|
The Diary:
4 January 2005
Kingfishers Catch Fire – Rumer Godden
I think I’d rather be Sophie than Teresa, but I know I’m not really like that. Sophie is impulsive, a dreamer, full of ideals and loving beautiful things. This is enough justification for her in the decisions she makes – I will do this because it will be beautiful, pre, lovely. She doesn’t think about practical things because that is stolid. Part of me wishes I could be like that, but most of me thinks she’s selfish and also stupid. She gets taken advantage of because she doesn’t think things through. She treads on people’s toes and doesn’t even look to see if they’re hurt. She expects them like herself, to bite their lip and accept pain as part of the greater good. She expects them to be like her. She has no empathy. So I despise her. But I also know that she has a more exciting life than me because I can’t ignore practical considerations when I make decisions. And even though she’s fictional, this annoys me. I have only got to page 103.
Today’s the first day back at work after the Christmas break. Nothing has changed. I’ve escaped to Coffee Cali in my lunch break and I am upstairs with a cappuccino. Upstairs where the awkward people go, like children and smokers. I thought about giving up for New Year, but I couldn’t be bothered. Simon asked if I was going to. He gave up five years ago and now every year he asks me again. He says if not for my own sake then for Gregory’s. I know he’s right. But I never smoke in the house when Gregory’s up. I do think about him. Though if I brought him here he could play with the toys and I could smoke at the same time. He was pleased to go back to Nursery today. I’ve tried to play with him a lot in the last two weeks, but I’m no substitute really for those young girls and a whole crowd of other children. We wouldn’t do very well in isolation, like Sophie and her children.
8 January 2005
Got caught out by my period today. Wish I was one of those people who always know the exact date, and are always prepared. In everything. I wish I was always prepared, but I never am. I get caught in the rain without an umbrella, drive into the glaring sun when I’ve left my sunglasses at home, forget to take food on long journeys so Gregory cries and we have to stop, and that makes Simon cross because he hates stopping. And I have to rush out in my tea break from work to buy sanitary towels because I forget to expect my period.
Just read about Sophie tying Moo’s hands behind his back. How stupid is that? I’m beginning to feel that that is what she is – not just impulsive and selfish, but actually quite dim. My heart was in my mouth when he fell in the water. But that’s not the disaster, Disaster is going to strike in some other way.
10 January 2005
The girl who brought my coffee had her hair straightened and she was so thin I think my hands would have gone round her waist with hardly a gap. That’s the fashion at the moment. Thin and straight. Everything I’m not. I don’t know if my hair would straighten. I can’t think it would. It’s always been so madly kinky and uncontrollable I can’t imagine a bit of heat and metal would tame it. Not for more than an hour or so anyway. I’ve got used to being big. It has its own gracefulness – like elephants – they sway and they have power. They have calm. I’d like to think that I have calm. That doesn’t mean these thin blonde girls in black don’t irritate me.
It all turned out for Sophie in the end. I suppose I was pleased. I think so. She was stupid and selfish – but she learned lessons. She learned to understand the herd children and the villagers and Teresa, and they learned to understand her. But I’m not convinced. Or I just feel alienated perhaps. When I disliked Sophie and felt for Teresa I was in there, a part of the book. But Sophie’s more powerful than me – dynamic, magnetic. Teresa is drawn to her. She loves her. She’ll willingly follow her and Moo to Beirut for a new adventure and will grow in the process. Unlike me. I choose the safe path and stay the same. Solidify. Part of me wanted Sophie to move to Finstead and get tied down I respectable life with teapots. A spiteful part of me. The ending Rumer Godden wrote is more believable.
Jo in the book group recommended a book to me. She hasn’t read it yet. The Story of O. I just went and got it in the library – they had to fetch it up from the basement. I was so embarrassed. It’s got this really tacky 70s pornographic picture of a man and a woman. Well, not pornographic, but that’s what it’s suggesting. I went bright red. But I suppose they’re used to that sort of thing in the library. People must take all sorts out. I don’t know where I’ll read it. I put it right at the bottom of my bag. I’ll have to read it when Simon’s out on Fridays. I wonder how many Fridays it will take to finish it.
