Updating, updating (not too cheerfully...)
An update on the recent “events”…My idea, my decision, was to post something only once I felt better, because this blog can happily do without another depressed, sad, desperate flow of words. However, things are not that easy, obviously, and I feel like writing, a lot.
Tall housemate sent me a message on Facebook, and she was very nice, she said lots of beautiful things on my writing. I needed that. So here I am again.
How are things going? I guess that, to repeat myself, the fighter that is in me is fighting. Not too successfully, it feels, but still fighting, working, walking, reading, talking, laughing, albeit bitterly, and making the same mistake: not thinking. At least, not enough.
I wake up every morning, after an exhausting night of wake-sleep-wake-sleep, although I still manage to alternate a bad night with a good one; I have breakfast, although not always. I am not really that hungry, these days. I prepare and leave the house, walking in the dark morning. First of all I think of the lessons of the day, for a fleeting five minutes. Then I talk to God, as if I were writing a letter: “dear God,…”. I talk to Him until I reach St. Peter’s church, and then I start thinking about my lessons again, and what I will do at the gym, and in the evening, and how to use my movies for interesting lessons, etc.
It is talking, but mostly it is repeating, over and over again, the same things: please be with Ian. Please protect him. Walk with him. Comfort him. Hold him tight in your Love. And when you are done with this, if you can spare a minute, give me more strength, please. Take my hand for a moment and make me feel that this pain will go away, eventually. Because at the moment I cannot really say that I feel well, or that my future looks bright.
This is when I stop talking to God, and start thinking of trivial stuff like my lessons. Because if I keep on thinking of what will be of me, of what is of me now, I cannot breathe. So I just don’t do it. Even at the gym, when I am just beginning my warm-up, I think that I could take some minutes to reflect, but I end up looking at the minutes on the display, counting how many kilometres I want to run, or how many reps I could do, or what I will do once at home. I cycle for 15 minutes, then run, then jump on the cross-trainer, then more bike, cross-trainer and treadmill, some more cross-trainer, or some more bike, or both, then stretching and abs on the fitness ball, maybe some reps for my shoulders and back, sometimes the plank, to conclude. And then, it’s all about my shower, and getting changed, and walking back home, washing the dishes, taking a shower, maybe watching some tv, and read, read, read. Trying not to fall asleep before 10, or I won’t sleep properly. Finally, lights off after 11, and sink in the comfortable coma of sleep.
I had another idea for my writing, tonight, on the bus. So I will start writing this weekend.
More plans, like getting to study seriously come January, like dedicating some time to my writing the way I was doing back in May, like eating more meat and less bread (I am being successful there).
Like avoiding Ian.
It happened on Monday. I didn’t think I would see him, seen as he was meant to be back at some impossible time in the morning, from Malta. Instead, early afternoon, I got a text informing me that he was back, and was at uni to meet his supervisor, wishing me a good day. My reply was merry and light, about his sure need of the bed before it would get dark;-)
Text back: actually no, I am not tired at all, so I could come and see you, and bring the postcard I got for you as you asked?
Oh boy. Do I feel like seeing him?
No.
Sorry, no, I don’t.
Something in me is burning, and it aches, silently. I don’t want to stir it and make it ache more.
So when his next text comes, saying that he will only pop in to bring my mp3 player back, just to say hello, I do it: I lie.
And I say sorry, I am not home yet, keep the player, no hurry. And have a nice evening.
His reply: “ok cool. You too”. Crumbs. When he says “cool” it is NOT cool, I have learnt that. Just like he has learnt that when I am distressed, the amount of “ok” that I say increases massively.
So to make him feel better, and end the “conversation” on a nicer note, I text him a post scriptum, thanking him for the hug he sent me on Facebook.
The reply is almost instant: no problem:-) you deserve a lot more too:-)
Damn.
This is when my stomach curls up, and a second later I am in tears on the sofa, with Tall Housemate comforting me with a hug.
Tuesday, I miss him, I miss talking to him. I would like to see him, and at the same time I am not ready for that. A text will do, I think.
