

After convincing herself he is utterly Not Going to Nibble, off she goes.

He waits. And he waits. Two weeks..Four weeks...OMG he is so good, it hurts.

On the day after the 4th week is over, he stretches out his neck to sample just a tiny corner of lettuce-and out from the bush she jumps, where she has been hiding all this while.

'I knew you wouldn't wait!' she cries.

What, dear reader, is the subtext, think you?