Frenemies

As you get older the general consensus is that the pitfalls of friendships and relationships get easier, you're adult therefore better at negotiating disagreements and understanding what motivates you.  Not so much me at the moment.

I had a friend that I was close to, we got each through some really dark tough times but then as is natural in life, we drifted in different directions once our geographical proximity increased.

At first when I heard about the important things going on in her life second and third hand from others, I was hurt and disappointed that I was no longer her go-to friend.

When she got a new best-girlfriend I was devastated and I'm ashamed to say resolved to hate her, I found numerous faults in her and with this new best friend to justify my jealous reaction.  At some point, I took a real good look at my motives and and saw them for what they were - jealousy at being replaced.  I began to accept we had grown a part because I was a grown up.

I mourned the loss of our friendship and closeness for a while and then to be honest I got over it, moved on.  She had become a stranger to me, when we did get together in a group I no longer saw someone I was familiar with.  The things she said and did were a totally different person and I finally let go of her.

Then on one occasion when we were all together she started flirting outrageously with L and with no regard to me or my feelings.  She even bragged about it to me in person. I was incandescent with rage, indignation, paranoia and hurt for a long time.  Again, I realised those feelings were more about my present vulnerable state and insecurities than they were anyone else.  I'd lost a baby, that's no small thing.

I'm due to see her in a few weekends, encouraged and pushed by L, who doesn't understand why we're no longer close, and the hard truth is I don't want to see her.

Even worse than seeing her for a weekend is knowing I'm being surprised for my 40th with her flying out to the US, yet I know her visit isn't about my 40th - it's about her and inserting herself in special occasions where she can have the most impact and receive the most attention.

I can't think of anything worse nor something that I want less than that.

I actually don't need or want her in my life.  At all.

New Girl

Ever been the new boy or girl?...It's hard isn't it? Even harder, I'd say, when you move around. I suppose the more you do it the easier it gets. Or least it should if you think about the fact the amount of times in your lifetime you are going to be new girl - every time you get a new job, when you move house, if you attend a course on your own, dating a new guy and meeting his friends...to mention a few.

When you're the new girl....

Every person you happen to make eye contact with you smile at, after all they could be a potential friend.

Every person who talks to you, even if it's to repeat your coffee order back to you, you make small talk with or in the very least put on your friendliest smile...they are a potential friend.

When you join a social networking page or other group and post a message...you hope someone responds - they are a potential friend.

The point is when you're the new boy or girl you're on the outside until someone invites you in. When you're new one of the hardest things in the world to do is to walk into a room without some degree of trepidation. After all, you know no one in that room, not a single soul. If you're writer there's an exciting element to that - there's a room full of people with quirks for you to observe and plagiarise in your characters and stories. Although, I wouldn't say this is anyone's first thought upon entering unknown territory.

So, you're there, on the threshold...What do you do - stroll over to the group of the first person who happens to make eye contact with you? Or head to drinks table and help yourself hoping someone will join you there that you can strike up conversation with? Or stand to one side hoping someone will take pity on you and come over to say hello...

I shudder at all those scenarios because they are awkward and make a person feel vulnerable. They make me feel vulnerable. New girl however, is precisely what I am.

Next time you're sat there in a group with your friends, spare a thought and have sympathy for the new girl on the threshold.

Lucy, Muddy Water, Treats and Soft Snoring

I'm dog sitting Lucy for 2 weeks.

We're not quite sure what she is, maybe 80% Labrador and 20% we have no idea but I suspect its Staffordshire Bull Terrier.

Last night took a bit of getting used to for both of us; Lucy in a new environment and me with a dog pacing around, up and down etc.  It wasn't that she made a lot of noise I was just paranoid that she wasn't settling in well, so every sound woke me because I thought she was upset.

Today was a first day alone together and I love her already.

We went for a 2 mile run together followed by a mile long back through a copse.  Lucy found the dirtiest muddiest stream to drink from (yuck) and to wade through to cool off, so I had to hose her down when we got back.  That was after I had spent 10 minutes chasing her around the garden, I honestly have no idea how she can prefer dirty muddy cold water to cold water from the hose???  She was happy with the rub down after though.  Then she had a crazy 15 minutes tearing around the garden with her rope toy (that I bought her yesterday) and banging into my legs.