17/1/05
Book group tonight. I’ll have to tell Jo that I’ve read The Story of O. Unless I lie and say I couldn’t get it. I wonder if she’s read it and what she thought. I mean, really it’s pornography. Or at least, I suppose it is, never having read any. I started it one night after Simon had gone to bed and I couldn’t believe what I was reading. And I couldn’t stop. Every minute I got when Simon or Gregory weren’t there I was glued to it and I finished it on Friday night when Simon was out. What I want to know is did she enjoy it. O, that is. Did she get pleasure or only give it. I don’t think my fantasies would be so selfless. I think I would want to get something out of it. I’ve had enough sex in my life that gives me no pleasure. I shouldn’t say that. Simon is always considerate. I tried to imagine him in the role of Sir Stephen, with a whip in his hand, and I couldn’t. Some people just couldn’t do it. You’d laugh. I’ve ordered another book on ebay called submission. I feel like I’ve turned into a dirty old man with my secret filthy books. But they’re meant to be good literature. I wonder what real pornography’s like.
25 January 2005
The No.1 Ladies Detective Agency - Alexander McCall Smith
I’ve written that at the top of the page but I haven’t started reading it yet. I haven’t read much since the last book group – I’ve been watching Big Brother. To be honest I felt a bit weird after the last meeting. The conversation got on to sex – because of The Story of O – and I don’t know, just the way people were talking and laughing, I felt a bit out of place. I’ve never been into giggly girl chat things. I can never think what to say actually. We did talk about the last book, and everyone else seemed to like Sophie and identify with her. I didn’t say how much she annoyed me.
A new man started at work today. He’s not directly my boss, but he’s above me. His desk is just across the office from mine. He’s very friendly and not at all shy. He’s chatting to everyone as if he’s known them forever and it’s only his second day. He’s called Matt.
1 February 2005
I’m really wound up over something at work. Something trivial and stupid I know, but it’s upset me. It’s to do with enquiries. Always, if it’s been something which can be answered by sending leaflets then I’ve done it. I’ve talked to the person on the phone, found out what they’re interested in and sent out the appropriate leaflets. Suddenly, someone somewhere in an office has decided it’s not my job. That all enquiries have to be dealt with by an advisor. Which means I have to transfer the caller, someone else makes a note of the leaflets necessary and gives it to me and I send them. Why am I so angry about this? It’s because I was doing a good job and nobody has noticed, or if they have they haven’t held their hands up and said, hey, Hannah’s already doing that and she’s doing fine. I may only be an assistant, but I don’t think on my job description it said dogsbody. Or telephone answerer.
That guy Matt, he must have noticed me slamming things around on the desk, because he asked if I was OK. I said yes, fine, but I nearly burst into tears, so I went to lunch early.
I still haven’t read the book group book. I’ve been re-reading Agatha Christies. I guess it’s comfort reading. Submission came, the book I ordered from ebay, but I haven’t even looked at it yet.
7 February 2005
At home today. I couldn’t go to work because I’m too sad. I keep crying. I guess it’s PMT, sometimes it gets me like that. I burst into tears all the time. Anything can set me off. This morning the news was on the telly and this woman was talking about an operation she’d had – it was a piece on the NHS – on her hip and it was successful and she could walk better now but she’d had to wait three years – and I completely broke down, weeping uncontrollably. It was followed by a thing about Jude Law and his girlfriend and paparazzi cameramen snapping them while they were walking in the park. How they couldn’t just be young and in love without being photographed. I could barely see them because the screen was just a blur. It’s a good job Simon’d already gone to work. He hates it when I get like this. He wants to know what’s the matter. I say Nothing, I’m just overemotional, I’m just crying, it’s a natural way of dealing with hormonal mood swings, it’s nothing to do with you. He never cries. Hasn’t done since he was a child. He thinks crying is a form of accusation – like I’m blaming him for something. Can’t see it just makes me feel better. God, I’ crying again now. I better pull myself together before he gets home. I’ll try and read some of the book group book. I’ve started it but I’m not really into it yet. If I get a good few hours this afternoon I might make an indent. I read Submission last night while Simon was out with the football crowd. Stayed up late after he was back and finished it.
