Dear Dobson,
I have an essay to produce in sixteen days and as you might predict motivation is low, so I thought it was time to pay a visit to our sacred space.
I have found myself wondering if this complete lack of focus is what it's like to have ADHD? If so, it must be exhausting. My brain only seems to be able to cope with minute pieces of information and I'm finding it frustrating. In a bid to change this state of affairs and given my surplus of singleton hours, I have taken to watching series after series of anything in a foreign language. As you know I'm a fan of anything dark and Scandinavian, so both series of 'The Bridge' (Bron || Broen) have been an absolute godsend. I'm now into the third series of 'Spiral', which is also dark but French. Watching this kind of thing forces me to engage.
My heart remains broken; my emotions feel as if they've been blasted into a million pieces - someone has kindly scooped them up and plopped them in a bucket for me, but now they have to be sifted through. That's proving more painful than the initial blasting itself.
I am doing my utmost to be 'normal' and do 'normal' things. Parenthood offers little space for indulgence which can be both a blessing and a curse, my singing is on the up, college is going well (essay aside), I'm back running regularly and support from friends and family is forthcoming. However...
Going through the motions has never been my bag and there is a distinct lack of joy in most of what I do right now. Where is the fucking joy Dobson?
Speaking of fucking, the last time that happened was Christmas night and I miss the physical contact. Though having said that, the idea of being intimate with anyone ever again terrifies me and it all feels a bit dead from the waist down.
As I said, where is the fucking joy Dobson?
Right, I'm off to watch another couple of episodes of Spiral. The essay can wait.
Frankie
Showing posts with label ageing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ageing. Show all posts
Monday, 10 February 2014
Monday, 20 January 2014
Dignity or Dignitas?
Dear Dobson,
Life seems to be meandering from one day to the next, so I suppose that's evidence I'm hanging on in there somehow. It's an existence of sorts but I'm aware I'm lurking in the shadows, courting anonymity instead of the spotlight for the first time in my life. I feel jaded, used, discarded.
The Man ignores the odd phone call I chance, my e-mails and occasional texts. All fall on deaf ears. I've a feeling he doesn't even read the words I carefully construct. Each agonising phrase dusted with a whiff of hope - hope that he'll be sufficiently moved to reconnect. I realise it's futile. My services are no longer required.
Sadness is a constant, disappointment a regular visitor and anger an unwelcome one. Then there are the dark thoughts; the powerful fantasies of revenge countered by those of pitiful self-destruction. I am lost. Broken.
As you know Dobson, this isn't just a case of heartbreak. It's more complicated than that. It's old wounds revisited. I didn't want to have to go to 'Rejectionville' again but I'm fresh off the bus, suitcase in hand and the locals seem to know who I am. All because someone said 'trust me', and I took a chance.
January is nearly over ergo I have been single for almost a month. Time flies when you're empty and numb. I miss The Man - I miss 'us' and 'we' and I miss 'my boyfriend'.
Frankie
Life seems to be meandering from one day to the next, so I suppose that's evidence I'm hanging on in there somehow. It's an existence of sorts but I'm aware I'm lurking in the shadows, courting anonymity instead of the spotlight for the first time in my life. I feel jaded, used, discarded.
The Man ignores the odd phone call I chance, my e-mails and occasional texts. All fall on deaf ears. I've a feeling he doesn't even read the words I carefully construct. Each agonising phrase dusted with a whiff of hope - hope that he'll be sufficiently moved to reconnect. I realise it's futile. My services are no longer required.
Sadness is a constant, disappointment a regular visitor and anger an unwelcome one. Then there are the dark thoughts; the powerful fantasies of revenge countered by those of pitiful self-destruction. I am lost. Broken.
As you know Dobson, this isn't just a case of heartbreak. It's more complicated than that. It's old wounds revisited. I didn't want to have to go to 'Rejectionville' again but I'm fresh off the bus, suitcase in hand and the locals seem to know who I am. All because someone said 'trust me', and I took a chance.
January is nearly over ergo I have been single for almost a month. Time flies when you're empty and numb. I miss The Man - I miss 'us' and 'we' and I miss 'my boyfriend'.
Frankie
Saturday, 11 January 2014
Happy New Year My Arse
Dear Dobson,
These are difficult, desperate days and in the face of such adversity, resurrecting our online tête-à-tête seemed like the only thing to do to preserve a modicum of sanity.
When last we spoke I was on board the Love Train and life was good. It continued to be so until just after Christmas when the stoker decided to throw me off. Nothing was negotiable. Perhaps he thought I'd dodged the fare but I can honestly say I hadn't.