A little later we went for a walk together to the shops, I bought her some treats.  I know Luke will just shake his head and not be too impressed that I'm getting so attached but I can't help it: I love her.

And I know she's not mine and I have to give her back in two weeks but for the moment I'm enjoying listening to her snoring softly in her bed.  Looking adorable.

Fainting Lecturers, Editing, Talent and other Problems

As I mentioned before (see here) I'm editing a friend's (well kind of friend's ) novel and its a LOT of work and its tough!

I don't mean that his writing is poor, or he hasn't a plot or his grammar and punctuation are all over the place and I therefore spend all my time correcting these lot of work. I know if any of my lecturers were reading that I AM editing someone else's work for grammar and punctuation...they would stare at me incredulously and probably faint. Punctuation hasn't always, if at all, been my strong point. But BUT that is only where my own writing is concerned, I don't seem to have a problem recognising punctuation errors in other people's work. Probably because I'm not that great at proof reading my own work, that's to say I have an aversion to it. Tutt tutt I know.

Any way, moving on from my own failings...John's punctuation and grammar is nearly perfect and I am unbelievably jealous, of course I would be! I am not worried about his punctuation and grammar though, my main concern is that I feel like his lack of confidence and belief in himself as a writer is making him hold himself back. His writing is good but I don't see or feel enough of him in it. I can sense his excitement, his thrill at giving his imagination free rein and being led by it...but he never quite takes that final step of letting go of his control completely and giving himself over to his talent. He holds himself aloof and its really frustrating.

What seems to be the pattern is that I read a few pages, perfectly good pages plot wise, but they don't fill me with wow. Then suddenly its there! The wow factor, the thing, the prose, the style, the flesh to the bones of the characters, the humour, the empathy! Its all there and I can't turn pages quick enough. Unfortunately it doesn't last though. I think what happens is that he gets tired, quits for the day and decides to continue in the morning. The problem is with picking it up again at a later time means he has to get warmed up all over again.

I know from experience how normal this is and that not everyone is like me - obsessive to the point of losing days at a time when I'm in the zone and my creativity is flowing - but its frustrating. The more I think about it the more I struggle to know the right way to tell John this, to explain to him that there is a great deal that works in his story and for a first novel to a first time writer ...I haven't read better. BUT he needs to relax more, he needs to let go of his inhibitions and let the story - the characters - lead him on their journey. John needs to look through their eyes, feel what they feel and speak with their tongue...and then we can worry about the minor details of presentation (direct speech, punctuation, grammar etc)

How do I tell John this without bursting the fragile bubble that is his confidence? I remember how scary it was to hand over a piece of writing to another for criticism and guidance. I can still feel the lump of apprehension sitting in the pit of stomach, the cold clammy sweating of my trembling hands, the lightheaded dizziness, the hours of preoccupation as I waited for my peers reaction to what I had to say and my writing. I remember it all very well.

Well, I need to decide how I'm going to delivery my feedback to him soon, and very soon because I've finished reading it (not with making notes, I'm never finished with this), and correcting the punctuation and grammar. Plus, I can sense he is getting fidgety in anticipation of my feedback.

Any ideas people???

Day 07 Someone Who Has Made Your Life Worth Living For.

Hhhmmm, I'm not quite sure what to make of this one.

If I take this literally my first instinct is to say no one because if you can't find it in yourself to live for yourself, living for someone else is an empty gesture. You are there drawing breath and going through the motions not because you want to but for someone else and to me that is a strange concept. It feels empty, like your will and heart aren't really in living but you feel obliged to continue the masquerade of wanting to be here on this earth for someone else. I'm not explaining myself very well here.

I suppose the best way to explain it is to say if you're living for someone else and not yourself then you are just going through the motions, functioning on automatic without heart or feeling and life is all about those things, perhaps more so than anything else.