14 February 2005
I’ve read the book. I liked it. It was soothing, untaxing. I won’t remember it as one of the best books I’ve read, though I probably will go on and read the rest of them in the series. It was comforting like snuggling under a duvet or eating a bowl of soup. Although the boy was missing, you kind of knew he would turn up again. The reconciliation. That’s what the book was like. All of the cases had a nice ending. Oart of me was thinking what it was like for the boy away from his family, the terror, the horror of it. Part of me was going deeper, but that’s not where the book goes. Charlie G, he’s not going to be pleased that Mma R. has crossed him, abused his trust. She should be in serious trouble. Bt the book ends on a happy comfortable note. It’s not the real world. But it’s nice when you’re in it.
19 February 2005
Freezing cold today, but sunny, and the sun has some real warmth. If you find a sheltered spot, a sun trap, then you can really feel that spring is on its way. Snowdrops are everywhere, crocuses. I’ve seen primroses and early daffodils on warm patios. They were selling bunches, unopened, in the shop. It’s definite. Winter’s on its way out, and these Vladivostock temperatures are just its swan song. I can feel it in my blood. Things are better.
Today I have Gregory with me. Simon’s gone to watch a match. We’re in town and we’re getting on OK. We went to the library and got books. Gregory threatened a tantrum because we couldn’t find Thomas books. But I did deep breathing, smiled. Even when the woman behind the counter glared at me. Now we’re in Coffee Cali and Gregory has had a doughnut and he’s playing with the toys. He’s quite calm.
Last night I went out with people from work and Simon babysat. Friday night. First time for everything. Managed to make a bargain with him because of the match today. It was June from marketing’s birthday. There was June, Sally and Lianne from marketing, Don and Helen, the new gut Matt, me and craig from accounts. We went for a pizza then to a bar for beer. It was great. I haven’t laughed so much in ages. I got quite tiddly and giggled when I got home. Simon was watching the telly, so I went to bed.
12 March 2005
Touching the Void – Joe Simpson
Ages since I wrote. Haven’t felt much like writing. Or reading. I started Touching the Void, but I can’t see that I’ll finish it. It’s not my sort of thing. Too macho. I didn’t like the two guys much, didn’t see why they were doing it other than to tick it off a list. Didn’t care much about them. Things haven’t been too good at home. Gregory’s being difficult. He’s two for god’s sake, that’s what two is about. He has tantrums and kicks and bites if he doesn’t get what he wants. And what he wants might be his toast cut into triangles instead of squares, or a different spoon. It’s not life changing stuff. But he can scream as though it is. And Simon can’t stand it. He gets angry with him and shouts, so Gregory responds to that by screaming louder. The other day I made him another piece of toast cut the other way, and Simon started shouting at me, saying I was giving in to him. I tried to explain that he’s only two and things like this are a big deal because he’s making sense of his world. But Simon put his coat on and went out. The tension when we’re all in the house is unbearable. I’m glad to get to work despite the tedium. But Simon’s out a lot. When Gregory goes to bed I watch telly so I don’t have to think. I think my marriage is falling apart. But that’s not what I want for Gregory, we have to make it work. Last night Comic Relief put it all in perspective. What have I got to complain about compared to all those poor people. I might suggest to Simon that we go to Relate, if I can get him in a reasonably receptive mood.
9 April 2005
Gone With the Wind – Margaret Mitchell
Nearly a month since I wrote in here. It’s been a hell of a month. I feel like I’ve been to hell and back. I finished Touching the Void and it got better. I liked some of the descriptions of snow and ice, and I wanted to know how he’d get out of his predicament. But still, I couldn’t help thinking, there’s so many people in this world fighting for survival through no fault of their own, it’s a bit irresponsible of those guys to put themselves at risk for no good eason. And the other guy too – the one waiting at base camp – they put him at risk too. If their lives are so comfortable that they need to put themselves out on a limb, there are more constructive things they could do which might have a positive effect for others. Adventure for adventure’s sake. I guess it’s a boy thing. It certainly isn’t for me.
It was soon after finishing it that I got ill – if that’s how you want to see it. Things were getting worse at home. Simon and me were hardly speaking – hardly seeing each other because he’d started going out nearly every night. Even when we were both in we just watched the telly. I wanted to talk to him, bring up the fact that everything’s wrong – suggest Relate – but he was so unapproachable – so self-contained – he’d put up a communication barrier and I couldn’t break through it. It was like living with someone with a brick wall built around them. I didn’t even know if he was unhappy.
