Spiralling

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

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

Which One Is The Dead One?

Dearest Frankie,

Fancy meeting you here... Is it sheer luck that we even remembered the passwords to the magical kingdom of Blogger. Serendipity. Or just a catchy password. Who can tell...

I am as surprised as you by your shock exit from the love train. I really can't understand it.  I am, however, pleased to see you here and talking in rather positive tones.

So.  Here's to blogs and stuff.  And the remaining / still alive BeeGee.

Dobson x

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

Writer's Blockage

Dear Dobson,

My creative juices appear to have stopped flowing.  I'm dry as a menopausal vagina and I blame one thing and one thing only for this arid state of affairs...  Contentment.

Now don't get me wrong, life is not all peaches and cream, of course there are many things I would change or improve given the opportunity or the finances, but in general I don't know if I've ever had it so good.

I am unsure as to whether this new state of Zen comes as a result of maturity, wisdom, awareness and generally being comfortable in my own skin or as a result of things having previously been so shit that anything is an improvement.  Having given it some thought, I believe it's the former.

Without going all hippy on your arse, I feel as if good is begetting good and it's fucking fabulous.  My recent application form has earnt me an interview, my jazz duo is now a quartet with an impending gig at a Central London venue and I have a man who thinks nothing of repairing my mangled runner's toenails...

I feel as if I can have whatever I want right now.  That concept scares me a little, but not enough to stop me asking.  Sacrificing some of my creative juice doesn't seem like such a bad trade off to me.

Frankie

Highs And Lows

Dear Dobson,

My week, in a nutshell.

Low Point:

Parenthood has been one of this week's crashing lows.  I've never rated myself much as a mother if I'm honest; I don't make my own houmous or anything, but I like to think I do a decent job and most importantly, my boys know they're loved.  Unfortunately oldest has entered what we have labelled 'The P Zone' - yes indeed, as his thirteenth birthday looms, Puberty arrives and the odious stench of testosterone hangs heavy in the air like ammonia.  All kinds of muscles are currently getting a good flexing.

He has behaved appallingly of late and I yearn for the days when a clip around the ear wasn't something that could land you in court.  If this is just the beginning of a catalogue of heinous pubescent behaviour then I'd like to terminate my contract here and now.

What do you mean I can't terminate my contract?

I suppose I simply attempt to muddle through the best I can, like many other parents have before me - except my own mother of course who did less than her best, but that's a whole other story I can't be arsed investing any energy in right now...


High Point:

The Love Train is stoked full of coal and is chugging along beautifully.  I don't know where it's destined to go, but being aboard it makes me very happy.  The Man is warm, wonderful and uncomplicated - I love having him in my life.


Any Other Business:

The application form has gone away.  The waiting game commences.  I shall know within three weeks or so if I'm up for interview.  Obviously they'd be mad not to take me.

I went to the cinema to see the new Star Trek film and found myself strangely drawn to Spock.  I never thought I'd use a Vulcan as stimulus for a wank.

I miss you and would like you to come back.

Frankie

Just Not Tony Hart - Please

Dear Dobson,

Since the Jimmy Savile story broke several months ago, I have been somewhat distressed by the long line of celebrity paedophiles, rapists and sex offenders that has continued to emerge.  It's like the televisual story of my youth is slowly being destroyed before my very eyes...

Yesterday's revelation that Tarby may be joining the ranks of Savile et al was yet another inappropriate slap in the face.  It would seem the concept of 'Variety' in the 70s meant exactly that.

As an homage to the continuing scandal, and with some assistance from The Man, I have come up with a list of top five tracks to mark the occasion:

Aaaaaaat 5...  'Clair' by Gilbert O'Sullivan

Aaaaaaat 4...  'Thank Heaven For Little Girls' from Gigi

Aaaaaaat 3...  'Sweet Sixteen' by Neil Sedaka

Aaaaaaat 2...  'Girl, You'll Be A Woman Soon' by Neil Diamond

And at Number 1...  'Young Girl' by Gary Puckett and The Union Gap

Obviously Serge Gainsbourg gets a special mention for 'Lemon Incest', the duet which he sang with his then twelve year old daughter...  

Unfortunately I've little doubt that in the time it's taken me to write this, yet another celebrity's name will have been added to the ever increasing list.  I'm sure it will stop eventually, it has to, else there will be no-one left to out.

Happy Wednesday.

Frankie