So, the answer is someone who has made my life worth living for would be everyone that has come in to it, regardless for how long, and made me feel something good or bad. Everyone I have danced with, laughed with, got drunk with, cried with - or on -, fought with, everyone who has been there for and who I in turn have been there for.

All these people are people I consider to be someone who has made my life worth living for because I have shared things with them, I have shared my life with them and life is meant for living which actually means sharing.

The Best Made Plans...?

I am more than a little confused today...and to be entirely honest pissed. I was going to say peeved but that doesn't quite express my anger.

A friend recently sent me a stroppy message via the medium of a particular networking site venting her opinion that I have been remiss in my friend duties. She said she was fed up with being the one to always come and see me (she lives no more than two minutes away) and of being the first to text.

My initial response to reading her message was to be shocked and angry. Reading between the lines I have to say that I felt like I was back in school and one of my friends was complaining that I wasn't playing with them anymore. It felt like a temper tantrum demanding that I pay more attention to her. Being slightly hot headed my first instinct was to reply back wanting to know who she thought she was talking to speaking to me like that, and to tell her in no uncertain terms being friends did not give her carte blanche to make demands on my time and to speak to me like I was a piece of dirt and nor was it my job to entertain her...But I didn't.

I politely told her to slow down and take a deep breath. I said I was sorry she felt that way and apologised for not getting in touch with her sooner. I also said (which she is aware) that I've had a fair amount going on at the moment keeping me preoccupied. Admittedly my tone was on the cold side but I did tell her to meet me at 7am the next morning and we'd go for a run together (she happily agreed), and then invited her to pop round there and then for a catch up (to which I got no response). Feeling like we'd resolved our little dispute I thought nothing more of it, she certainly seemed fine and had apologised for having a go at me. So to all intent and purposes our spat was over, I'd reined in my temper and not roared my displeasure and all was good. I knew this because we'd made plans to do our usual morning run.

This morning I got up at 6am, got dressed into my fizz kit for our run and started drinking water to hydrate myself. She never turned up. No message, no apology. Nothing.

The thing is she has done this to me a number of times and each time I've let it go without a word. I know and understand that she has difficult 'things' going on in her life making her unhappy, just as I know as her husband works nights she spends a great deal of time alone (it's the nature of the beast when married to someone serving in the forces). So, I didn't tell her how ticked off I was every time she stood me up without so much as an explanation or an apology. I'd have a little rant and fume (especially when I'd got up at 6am and she hadn't shown) but I'd get it out of my system and forgive and (well not forget clearly) but certainly not hold a grudge. That's what being a friend is all about in my books.

The thing is I'm not so inclined to take that road this time. I am more than just a little peeved ... I'm pissed. It's not okay for her to do this and while I'm willing to hear her out I'm not setting myself up for this again - this time I'm going to tell her it's not on and I'm far from impressed.

At least that is the plan...

The Patch

That title may well confuse many of you but those who are married to men or women serving Queen and Country will know exactly what I am referring to.

This is a bit of a difficult topic to want to talk about and I fear that I am not going to be viewed in a positive light when I say the things I do...

Living on a patch is a lot like living in a goldfish bowl and it is the most unnatural thing that I have ever experienced. Generally speaking the whole thing provokes conflicting emotions and thoughts inside me. Let me explain... as best I am able. The estate where I live is six miles outside of a major town and right in the middle of a village, not giving too much away, but here is an incredibly odd thing - no one in the village seems to aware that here is a housing estate for military personnel. I know we have become a nation who makes no effort to befriend their neighbours or get involved in community life – at least that was the trend and things are slowly changing but this leaves me dumbstruck. As a Londoner I was not on first name terms with my neighbours, to be entirely frank I did not even know their surname and the only thing I did know was the one thing that I would have chosen NOT to know – that it was a home of a destructive marriage.