Then at work one day I got a difficult phone call where we hadn’t got the exact information that this woman wanted and she was rude to me. When I put the phone down I just sat there with my hands on the desk looking at my nails and breathing deeply. Matt noticed and asked if I was OK. He looked really concerned, really caring. No one had looked at me like that for weeks. I burst into tears and ran off to the toilets. And I couldn’t stop. After an hour and a half they sent me home. I could barely drive for blurred vision, and I kept glping and sobbing and my shoulders were shaking and I can’t think what the other drivers thought of me. I phoned Simon and said I was ill so he’d have to pick up Gregory. And I cried all evening and way into the night. Simon fed Gregory his tea and put him to bed and read him a story. I stayed in my room. And when Gregory was settled Simoncame and sat on the edge of the bed and he kept saying “What’s the matter, Hannah? Tell me. What’s up hon?” and that just made me worse. I kept thinking , why are you asking me now? Why couldn’t you have noticed before that something was wrong?
The next day Simon took me to the doctor and he prescribed a sedative and signed me off work for two weeks. Which was when I read Gone with the Wind.
Simon was really good with Gregory, looking after him and letting me rest. I think it’s done their relationship the world of good. Simon seems to really like him now. I hear him reading to him at bedtime and he makes all sorts of growly noises and funny voices, and they both laugh a lot. A couple of times Gregory has called for Daddy when he first wakes up, which he’s never done before. Come to think of it, he almost seems to prefer Simon to me, which doesn’t make me feel fabulous, but it gives me a bit more freedom.
So, Gone with the Wind. I guess I would like to be Scarlett, but I know I’ nt. I’d even like to be Melanie, but I’m not as brave as her, or as nice. I’m a sad mongrel of the two. I haven’t got Scarlett’s glamour or Melanie’s bravery and goodness. I liked Ashley and Rhett, but again I think my ideal would be somewhere between the two. The sexual chemistry. Always it’s there. This sex thing, passion thing. I’m beginning to feel that I’m deformed in some way, like I was born with something missing. I don’t know if it’s physical or emotional or just hormonal. But I don’t get it. When Simon and me have sex, I never want it. I don’t mind it always, but I’d never start it. And I’m always glad when it’s over. God, I can’t believe I’ve written that down. I feel incredibly disloyal. If he did a Rhett and carried me off to bed, I still don’t think I’d like it. I just don’t know what it is, what I should be feeling. I wish I did.
7 May 2005
The Echoing Grove – Rosamond Lehmann
“.. looking down into the river’s fire-dappled, somnolent, molten obsidian mass.”
That’s about as far as I got with that book. The words really annoyed me. There were so many to say so little – just pretentious. I nearly stopped reading at the dinner party bit when Rickie says to the American woman “what a perspicacious woman you are”. I mean, who would use a word like that in real conversation unless they were showing off. But I carried on, hoping for some developments, but they were just chewing over the same stuff again and again, as though they might eventually find some essential truth in it, when actually it was just a mangled mess of lives.
To be perfectly honest, I might have had more patience if I was happy in my own life, but it was too close for me to be objective. I wonder if I’m like Rickie and Madeleine, settling for a life of convenience with no adventure. Except for me there’s no Dinah, no alternative on offer.
Simon has been really sweet with me. Since my breakdown – which I have to admit it was – he’s stayed in more, taken more time out with Gregory, cooked sometimes, even taken me out for a meal. And now he’s arranged for his Mum to come for a weekend to look after Gregory so we can go for a weekend together at a country hotel. He’s making a real effort to put our relationship back together.
And I should be happy. But I’m not. It’s all leaving me cold. I’m watching him and me, me smiling and being polite, and it’s like I’m somewhere else where it can’t touch me. And I’m kind of numb and sad, but not raging sad, just gently, constant. And I can live with it. But reading The Echoing Grove brought it all closer, and that’s the main reason I couldn’t carry on reading.
26 May 2005
Nine and a Half Weeks - Elizabeth MacNeill
Tomorrow we’re off to Shropshire for the weekend. I’ve taken the day off work, then Monday’s the bank holiday, so we’ve three nights away. Simon’s Mum’s arriving in the morning to look after Gregory. And to be honest, I’m looking forward to a couple of days without him. I do love him, but I find motherhood difficult. I feel bad saying that. It’s meant to go with the territory isn’t it, being female therefore natural mother. But I seem to be a few steps removed from the natural state. Everything is a bit more of an effort - I mean those things that are meant to come naturally like maternal instincts and sex drive.
