not sharing

Two posts in one day, scary stuffs. I hadn't planned on posting before bed, but Miss R said something that got me thinking.

I started playing with this as a way to get some of the crap circling in my head out. There was no real way of knowing that anyone would read it. I know some of us share the blog love, making sure that we comment on each other’s posts. We know each other, and are comfortable enough that we say what we like. Not all that different from how we are when we're actually together, but much easier than trying to find a time when all of us can be.

Still, there are things that I put on here that I don't share with Miss R. I don't blog or tweet specifically about her, but she does get referenced in quite a few. She is aware of this, and while not thrilled she understands the context. The other stuff we don’t discuss anymore because I know she’s reached her limit. There’s only so much you can take on before the presence of another woman in your partners head has you ready to kill. She has been exceptionally patient with my funk and hurt feelings, and equally forgiving towards Ms L (though I think given the chance she would smack Ms L down over hurting me and the way she has behaved towards me since the misunderstanding).

Since I can’t talk about this stuff with her anymore, the only way I can get it out (without driving anyone else insane) is here. So when Miss R asked if she could read my blog I said no. It got me thinking about some of the other blogs I read, and what other people think. Would you be in a hurry to let your partners read your blogs (assuming they had any interest, which isn’t always a given)?

For the record I am very comfortable with my decision. I don’t see any conflict in keeping this part of my life private. I am however curious about other peoples perspective.

For now I’m going to bed, otherwise I’ll be a complete zombie at work. 

Zombie Librarian wants “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOKS.”

more learning

School goes back on Monday. After fighting with the stupid RMIT timetabling system I had to take one class online, and the other on campus. Normally going back to study doesn't worry me, but I've been a little off this week so I'm not looking forward to it. 

It's not the study that I'm worried about. It's being in the actual building. Not the asbestos, which should all be gone by now, but the ghosts. One particular ghost. I know Ms L isn't teaching anymore, so I'm not worried about running into her, it's more the reminder of the friendship. Of course there's nothing for it but to go and make new friends (though they can't possibly be as cool as the friends I already have).

Miss R and I are off to see a movie tonight. Still trying to decide between "I am number 4" and "The way back." Really hoping my brain will give me a break for a few hours. The stupid thought are coming less often, but they still kick like a mule.

New toys

Apologies for the lack of blogging. We went over out internet usage (first time ever but I still got read the riot act), so I was grounded. But the month has since kicked over so I'm allowed to play again.

I finally went and got a new phone. This is the first new phone I've had in over 10 years. With all the technophiles I've had in my life over the years I have had many second (third and fourth) hand phones. Which is a good thing because there have certainly been time where a new phone was completely out of the question.

Now, with the exception of the occasionally op-shopping play date, I'm not much of a shopper. I do my research, make a decision (eventually), then get in and out in record speed (unless you leave me in a book store, at which point you'd be lucky if I realise you're even gone). So you'll understand when I say how happy I am with my new phone. I've had it for 24 hours now and the only problem is I'm having a hard time putting it down. I'm like a kid with a new toy. With this in mind I have done the grown up thing, put it on the kitchen table, and gone to do something else.

Lets not read anything into the fact that I'm blogging about it right now. Anyway, this is my new phone. I won't talk about it again ... maybe :)

A homily on forgiveness

As we round the 60 day mark since things went pear-shaped, I’ve been looking back and doing some cleaning out. My old laptop is almost officially purged. I just have to empty my inbox for two of my email accounts and all trace of my “relationship” with Ms L will be gone. While this cleaning house is necessary, I still miss my friend. I know this doesn’t make sense to anyone. I know many of you have wanted to slap me silly. Some of you even have. The most common question I get about Ms L is: how can you still want to be friends after everything?

The easiest answer would be that I’m stupid, or a masochist, or I have a thing for lost causes. Two out of three have been true at one point or another in my life, but I don’t think they apply here. I could be wrong. We all know I’ve been wrong before. Instead I like to think this is about forgiveness.

I have not always been Hawm of the infinite patience. I have been Hawm of the incredible (bottled) anger; Hawm of the impenetrable void; Hawm who falls off the face of the earth, and Hawm of the inexplicably complicated. I don’t think I’ll ever truly be able to shake the last one, I have managed to grow out of the other three. 

My relationship with my mother is probably the best example of this. I didn’t have the most brilliant childhood. There were more than the occasional beatings with the leather belt, there was the psychological warfare that existed between my Mum and my Nan (we were the both the prize and the pawns), the unresolved anger between my parents (divorced nearly 30 years now and it's still there), and the constant need to control our lives even after we ran away from home as teenagers. If you asked me how I felt about her then I would have been completely sincere when I said that I wanted her dead. 

When I came back from the army my perspective slowly started to shift. I was still angry, and the huge slices along my shins only added more fuel to the fire, but I started to fight back. Unfortunately fighting fire with fire, especially in my family, doesn’t improve things. It only makes for a bigger fire. So we didn’t speak. Not the best way to deal with a problem. Sometime the distance helps give us a clearer picture. Sometimes we need to have shitty relationships of our own to understand other peoples. I only knew how to have dysfunctional relationships, so I managed to rack up quite a few shitty ones. Until I figured out what I was doing. Well, that and I started having heart palpitations. Nothing quite like having what feels like a heart attack at 21 to put things in perspective. Of course, it wasn’t that simple. I had several attacks before I figured out that what was putting the biggest strain on my life was me.

