Dresses and Successes

Bare legs used to frighten me. I was always a girl who wore tights or trousers. But this week the ridiculous temperatures in my classroom lured me into a linen dress and wedge sandals. And, man, what a reaction. I must have been told by about 25 people that I looked lovely in the dress; my favourite comments being 'Miss, you look hot' from a Sixth form girl to the female head of HR at work pointing out that if she had legs like mine she'd show them off too. It was immensely gratifying and enjoyable. On Friday my ex hesitantly asked if he could comment that I looked pretty these days. Well, of course. All people would rather be told that they look good, wouldn't they?

This dress book-ended a bit of suit wearing on Wednesday. I had an interview for a promotion for a job at work. After saying a few weeks ago that I'd decided not to chase promotion my perfect job came up and I was persuaded to apply for it. And, you know what? I got it too. The feedback from my interview made me glow with pride. From September I'll be Queenie and I'm looking forward to it.

Over this weekend my actual baby sister and our adopted baby sister came to visit me. I wore a hot dress on the night out and was amazingly successful as I did all the things I set out to do. Have a girlie night. Not undertake any booty texting and do a Cinderella and stop drinking by midnight. And I managed it all. I had a really wonderful night.

And finally, today I went across to Manchester to act as god-mother to my friend's baby. I managed to be early for the service (thanking heaven for sat nav) and having a lovely, lovely time with her friends and family at the party afterwards. It was a total honour to be asked to be god-mother and to be part of their day.

So, this past week has been a total high. I've had success after success and most of them have been achieved wearing a cute dress. I do believe that you have to change: whether it's as simple as being bare-legged in a summer dress or as major as having a big career change. This week will apparently also be warm. More dresses? Hell yeah. More successes? I can but hope.

Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind

Like a circle in a spiral

Like a wheel within a wheel

Never ending or beginning

On an ever-spinning reel

As the images unwind

Like the circles that you find

In the windmills of your mind

I might not have been tilting at windmills this weekend but I have to admit to an outbreak of windmills in my mind. Whilst there is certainly progression and I've really moved on in a number of ways I still find myself repeating certain patterns endlessly.

The first 'circle in a spiral' is that I'm not honest about my own motivations. Whilst getting ready for a Ball on Friday I put on really lovely cerise matching underwear under my black dress and gave my friend who was staying a spare door key to my house. Clearly, I was doing this as sub-consciously I knew that I would be texting my late night troubadour after a few drinks. Which happened. And this weekend he finally managed to get on message and meet up with me. Which was nice. I am completely rubbish at realising that I'm going to be booty texting after a few gins. I should just be up front with myself and my friend and say: 'in all likelihood it'll be a taxi for 3 about 3am'. But at 7pm I always think I'm going to be a marvellously loyal and extremely chaste friend. (At this point, dear reader, you should mentally snort 'hah').

The other 'wheel within a wheel' was that I ended up at Debehams buying underwear again this weekend rather like I did in this post from last year. This year I had to get a new bra because Paul McKenna has done a rather good job of making me thin and as my 36FF assets are now 34E assets I need new lingerie. True to form I handed over a Debenhams gift card that didn't work. And I thought, I've been right here before. There were some very familiar bleeping noises emanating from the till and a whole lot of card-rubbing-on-tops-by-sales-assistants. However, this time Debenhams recognised it was their fault and allowed me to buy the bra.

And where am I with my 3am Text Troubadour? Well, this weekend I texted on Friday with a new slant on the whole booty thing. I sent him, 'Hi, I'm out tonight'. To which I got the romantic response: 'Who is this? I lost my phone'. After establishing that I was Rio we met up and he informed me that he's off to live in New York in September. Frankly, that's a bit inconvenient for me. Looks like I'm going to have to recruit a new 'friend with benefits' or take up macrame. Whichever is easiest.

The final repeating pattern is that my ex has got back with and then split up with his girlfriend again. Which has led him to telling me that he misses me a lot. I might repeat the same patterns, mistakes and fashion choices many times. But there's one person I'll never repeat my mistakes with. And that's my ex.

Innocence and Experience

I'm trying to learn not to under-estimate and I haven't under-estimated how difficult that can be.