Getting back to where I live now – our housing estate is incredibly closed to outsiders. That is not to say that people here do not have outside interests (I am sure there are a few that do) but as a sociable person I find it... disturbing and incredibly unnerving how self-contained our estate is. Take for example the fact we have a playground area for the children of service families, and as these go it’s pretty good (I’ve given the swings and pulley a go and found them more than pleasing) but only estate children use it. No other children, and I mean NOT ONE, come on here to play and mingle. Surprising but not sinister ... although I have noticed there is a certain ... Stepfordness about the place.

It isn’t that however that makes me uncomfortable, rather it is the behaviour of some of the adults. To get to the point I guess what makes me frown and feel cold inside in the ‘us and them’ attitude that seems prevalent among some, and I do say some not all, of the residents here. Our estate is predominantly made up of RAF families but there are a few, our numbers are gradually increasing, of Army families. Yet there doesn’t appear to be much mingling. Worse, my neighbour, bless her outspokenness, has made it abundantly clear ‘this is a housing estate for RAF personnel and their families’ which was closely followed by a list of what she perceived to be the apparently endless faults of Army service men and women. I’ve excused her ...how can I phrase this politely ...her insulting and patronising opinions as laughably inaccurate. Actually if I’m being really honest I’ve dismissed her opinion as the postulating of an uneducated immature little girl with an odious personality and poor taste in music, decor and attire. So, yes you would be right – her words stung. I didn’t however tell her this, no, rather I interrupted her tirade to point out I found the whole thing childishly pathetic, bordering on playground bullying and I really wasn’t interested in patch politics. Okay, so that was the abridged version, I might have added my own little rant to include something along the lines of wishing people would get a life outside of pulling back their curtains to see what everyone else was doing and just learn to get along together like adults. I might also have added something akin to expressing that not having been the one to sign the contract with the Army, I was just married to a soldier, so that quite frankly was where my involvement with it all ended. I know, I know I’m just as bad. But her words did sting. I hadn’t been here long and I was feeling incredibly fragile and like I’d been thrown in at the deep end. The phrase square peg, round hole springs to mind.

It isn’t a gripe but it is an honest observation to say those who serve have the security of their job and the people they work with. Army personnel can be posted every 18 months, in laymen terms that could mean packing up your house and moving to another part of the Country or another Country entirely every 18 months. The chances are when your husband or wife is posted out they will end up with people they have either worked with before, be it on Ops, on exercise, or on a general day-to-day basis in their Squadron. This isn’t the case for their partners. We do not have the security of knowing our job stays the same and we are going to (however small a chance there is of this there is still a chance) be working with familiar individuals. We have to start all over again each time we move.

The same could be said of any family which move I’m aware, however you are forgetting Military personnel go away and often for long periods of time. When you keep in mind you may originally be from London and more than likely have moved away from there, as is the case with myself, in addition to your family not being conveniently placed just around the corner, all we have for support is each other. During such trying times of loneliness and emotional stress all we have is our next door neighbours regardless of the uniform our spouses wear. This isn’t something I ever thought I would hear myself saying but I find myself wishing there was a greater sense of support here, that is to say, we made more of an effort to take care of each other. Do I pop next door to say I’m off to the shops and would they like me to pick anything up for them? Yes I do. I have also offered a number of times my babysitting services for when hubby returns from Afghan or for any occasion that it should be needed. And I do this not for any other reason then because we should help each other out and because it’s how you make friends – by making an effort. You never know when you are going to need a favour or a helping hand or even just a friendly ear, so if by making an effort to get to know others who are in the same situation as you paves the way for securing people to fulfil such roles I’m all for it.

I’ve lived here for over a year and I’ve found two such people already, it was three but one has moved away - it comes with the territory – and between us we are there for each other in ways that seem small but important nonetheless.

I admit to a certain degree we are what I would term circumstantial friends (I’m slowly beginning to come around to the idea that there might not be any other type of friends) I am very thankful for those that I have and know I am lucky to have them. Obviously that EXCLUDES her next door and her opinions - I'm still sulking over that encounter, but I count my blessings that I have two such people that are close at hand to call upon when I have a need and hope they feel the same about me.