But as far as feeling bad is concerned I’m outdoing myself today. I went to the pub at lunchtime with a few people from the office. It was a lovely day and we sat out in the pub garden and ordered baskets of chips and mayonnaise. Don and Helen had to go back early for a meeting, so there was just me and sally from marketing, Craig from accounts, Matt and me. Sally went off to the loo and Craig went to the bar for more drinks, so I was left with Matt.
He asked me how it was going, if I felt better now, and I said I did. I mean, I’m not crying all over the place anymore. The sedatives seem to work. Matt said how pleased he was that we’re going for this weekend, that it will be good for me. And I said, I don’t want to go. I just blurted it out without thinking. Then, while he was looking at me wondering what to say, I made it worse. I said, I don’t love him anymore. Simon. I don’t want to go away with him for the weekend. And even as I was saying it I knew the “anymore” bit wasn’t right, that I’ve never loved him. Or anyone. That really, I don’t know what it’s like to love someone. That I’m emotionally stunted.
Matt was staring at me in dismay, his mouth open like a goldfish. Eventually he said, Maybe if you see it through, it might be better than you think. And I shook my head, full of a certainty that inwardly shocked me. “No, it’s too late. There’s nothing. There’s nothing I can do about it.” And after he’d taken a hefty swig of his beer, Matt said, Well, you’ve got to decide then, whether you’re going to tell him or bluff it out. And you know which will make you happier in the long run. I said, Yes I do, but I don’t know how to do it. Then I knocked back the rest of my drink in one and stood up. “I better get back to the office now”. And I left.
Later Matt came back with sally and Craig, and I noticed him glancing my way once or twice during the afternoon. He looked concerned, and scared too. I don’t think he relishes the role of agony aunt. But I didn’t say anything else.
And now I’ve just got home from work, and I can’t believe I did it. Said that. What was I thinking of? Tomorrow we’re off to Shropshire. I’ll take 9½Weeks with me. I haven’t read it yet.
28 May 2005
This is such a beautiful place. I wish I could be happy here. Everything is as wrong as it could be. The worst thing is that Simon doesn’t know it. We arrived yesterday and went for a walk around the grounds here - there’s a lake and some woods – then into the village. We stopped in the village pub for a couple of drinks, then came back up to the hotel for dinner. All the time we were getting on quite well. Simon kept talking about the past – things we’d done with the crowd at college, parties we went to. He was obviously trying to get us back to a better time. But it did the opposite for me. It made me think about those days, and I realised we never really did anything for us, as a couple. We were always part of a crowd, and probably we only got together because it was neat, it fitted, rather than being two spare parts. I liked Simon. But mostly I didn’t want to be the odd one out, left on the shelf. We fell into it because we were there. I don’t know if Simon feels like that, or if he remembers it as something more romantic.
After dinner and a couple of drinks in the bar we went to bed and had sex.
I woke up really early this morning. Simon was still sleeping. I sat in an armchair by the window and read 9½ weeks. I’d read most of it before Simon woke up. It’s as far from my experience as anything could be.
20 June 2005
Sleep Pale Sister – Joanne Harris
Read this book in no time at all – completely hooked. Like it’s got you in the grip of a fever – a cold fever that scares you but won’t let you go. I loved it. I wanted to wander around cemeteries in my Victorian nightgown. I wanted Simon to be the evil husband so I could run away from him with a romantic stranger. I really was on a high. No book has done that for me for years.
But like all fevers, they pass and normality resumes. Normality with Simon the Nice who is trying so hard but bores me silly. We’ve had more sex in the past month than we ever have. I guess I’m more amenable than before. I keep hoping I’m going to get something from it. That something will suddenly click. But I’m realizing that it won’t. Not like this. Not with Simon. And the alternatives are frightening.
I’ve been looking at some websites which are quite reassuring. I’m apparently not that unusual. Lots of women don’t enjoy sex. And there’s a greater chance of it getting better as you get older. The websites suggest I consult a doctor – but I don’t know if I could do that. Maybe if it was a woman doctor. I’ll think about it.