We text for a while, exchanging jokes and info on our day. It feels quite ok. I feel better.
Wednesday, I am not very prepared for my lesson, which goes decently anyway. I feel fogged and strange again, must be the dreadful weather, must be the fact that I want to go home for Christmas but at the same time I am afraid that it will not be a good time, what with the general situation there, and must be my worry over mum who is at home with flu and missing me lots. So generally, it is a strange day, and I manage to finish my lesson well only thanks to my brilliant idea of showing some excerpts from “Feet of flames” to my students, who are amazed and delighted and claim for more. Cool. I prepare the lesson for the day after, hoping that it will go well, then I go and dedicate two hours to the gym.
I am on the cross-trainer for the third time, and it feels good: I have run a lot, spent half an hour on the bike, and this makes it half an hour on the cross-trainer, which makes me feel proud of myself, for I am still strong, not giving up.
I don’t know how it happens. But suddenly it is there, his face, and his hand taking mine, and his other hand caressing my face, before coming closer and kissing me.
The cramps make me bend in two, I can’t breathe.
I focus on the tv, increase my speed, wipe the image away.
I finish my work-out, shower, get changed, take the bus to go home in a windy weather, which means that tomorrow it will be just as awful and wet. Oh, well. I am prepared.
On the bus, almost at my stop, his message comes and surprises me: I am at home if you want to come over, or you can stop by. Just want to say hi, give your mp3 back. Or meet on Saturday? As other days are full of uni things!
This time I don’t want to lie: I am simply tired, and I know him, being the end of a week day he will be tired, wanting to go home and have dinner, shower, read some more, relax and sleep, preparing for another day. Me, being tired, I only want a shower, a salad and my bed. This is not the best moment to meet up. So sorry, can we make it on Saturday? (also, it bugs me that it seems that the only reason he wants to meet is my player. As if once he has returned it, he can stop texting, calling, whatever. Maybe this is the reason why I don’t want to see him just now. Maybe I am just afraid that once the player is returned, we will never see again).
Deal, we will meet on Saturday.
This choice is also brought about by the hope that we will have more time to talk, it won’t be a quick meeting just to give me my stupid mp3 player back, or whatever. I miss talking to him. And I am trying to be prepared to not say, not behave the way I would like, but be cheerful, joke, share a cup of tea maybe, enquire over his weekend in Malta, see the pictures, whatever. I am only asking for a quiet hour of words, nothing more.
I am not even sure that I am ready, yet.
I do want to be his friend, sure I do. He is this fantastic, sweet, caring person, this beautiful soul I have had the luck to meet, and I don’t want to lose him. But at the same time, it hurts too much, still. I am holding back the tears, for I have promised not to cry again, after Monday.
There are still so many things I would like to know about him, and so many about me I would like him to know. I hope we can work on this now. Be friends, the best of friends like we have never been, like we were starting to be in October. I hope he has understood that he owes me nothing. That we can start our friendship from scratch, being so alike, so good together. Get that happiness back, no more regrets, no more feeling guilty. And no anger. Just a warm, sweet and funny talking time together, the way it used to be.
So this is what I am praying for now, God. Please.
(Update on Thursday night: first of all, our cosy house in bevendean is getting nicer and nicer...now that Noisy Housemate on drug has left, we have room for improvement...which is coming in the form of a nice rug under the tv table, a lamp for the lounge, a couple of new things for the bathroom and/or kitchen...a dvd set! And life is going to be better thanks to the Housemates...Christmas dinner planned for next Tuesday, it feels good
Second of all, sometimes things are not that easy.
For example when I woke up this morning, and decided to walk to school in spite of the wind blowing against me, then I got to school, and as I was having a cup of hot tea, I choked on my tears. I finished my tea, managing not to cry, then I met Ozge, who asked me how I was, and in trying to say "not well" I choked again. Long, deep breaths before opening the door to room 5, for my lesson. And to follow, a day in bed, recovering.