Yesterday I took my six-year-old son to see 'His Dark Materials' Part 1 at our local theatre. If you've never read Philip Pullman's trilogy you have denied yourself of a wonderful and potentially life-changing experience. In short, Pullman has rewritten Milton's 'Paradise Lost' with a modern many-worlds slant. It is utter brilliance and all about whether you should choose to Fall: to choose experience over innocence. The consumer information was that the play was suitable for 11 and over. So I felt a little concerned when I took a six-year-old. However, he sat in rapt attention for the whole of the matinee performance. Then I asked him whether he wanted to wait for the evening performance of Part 2 so he could see how it finished? This would mean a further three hours (on top of three hours of matinee). The worst part being that it was the last night of the run, the performance was fully sold out and we'd have to wait until 7pm (his bedtime) before finding out whether we'd get seats. He told me, quite simply, 'what's the point in only seeing half of it?' and I had to concur. We queued, we got tickets, we sat through a wonderful play and I left feeling that I was proud that I hadn't under-estimated my son.

Right now I'm trying not to under-estimate myself too. After years of not applying for promotions at work I applied for one this week. I have had real issues about my motivation for doing this and if it is merely vanity as I've had quite a few senior management check whether I've applied, and they've told me that I'd be perfect for it. However, I'm not sure I am. I'm quite chaotic and no matter how many times people tell me that organisation is just a matter of writing lists and then crossing things off, I've been on this planet long enough to know that I'm the sort of person who forgets to write the list or loses it five minutes after writing it. The worst part is I think the other candidate is amazing and that they'll give her the job and I don't want to cope with the rejection. I've had enough rejection recently and I don't desire any more. I'd rather not try than fail.

But, I'm pretty far away from innocence these days and my path over the past year has been one of experience. Maybe I ought to learn the lessons of the past and try not to under-estimate myself.

How not to go out with someone else

Pity me, tonight I am suffering from telephobia.

Recently, I've been emailing a lovely guy and we've covered all the major bases in an online relationship, such as our opinions on themed outfits, Italian disco classics, suncream, Guernica, wastewater treatments and the changing fashions in bathroom tile sizes. You have to agree that this covers all the flirting possibilities quite admirably.

A couple of weeks ago I thought that I'd inserted a really huge spanner in the works when I told him about the existence of my son. He said that he wasn't looking for a relationship with a single Mum (quelle surprise) but that he was always up for coffee at some point. He then gave me his mobile number. I do believe that 'coffee' here does denote the hot drink made of beans rather than the rather more euphemistic meanings it can have. Usually at 3am.

I emailed back and said that I was always up for coffee or a film at some point, adding my mobile number.

And then tonight I got this terrifying response: 'I am busy this weekend but will call you at the 1st opportunity.'. Hence outbreak of telephobia. I am perfectly capable of coping with meeting people in bars and clubs, I can email with the best of them, I MSN like a demon and I text like a 15 year old with a contract paid by a benevolent parent. But I absolutely cannot speak on the phone with an absolute stranger. For starters, I've heard my voice on a radio interview and I sounded like Donald Duck before his speech therapy. On top of that when I'm nervous I gabble. And the worst thing? He's got a foreign name which I have NO idea of how pronounce. I will sound like an idiot.

I do hope 'call' means 'text'. But I don't think it does.

How not to go out with someone

This is how not to go out with someone as recreated (somewhat imperfectly) from texts on my phone and reconstructions of what I think I said to him.

Boy. Wednesday 27/05/2009 20:03 'Meetin up on a school night would be out of the question I presume'

Me: (reconstructed response): 'I've got friends round tonight. Are you out tonight then? I'm in Barcelona for weekend'

Boy: 27/05/2009 20:29 'Ah good for you. Nah not out late at all. Enjoy Spain'.

Me: (reconstructed response on 29/05/2009) 'Am at airport on way to Barcelona. My son is at his Dad's on Sunday night if you are about?'

Boy - absolute silence, until Friday 05/06/2009 23:14 'You out?'

Me: 'I am out but am in Sunderland at a Take That gig so no use to you. Did you get my text last week?'

Boy: 05/06/2009 23:45 'I did, was in ireland'.

Me: Saturday 06/06/2009 'I might be free tonight, you about?'