Heartbreak over the Christmas / New Year period is possibly the worst kind. It's that time of year when couples strive to outdo each other with overt, gaudy displays of bile-inducing affection and being involuntarily single amidst all this is akin to having bubonic plague. No-one wants to get too close in case they catch it.
This wasn't what I anticipated going into 2014. I feel as if I missed a big clue along the way; the one that said 'He's going to dump you'. And let me tell you, the man is as stubborn as his Taurus the Bull birth sign - he won't be changing his mind or compromising in any way.
I'm shocked and saddened. I believed we were good together / for each other. Our experience was obviously very different.
Initially I will try and fix myself by taking on board what the Bee Gees have to say above, but luckily for me, I've been broken before so have a few tried and tested methods of my own; good people, running, singing, my course, this blog and strength of character. To be honest I'd have preferred to be planning a holiday with my boyfriend in the new year instead of my solitary emotional recovery, but needs must.
Despite the miserable overtures, it feels good to be back here.
Frankie
These are difficult, desperate days and in the face of such adversity, resurrecting our online tête-à-tête seemed like the only thing to do to preserve a modicum of sanity.
When last we spoke I was on board the Love Train and life was good. It continued to be so until just after Christmas when the stoker decided to throw me off. Nothing was negotiable. Perhaps he thought I'd dodged the fare but I can honestly say I hadn't.
Heartbreak over the Christmas / New Year period is possibly the worst kind. It's that time of year when couples strive to outdo each other with overt, gaudy displays of bile-inducing affection and being involuntarily single amidst all this is akin to having bubonic plague. No-one wants to get too close in case they catch it.
This wasn't what I anticipated going into 2014. I feel as if I missed a big clue along the way; the one that said 'He's going to dump you'. And let me tell you, the man is as stubborn as his Taurus the Bull birth sign - he won't be changing his mind or compromising in any way.
I'm shocked and saddened. I believed we were good together / for each other. Our experience was obviously very different.
Initially I will try and fix myself by taking on board what the Bee Gees have to say above, but luckily for me, I've been broken before so have a few tried and tested methods of my own; good people, running, singing, my course, this blog and strength of character. To be honest I'd have preferred to be planning a holiday with my boyfriend in the new year instead of my solitary emotional recovery, but needs must.
Despite the miserable overtures, it feels good to be back here.
Frankie
Sunday, 17 March 2013
The Big Thaw
Dear Dobson,
I cannot believe yet another respective birthday has been and gone. I must confess I've been thinking a lot this evening about the passing of time - a classic symptom of getting older. Unfortunately I've reached no earth shattering conclusions, other than time seems to be accelerating a little too quickly for my liking, especially the good stuff which seems to be gone in the blink of an eye.
And please don't interpret my ruminations as sad or maudlin, if anything, what I've said above makes me value the good stuff even more.
Could I have injected more clichés into the preceding paragraphs?
I must congratulate you on your purchase of 'Orgasm' blusher, I shall pay close attention to your flush when we next meet, but don't go overboard will you? I imagine the Aunt Sally look would probably have an adverse effect... Luckily, and without wanting to sound like I'm bragging, I have no need for such cosmetic indulgences at the moment. My cheeks are aglow like two enormous Belisha Beacons and my Bunny™ lies redundant in the drawer underneath my bed; just for the record, there are many other reasons I think The Man is wonderful. The Ice Queen never stood a chance in such company.
On that note, it's time for me to retire to the boudoir where I shall slip under the covers and inhale what remnants are left of the weekend spent with him. Defrosted...
Night Dobson.
Frankie
PS. Happy frickin' Anniversary, this is our fiftieth post.
I cannot believe yet another respective birthday has been and gone. I must confess I've been thinking a lot this evening about the passing of time - a classic symptom of getting older. Unfortunately I've reached no earth shattering conclusions, other than time seems to be accelerating a little too quickly for my liking, especially the good stuff which seems to be gone in the blink of an eye.
And please don't interpret my ruminations as sad or maudlin, if anything, what I've said above makes me value the good stuff even more.
Could I have injected more clichés into the preceding paragraphs?
I must congratulate you on your purchase of 'Orgasm' blusher, I shall pay close attention to your flush when we next meet, but don't go overboard will you? I imagine the Aunt Sally look would probably have an adverse effect... Luckily, and without wanting to sound like I'm bragging, I have no need for such cosmetic indulgences at the moment. My cheeks are aglow like two enormous Belisha Beacons and my Bunny™ lies redundant in the drawer underneath my bed; just for the record, there are many other reasons I think The Man is wonderful. The Ice Queen never stood a chance in such company.
On that note, it's time for me to retire to the boudoir where I shall slip under the covers and inhale what remnants are left of the weekend spent with him. Defrosted...
Night Dobson.
Frankie
PS. Happy frickin' Anniversary, this is our fiftieth post.
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