As Ozge said, "now it is the time for your soul". I have so many tears to cry yet).
Tall housemate sent me a message on Facebook, and she was very nice, she said lots of beautiful things on my writing. I needed that. So here I am again.
How are things going? I guess that, to repeat myself, the fighter that is in me is fighting. Not too successfully, it feels, but still fighting, working, walking, reading, talking, laughing, albeit bitterly, and making the same mistake: not thinking. At least, not enough.
I wake up every morning, after an exhausting night of wake-sleep-wake-sleep, although I still manage to alternate a bad night with a good one; I have breakfast, although not always. I am not really that hungry, these days. I prepare and leave the house, walking in the dark morning. First of all I think of the lessons of the day, for a fleeting five minutes. Then I talk to God, as if I were writing a letter: “dear God,…”. I talk to Him until I reach St. Peter’s church, and then I start thinking about my lessons again, and what I will do at the gym, and in the evening, and how to use my movies for interesting lessons, etc.
It is talking, but mostly it is repeating, over and over again, the same things: please be with Ian. Please protect him. Walk with him. Comfort him. Hold him tight in your Love. And when you are done with this, if you can spare a minute, give me more strength, please. Take my hand for a moment and make me feel that this pain will go away, eventually. Because at the moment I cannot really say that I feel well, or that my future looks bright.
This is when I stop talking to God, and start thinking of trivial stuff like my lessons. Because if I keep on thinking of what will be of me, of what is of me now, I cannot breathe. So I just don’t do it. Even at the gym, when I am just beginning my warm-up, I think that I could take some minutes to reflect, but I end up looking at the minutes on the display, counting how many kilometres I want to run, or how many reps I could do, or what I will do once at home. I cycle for 15 minutes, then run, then jump on the cross-trainer, then more bike, cross-trainer and treadmill, some more cross-trainer, or some more bike, or both, then stretching and abs on the fitness ball, maybe some reps for my shoulders and back, sometimes the plank, to conclude. And then, it’s all about my shower, and getting changed, and walking back home, washing the dishes, taking a shower, maybe watching some tv, and read, read, read. Trying not to fall asleep before 10, or I won’t sleep properly. Finally, lights off after 11, and sink in the comfortable coma of sleep.
I had another idea for my writing, tonight, on the bus. So I will start writing this weekend.
More plans, like getting to study seriously come January, like dedicating some time to my writing the way I was doing back in May, like eating more meat and less bread (I am being successful there).
Like avoiding Ian.
It happened on Monday. I didn’t think I would see him, seen as he was meant to be back at some impossible time in the morning, from Malta. Instead, early afternoon, I got a text informing me that he was back, and was at uni to meet his supervisor, wishing me a good day. My reply was merry and light, about his sure need of the bed before it would get dark;-)
Text back: actually no, I am not tired at all, so I could come and see you, and bring the postcard I got for you as you asked?
Oh boy. Do I feel like seeing him?
No.
Sorry, no, I don’t.
Something in me is burning, and it aches, silently. I don’t want to stir it and make it ache more.
So when his next text comes, saying that he will only pop in to bring my mp3 player back, just to say hello, I do it: I lie.
And I say sorry, I am not home yet, keep the player, no hurry. And have a nice evening.
His reply: “ok cool. You too”. Crumbs. When he says “cool” it is NOT cool, I have learnt that. Just like he has learnt that when I am distressed, the amount of “ok” that I say increases massively.
So to make him feel better, and end the “conversation” on a nicer note, I text him a post scriptum, thanking him for the hug he sent me on Facebook.
The reply is almost instant: no problem:-) you deserve a lot more too:-)
Damn.
This is when my stomach curls up, and a second later I am in tears on the sofa, with Tall Housemate comforting me with a hug.
Tuesday, I miss him, I miss talking to him. I would like to see him, and at the same time I am not ready for that. A text will do, I think.
We text for a while, exchanging jokes and info on our day. It feels quite ok. I feel better.