Trash Time

I’ve been in a dark place for quite a while now, struggling to come to terms with a number of personal issues – in fact if I had to pick one word to sum up the last 18 months of my life that didn’t involve profaning it would be just that STRUGGLING – and I haven’t for a long time laughed from the heart. I’m ashamed to admit I’ve done a great deal of hiding within myself and only pretending to be present with others, laughing, nodding, uttering the seemingly right responses in the right place, but I haven’t really been present. It’s all been an act. I hadn’t realised what a consummate actress I was.

Last Friday I was in a relatively good mood; I could in my mind see light at the end of the tunnel with my dissertation. I had spent all of the week working incredibly hard on writing my last chapter on Henry James to my dissertation. I had gone to bed in the wee hours getting up again before it was light to continue working on it. Finally when I thought I had said all I could say I sent it to my supervisor already turning my attention to editing the previous chapters. You see the idea was to refresh myself of the key points of the arguments in them to help me structure my conclusion and drew them together. I was feeling a great deal lighter, eagerly looking forward to and anticipating handing it in today, if not tomorrow... I guess the horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach I experienced upon seeing my supervisor’s name in my inbox should have forewarned me. Hum jury is still out on that one.

He didn’t directly say it was a pile of crap but I read in between the lines and the tone... and well... I spent the rest of the afternoon sobbing my heart out. I was totally crushed. It wasn’t what he said – to be honest I agree perfectly and without a doubt with what he did say – it was that my goal post had been moved. I felt like a complete failure. I wanted to throw the towel in and just give in; I took it as yet another sign that quite clearly I don’t possess the intelligence for a Masters. I was totally and utterly distraught, turning over and over in my mind all the hours I had put in and how hard I’d worked to articulate my ideas – badly it would seem if it needed (and still does need) to be re-written. I felt like yet again the rug had been pulled out from underneath me and I had landed unceremoniously on my backside. I kept asking myself why I was bothering to do the academic equivalent of banging my head up against the brick wall. Oh yeah that will be my stubbornness rearing it’s oh so attractive head again (well it would be attractive if it had kept ramming itself against a wall wouldn’t it?) I felt humiliated to think of what my supervisor must have been thinking reading what I had sent him, imagining him to be asking the heavens what he had done in his life time to deserve drawing the short straw of having to supervise me.

I did what any emotional woman does – reached for the phone and called a friend. I’m not sure she managed to understand the first 10 or so minutes of our conversation through me sobbing incoherently down the phone at her. I had full crying dramatics going on; the snotty nose, the high pitched wailing, the starting in the middle rather than explaining from the beginning, you name it I had it. She was fantastic, calmed me down, reasoned with me and talked me into still going to visit like we had planned.

Friday night turned into the craziest night I’ve had in 5 years. I haven’t had that much fun, let off that much steam or been as light hearted and free from my dark place in...Well, let it suffice to say in too long. And strangely enough I can remember it all without cringing. Just thinking about it now still makes me smile and my friend, my best friend did that for me. She picked me off the ground, let me cry on her shoulder, hugged me until my sobbing and wailing had subsided to muffled and dripping snuffling, helped me fix my make up and took me out for the evening. When I say she took me out for the evening I don’t just mean to drink and dance – she took me out of me for the evening – for those 9 hours she helped me be another person.

Friends who will do that for you without thought to what is going on in their lives, physically or emotionally, don’t come along too often. I have to admit I have some weird commitment issues so I tend to be a bit of a drifter – you never know how long I’m going to be around or if I’m going to be back any time soon – at least I used to be like that until I met this friend. She has picked me up and dusted me off more times in the last couple of years than I can say, and for that I’m grateful because without her I seriously doubt I would have been able to retain my stubborn streak and carried on.

I guess what I’m trying to say – I feel like my way of articulating myself of late is the equivalent of a caveman clubbing people over the head, yes that unsophisticated – is friends without a doubt or a moment’s hesitation the most undervalued precious item you can ever hope to possess. My friend, my best friend is one of these precious items and I only hope I can be as good to her as she has been to me. My last thing to say is simply thank you from the bottom of my heart for always being there for me – you know who you are – thank you again.