Boy: 06/06/2009 18:55 'Hiking tomorrow so keeping a low profile tonight'.

Me: 'I am going to be very virtuous and stay in and read a book'.

Boy: 07/06/2009 00:10 'How is the virtuousness goin?'.

Sadly, the answer to that was that I was fast asleep, sleeping the sleep of the righteous. I do appear to be very good at not going out with someone.

Guiltless secrets

There are things that people don't admit to. I guess I shouldn't admit that when I'm peckish I pour a blob of brown sauce onto my hand and lick it off (or mayo or thousand island dressing). I ought not to admit that I spent the entire of my son's bedtime story tonight sniggering because it's 'The Faraway Tree' and in just one chapter there was Dick, Fanny and the queer folk of the Enchanted Forest.

Other things people that people might not admit to include the fact that I've totally decided that I'm not going to go for any sort of promotion in the foreseeable future. There are better jobs elsewhere and the potential for higher remuneration in my current organisation but I don't want to do more work. In fact, I'd rather do less work. It feels a bit maverick to admit that you don't want to move up the greasy pole as I think most people are expected to try to develop their career. But I don't want to.

The really guiltless secret is that I've decided that I want to remain single. I think I've realised that I'm a bit of a cranky lone wolf and I like things done my way. Over the past few weeks I've been revelling in my OCD and have done things like ensuring all the hangers in my wardrobe are black plastic. Tonight I went to Ikea and bought furniture so I can sort my room out and make it 100% clutter-free. Whilst my ex lived here the clutter was of Steptoe-esque proportions and I revel now in the complete emptiness of my house. Last night I was online at midnight tracking down a jewellery tree just so I can organise all my necklaces.

Obviously having come to the decision that I want to remain single has one major ramification. Ever since I decided that I don't want to play with boys I've pulled more than a barmaid at Oktoberfest. On Friday alone a doctor or dentist or something added me as a favourite on Guardian Soulmates. Then in town I got chatted up by J who was the world's shortest but funniest man. Shortly after a right fit man decided, somewhat randomly, that I was the girl to recreate that Uma Thurman / John Travolta 'Pulp Fiction' dance with. Finally, in a club 6 foot 5 of amazing dark handsomeness took a shine to me and I told my friend (for I was wholly shitfaced) that 'sometimes it's all about the ones you turn down'. All night I was being texted by the lad who fits many of the criteria for my cosmic order. And you know what, I resisted temptation ALL evening. I just stayed out with my friends and danced and enjoyed myself.

Now, it might be a bit odd to want to be single, but it's working for me. And, yeah, I met up with my 'you out' troubadour at 2am after not having communicated for a fortnight at all. He wants to be single, so do I. I shouldn't admit that's cool with me but it is.

How I love now

There's a poem that I haven't taught for three years that I had to teach today. Last time I taught it I was with my husband and I didn't really understand it. Today, I do.

Love After Love

The time will come

when, with elation

you will greet yourself arriving

at your own door, in your own mirror

and each will smile at the other's welcome,

.

and say, sit here. Eat.

You will love again the stranger who was your self.

Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart

to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

.

all your life, whom you ignored

for another, who knows you by heart.

Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

.

the photographs, the desperate notes,

peel your own image from the mirror.

Sit. Feast on your life.

.

Derek Walcott

My class didn't understand it and for one dangerous moment I felt the tears dancing behind my eyes as I read it. Because this poem speaks volumes about who I am these days and how I live now. This blog is over a year old but the original posts - the first steps towards catharsis - date from this time last year. At that time there were suggestions from my ex that he might want to come back and I was very confused. I would never have believed the prophesy that 'The time will come' that I would feel at one with myself. That this would feel like my house, and mine alone, with no ghosts hovering.

I wouldn't have known that I can 'love again the stranger who was your self'. I've changed so dramatically in that one year: I'm confident, I'm a lot more attractive and, heck, I'm sexier too. Metaphorically and physically I've taken 'down the love letters from the bookshelf, / the photographs, the desperate notes'. I've thrown it all out. It doesn't clutter my home, my life or my psyche.

If you are someone who is on the first steps towards experiencing love after love, or if you are faltering on your path, I can tell you that this poem is full of truth and power. You will 'give your heart back to itself'.

Sit. Feast on YOUR life x