My anger. Me being angry at everyone; my life, my family, lovers, work, the world in general. Being angry was fucking me up. And when anger is what has kept you upright for so many years, got you through all kinds of abuse, it is an extremely hard habit to break. Even now anger is seductive. It’s so familiar, the buzz you get from the adrenaline, the energy, and you just want to push everyone away and give yourself over to it. Giving into it never ends well, as my body made a point of reminding me early last month. I hadn’t even realised I was slipping until I was sitting here with chest pains.

The reason I no longer hate my mother, and eventually managed to love her (and my father too, though I don’t claim to be able to like the man), is that I was finally able to forgive them for being human. They were young, and made bad choices (which fucked a lot of things up for all of us), but they were trying to do the right thing. Raising two children on her own wasn’t easy for my mother, and she didn’t always get it right, but she looked at my two year old self carrying a bong to my pothead father and decided she wanted more for us. I can’t blame her for that. I didn’t understand why I didn’t meet my Dad until I was 10 years old. I didn’t understand why we weren’t allowed to get in a car with either him or my Nona if they came to the school. None of these things made sense to me as a child, but as an adult I understand. I may not always agree with the how or the why, but that doesn’t matter.

Forgiveness isn’t about right or wrong, it’s not about blame or recriminations. Forgiveness is about looking at a situation and recognising, with brutal honesty, that if we were in the same position there is no guarantee that we would have dealt with things any better. We’re human. We do the best that we can, and hope that the people we love don’t judge us too harshly. 

This is how I can think of Ms L and miss my friend. 

a tear in the fabric of reality

Reality is a weird arsed bitch. Anyone who has known me for a while will completely agree with me on this. Mum rang for Miss R's birthday which was sweet of her, considering that she got my birthday wrong one year. To be fair the MS is progressively making swiss cheese of her brain, so she's lucky to remember as much as she does. During our chat she informed me that we all have nicknames now. The first of my younger brothers is "the Big Shit," no surprises there. My youngest brother is "the Little Shit," again not much of a stretch. The middle of my younger brothers is "the Gentle Giant," and as anyone who has met him will tell you, he is a sweet boy. He's actually a bit of a throw-back, in that he has never really done anything to give the parentals grief (deferring uni, moving to Sydney and back, and going to work on a fishing trawler are minor things compared to some of our exploits). Having said that, he is only 22 so he has still got plenty of time.

Now, given my history I was curious as to what they had come up with for me, and I admit I was rather surprised. Apparently, I am "the Golden Child." WTF? Now even as the black (rainbow) sheep, I was still they one they would call to fix things, but to end up as "the Golden Child" I have to say I’m more than a little confused. Of course in my best reference librarian way, I asked how they had reached this conclusion. It seems that I achieved my most shiny status because I don’t cause any grief. Um, come again? 

For anyone who didn’t know me 15 years ago, which is actually all of you, this probably doesn’t seem like a big deal. Trust me, it is. I was wild. I mean I was really off the radar. Not violent, or dangerous, just completely and unapologetically me. This can be a lot to take on, even now, but then it was unthinkable. I’ve been disowned more times than I can count (my dad hasn’t spoken to me for five or six years). I’ve been written out of wills (which I never cared about, but everyone else in the family seemed to think was a big deal). I’ve been blamed for relatives having strokes and heart attacks. I’ve been blamed for family members becoming alcoholics. I was kept from seeing my siblings. My mother even tried to have me sectioned. 

How the fuck did I then become "the Golden Child?” Even 10 years ago this would have been unthinkable. Now the last seven years have mellowed my mother, and she did eventually realise that how I live my life is not all that bad (even if it in no way reflects what she thought I would do with it). And it is also true that I haven’t done anything outrageous recently, certainly not enough to rival the dramas the “big” and “little” shits are creating for themselves. So I guess what it boils down to is that time has finally put things into perspective for her (and glossed over the rest). Parents are strange but it keeps them amused, so there’s no harm in it.

Still, I don’t feel very shiny. Stupid brain.

holiday

Miss R and I are off on holiday. Red Hill market has been on my mind since last easter. That was the last time I went anywhere that wasn't family related. There will be food love. There will be a trip to the hot springs. There will be a beach (provided it doesn't rain on us) and lots of salt water. Mostly it will be a great deal of time for Miss R and myself, without much of the stuff that has been having a less than stellar impact on our everyday life. In short, it will be time without the cloud of Ms L hanging over us, and I for one am looking forward to that.

With just about everything off my old laptop, there will be nothing left to remind me of the brief friendship, or the resulting fallout. When it goes, so does all trace of Ms L. Hopefully my stupid brain will follow suit, and I can go back to the life I had before this cluster-fuck went down. But that will be a job for when we get back.

I have to pack in the morning, but that won't take long. Picking books to take with me is always the hardest part. One for each day is usually safe. For the next few days Ms S will hold down the fort, and feed the cats.

As for the library: if Wendy calls, I'm not here.