Wednesday, I am not very prepared for my lesson, which goes decently anyway. I feel fogged and strange again, must be the dreadful weather, must be the fact that I want to go home for Christmas but at the same time I am afraid that it will not be a good time, what with the general situation there, and must be my worry over mum who is at home with flu and missing me lots. So generally, it is a strange day, and I manage to finish my lesson well only thanks to my brilliant idea of showing some excerpts from “Feet of flames” to my students, who are amazed and delighted and claim for more. Cool. I prepare the lesson for the day after, hoping that it will go well, then I go and dedicate two hours to the gym.
I am on the cross-trainer for the third time, and it feels good: I have run a lot, spent half an hour on the bike, and this makes it half an hour on the cross-trainer, which makes me feel proud of myself, for I am still strong, not giving up.
I don’t know how it happens. But suddenly it is there, his face, and his hand taking mine, and his other hand caressing my face, before coming closer and kissing me.
The cramps make me bend in two, I can’t breathe.
I focus on the tv, increase my speed, wipe the image away.
I finish my work-out, shower, get changed, take the bus to go home in a windy weather, which means that tomorrow it will be just as awful and wet. Oh, well. I am prepared.
On the bus, almost at my stop, his message comes and surprises me: I am at home if you want to come over, or you can stop by. Just want to say hi, give your mp3 back. Or meet on Saturday? As other days are full of uni things!
This time I don’t want to lie: I am simply tired, and I know him, being the end of a week day he will be tired, wanting to go home and have dinner, shower, read some more, relax and sleep, preparing for another day. Me, being tired, I only want a shower, a salad and my bed. This is not the best moment to meet up. So sorry, can we make it on Saturday? (also, it bugs me that it seems that the only reason he wants to meet is my player. As if once he has returned it, he can stop texting, calling, whatever. Maybe this is the reason why I don’t want to see him just now. Maybe I am just afraid that once the player is returned, we will never see again).
Deal, we will meet on Saturday.
This choice is also brought about by the hope that we will have more time to talk, it won’t be a quick meeting just to give me my stupid mp3 player back, or whatever. I miss talking to him. And I am trying to be prepared to not say, not behave the way I would like, but be cheerful, joke, share a cup of tea maybe, enquire over his weekend in Malta, see the pictures, whatever. I am only asking for a quiet hour of words, nothing more.
I am not even sure that I am ready, yet.
I do want to be his friend, sure I do. He is this fantastic, sweet, caring person, this beautiful soul I have had the luck to meet, and I don’t want to lose him. But at the same time, it hurts too much, still. I am holding back the tears, for I have promised not to cry again, after Monday.
There are still so many things I would like to know about him, and so many about me I would like him to know. I hope we can work on this now. Be friends, the best of friends like we have never been, like we were starting to be in October. I hope he has understood that he owes me nothing. That we can start our friendship from scratch, being so alike, so good together. Get that happiness back, no more regrets, no more feeling guilty. And no anger. Just a warm, sweet and funny talking time together, the way it used to be.
So this is what I am praying for now, God. Please.
(Update on Thursday night: first of all, our cosy house in bevendean is getting nicer and nicer...now that Noisy Housemate on drug has left, we have room for improvement...which is coming in the form of a nice rug under the tv table, a lamp for the lounge, a couple of new things for the bathroom and/or kitchen...a dvd set! And life is going to be better thanks to the Housemates...Christmas dinner planned for next Tuesday, it feels good
Second of all, sometimes things are not that easy.
For example when I woke up this morning, and decided to walk to school in spite of the wind blowing against me, then I got to school, and as I was having a cup of hot tea, I choked on my tears. I finished my tea, managing not to cry, then I met Ozge, who asked me how I was, and in trying to say "not well" I choked again. Long, deep breaths before opening the door to room 5, for my lesson. And to follow, a day in bed, recovering.
As Ozge said, "now it is the time for your soul". I have so many tears to cry yet).
Labels: Love, mind and heart
posted by Peggy @ 8:07 PM
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