Entries Tagged ‘The Ex’



I’ve been faking it all these years

In ten hours* from now I will finish work for the last time; after that I’ll have a week off to indulge in the art of doing sweet FA. I may even sleep. One week of taking time out from nearly a decade of working. Trust me – I’m not counting the hours, I’m counting the seconds.

Once I’ve had a week to recover, I’ll be embarking on the trip of a lifetime to the Sahara desert for yet even more time out. Nothing is expected of me other than to absorb the local culture and the welcoming rays of the sun. Those twelve hour nightshifts I’ve been doing recently have left my skin alabaster white; funny how they didn’t mention that in the contract.

A few months ago I had a full time, albeit shitty job. To the detriment of my bank balance, I took on a temporary, part time job someplace else and said goodbye to working in an environment that was slowly eviscerating me to death; I think it got my brain first. I truly try and live my life without regrets (even when I had that dodgy perm some years back, I didn’t regret it – I just burned all photographic evidence it ever happened.) Yet even now, I can feel the beginnings of regret pulling at my consciousness. Or perhaps that’s just me pulling at my hair.

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I’m not greedy, simply selfish

I’m trying, or rather, have been trying to write a reflective piece on my life in the last 12 months. I can’t really say anything about it without losing all grasp of the English language to convey what it is that exactly happened.

You all know by now that 2010 saw the end of my relationship with the ex – despite being a messy and life changing start to last year, I now find myself feeling quite apathetic to the whole sorry tale. Sure, it ended and I was forced to re-evaluate what exactly it was I wanted. But if truth be told, I didn’t have to re-evaluate, I merely had to evaluate for the first time.

It’s so easy to continually exist in a relationship without ever being aware of what it is you want. It’s called being comfortable, it’s called not rocking the boat – it’s called complacency. I am a master at it, not because I don’t have dreams or aspirations of my own, but because for a good few many years I honestly believed I never deserved any of them.

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But can it hug me back? Can it fuck.

Once upon a time when I was in a loving, committed relationship, I wrote this piece of crap. I’ve been single for nearly six months now and I can unhappily say I agree with my former HAPPY self. Yes, having a bed to yourself is nice but jeez do I miss the cuddles.

I told my colleague the other day I actually hugged a pillow in bed one night not so long ago. But not only that, I laid the pillow out on what would have been his side of the bed and put my arm round it whilst lying on my side, just to emulate the spoon position.

“You’re breaking my heart,” was my colleague’s only response when I told him what I’d done.

At the time I didn’t think of the practice as something to pity, but after doing it for the third night in a row, I threw that fucking pillow on the floor in frustration. And disgust.

Yes, I can hug a pillow and pretend it’s a nice, warm pliable body instead a cold, cotton stuffed piece of crap. But can it hug me back? Can it fuck. And that’s what I hate. I missed being hugged.

Suggestions please.

Hug donations kindly welcomed.



To my ex, the only thing big about you was your ego – HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Today was the ex’s birthday. I admit it was a little weird not being there to share the day with him, although I did enjoy the fact I was no longer duty bound to buy him a gift. So ok, perhaps I was officially broke until Tuesday and couldn’t afford to buy him anything anyway, but even if I could, I was merely happy because he’s impossible to shop for. And I no longer had to attempt to do it!

There are some things you don’t miss about relationships, and for me, that is one of them.

Still, because we live within walking distance of each other, we decided to meet up for a breakfast birthday coffee. I couldn’t exactly come empty handed (and carrying a soggy umbrella doesn’t count either) – so the day before I went in pursuit of purchasing him a birthday card.

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When in Rome…

Most of you probably don’t know this, but I went to Rome at the end of the June. And instead of writing a big old blog post about it, describing my experiences in hilaric (a real word, I’ll have you know) detail and what not, I’ve managed to do everything but that. My intention this evening was to finally write an amazing, funny piece on my travels to Rome, sharing with you the stories of my life for that one week I did something different. Instead I ended up wasting my entire evening by adding a bunch of older blog posts from the last three years to this archive, thus making me focus on him just enough to shift my writing from humour, to wallow.

That’s procrastination at its most basic.

I can’t write about my trip to Rome, it simply won’t flow. In fact the only thing that did flow in Rome was the wine and the tears. The tears first obviously, then I soaked them up with the wine.

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