Thursday 26th October 2006

Thursday 26th October 2006.

Wind howling, the telly fighting a losing battle with the antenna outside. Even sound waves can't hold their own, over the wind, warping the world in swirling jig.
I decided not to go to exercise class. I have work to finish up, documentation reviews. So I don't go to exercise to get it finished this evening.

How can I procrastinate, let me count the ways. Tidy up. Just one more cup of tea. Perhaps a Tunnock's tea cake. Blog.

It's a conceit, but I love it when the weather appears to reflect how I feel. Wild, and reckless. Pushing. Shoving. Shaking out hair and everything else. Whipping up waves, ocean, sound, radio. You're all in for it now. No peace.

I had hoped that in letting go of the unavailable librarian I'd make space for someone new. Never get involved with someone in a miserable 'relationship', they're only there coz they're too afraid to leave. Because they are too too afraid. Full stop.
That's not exactly true. He came for a week to stay with me. That was brave, romantic at the very least. Who knows where we'd be meeting if his bidie-in hadn't found out. Because he's such a nice man, he can't lie. Without it being written all over his face.
'Let's take a six week break' he says. That I suggested stopping contact months ago appears lost on him. He doesn't want to lie in couple therapy. Coz if he can be 'good' then he'll be loved. I see him. SEE him. The child that first had that thought to make himself safe. That ancient false thought that keeps him trapped. Playing at being good. So that he'll be loved.
'Okay' I say. 'Take what time you need.'

It has been restful. No water torture of email inbox, did he write, did he not write and if he did, what bombshell this time, what swithers to set me snarling into the ether.

Lessons.

Takes me a while.

This weekend, in London, where he is, I think of him only once. 'Frank' a shop sign near my hotel.
There was another man to think about. That same look, soft, nice man. A voice that if he sang would be a tenor, funny, I never go for men with deep voices.
A man too nice. For his own good. Short hair. Sad look about him. Just my type.
So I can't believe the dancey jingly Universe when he starts to make too much eye contact to be coincidence. That look, longing mixed with curiosity and a dribble of lust. I change seats, he follows. Sitting near, standing near. No wedding ring - pathetic I can't help myself. I check. Sue me.
Dear sweet universe I think to myself, what are you up to?
After break he sits right in front of me, and stands up to tell us about his baby son born this summer, that's three boys he now has.
With his wife.
He wants some time to himself he says.

No problemo, thinks I.

I am very proud of the fact that I did not double karate chop him in the kidneys just then.

Questions. What is this all about? They are getting more and more unavailable. This isn't how it's supposed to be happening.

I go to the loo to look in the mirror to see what it is about me. What's in my face that says, Miserable in your relationship? Don't have the balls to leave? Then roll on up!
Barefoot Dr said when he looks at me he sees a kind and beautiful woman.
I like that he said kind first. But I don't feel kind. I didn't, in that moment.

I spend the weekend avoiding him, those 'eyebrow up' wordless invitations to come and work with me, that's how it started with the librarian. I walked right into it.
So I smile but walk stiffly in another direction, plucking up all my courage and warrior self esteem to wait and have more for myself, have it all for myself.
With my one and only.

It takes courage, because all the time I want to walk right to him. Run right at him. Knock him off his feet, onto his back, kissing his sweet lonesome face all over. I want to have him. My hands all over him, not an inch untouched. Every part of him taken in to me.
Why be mad at him for looking when he's married? He's right about me. He is absolutely on the button. There is part of me that longs to grab him and run wordlessly wild, with him, not knowing what hit him.
Abandon. It's sublime.
But not as an end result.

He sits near me and at the last minute stands near me too. Temptation.
At lunch I crossed Edgeware Road and he was walking down the side street in front of me. We both eye pop and look at the pavement, then pass wordless, no acknowledgement. What an energy there is in avoiding. In saying nothing. I think of sweet gardener, and here I am again. Wordless energy. I don't know the meaning of. Which is why I say nothing. What if I got it wrong?
Questioning my instincts.
Which are shit hot.

I do the dance of avoiding. I get back and go into the room first so I see what he does, so that I don't have to make any decisions, so that I don't have to be the one to sit far away and end this.
Finally.
I like the dance.
Of never the twain.

They are playing music, just after lunch and we're supposed to dance. I hate being new agey at times. I have a coffee in my hand, there are only a few of us sitting down at the ends of the rows of chairs. Nobody is around me apart from an older woman right in front. He walks into the room, hovers by me then asks her to dance. Grabs her hand and drags her up.
I think of that Tolstoy line, "If she goes to her cousin first...she'll be my wife
It's wise, in such moments, to remember that the next line is
"What rubbish sometimes enters one's head!"

It's the last hour, literally and he stands right next to me. Walking over to me. We're side by side. He has that same smell of the men I desire. I'm at a loss.
It takes me this long to remember, like wolves, they chase.
Whatever runs.
So I don't run.

We are to number ourselves around the room, one or two. It's my turn
"One.
He's next to me. Not as tall as librarian but that same feeling between us. Like standing next to an electricity pylon, but it's only the hairs of his arm near my arm.
"Two, he says.
Four more people count themselves out, then everyone has their number and he turns to me and says,
"What number are you?
A nano-second after he just knew he was two because I said 'one'.
The words, go home to your wife fly boy are in my head, but I look right at him, for the first time, and calmly say "I'm number One.

He flies off like a bat out of hell.

It dawns on me, that that's the truth. I'm number one. Not second best. Not mistress, not ether-chum to boost egos or calm troubled brows.
I'm number one.
For someone.
Soon?

The ones are on the inner circle, twos on the outer. We are to stand still while the circle of twos come and tell us two things: what I think of you is¦and what I feel about you is.

I'm over the moon that I don't have to share first. But the Universe is on a mission. Two people before him, the instruction changes.
"Now the ones will share and the twos will receive.
Fuck.

Of course I didn't tell the whole truth.
But I didn't lie either.
He cried. Not just from my words. But he cried.

I didn't say goodbye.