Matt is being friendly again at work. For a few days after we came back from Shropshire he was a bit wary of me. But there have been no more outpourings or emotional revelations from me, so I guess he feels safe now. We had a team in a pub quiz earlier in the week which was hilarious. Found out Matt reads a lot – has read some of the books I have. He’s also a big cricket fan.
26 June 2005
The Bell Jar – Sylvia Plath
Thought I’d give this book a go as I’d finished the last one so quickly. It was an extra book last month and I thought I’d leave it as it seemed pretty heavy and depressing. But I’ve been feeling a bit lighter myself lately so I thought I’d give it a go. And it was surprisingly easy to read. I wouldn’t say I was so gripped as I was by Sleep Pale Sister – but like I said – that was more of a fever. And Sylvia rang bells for me. Reminded me of what it was like when I was a teenager, how ridiculous the world sometimes seemed, and me alien in the middle of it.
But I dealt with it in a different way to her. She let it consume and overpower her and ended up dead by thirty. For me there’s no likelihood of suicide – I’m too much of a coward for a start. What I did was to ignore those feelings, pretend they weren’t there and carry on with normality as though it was my normal state. Which means I’ve been numb and cold for years. Reading these books for the book group, especially this one, it’s setting off sparks, reminding me of who I might be, that there’s someone buried underneath all this. Mother, employee, wife, woman – it’s all cover. There’s someone else under there. Suffocated for years, but suddenly, miraculously, beginning to stir. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I’m scared stiff.
31 August 2005
Star of the Sea – Joseph Conrad
Two months since I wrote anything. Two months of avoiding issues. I went to my mother’s in July and took Gregory. I stayed for a week and he stayed for three. The other two Simon and I were at home together – plenty of time for getting together and improving our relationship. But we didn’t. We went to work, came home, watched telly. He went to the pub most nights. I read books. Lots of escapist easy books that didn’t make me think. That’s what I’ve been doing. Escaping. From myself mostly. Both of us missed Gregory and when he came back we both lavished attention on him, almost vying for him, wanting him to like us better than the other. Stupid really. He’s two and can’t become the focus of our relationship problems. In August we went to Spain for a couple of weeks – a small resort not far from Malaga. Lots of sun and beautiful scenery. But more of the same. Moving around each other like wary lions. Making sure Gregory was having a good time as if that was the whole point of the holiday. A zoo, playgrounds, sandcastles. The picture of a happy family.
Back into routine now. Book group is next week and I’ve only just started the book. It’s hard. I’m not going to be able to hide for much longer.
I got an email from someone – a stranger. She told me to get on the rollercoaster of my life and enjoy it. The idea gives me a sick feeling in the bottom of my stomach – but edges with something else. Like static electricity. Like excitement. I have no idea how to go about following her advice.
5 September 2005
Book group tonight. I finished the book. It was a bit depressing. It kind of had the feeling of an old book – Wilkie Collins or something – but those books always had happy endings – everything turned out OK and the ends were tied up. I suppose that’s why Dickens was in the book – and they made so much of him being a storyteller and giving people what they wanted when reality was so different. But even Wuthering Heights ties up the ends. I don’t suppose you could say it had a happy ending though. Must have been quite a shock for the readers back then.
I got quite involved in it and now I feel a bit strange about book group. I’ve escaped into so many books this summer – into other worlds far removed from my own. My own private bubble. But this particular bubble I’m going to have to share with other people tonight. They’ve been in it too. They now where my mind has been this past week. I guess in a way this makes them closer to me than anyone else on earth. I don’t know whether to embrace that or run away from it. I know what the woman in the email would say. Grab it with both hands. Open yourself up. Get out of your prison.
Matt was back at work today. He’s been off for a month travelling. He’s very brown but a bit haggard looking. Sally told me in the photocopying room that he’s split up from his girlfriend. That it’d been on the rocks for a while and this trip was supposed to get them back together but it didn’t work. I didn’t even know he had a girlfriend. Maybe if I talk about myself more people will talk to me about their own lives. I can’t imagine doing that. Maybe I should try.
6 September 2005
Silently fuming over rude customer at work. Kept my cool though. Was polite to him, replaced the receiver calmly at the end of the phone call. Then thumped the desk and said, fucking bastard. Matt cheered. I looked over at him – hadn’t realised he was watching. I felt good then. Clear eyed. No tears and no crumpling. I guess that’s what Matt was cheering. Or maybe I was just voicing anger that he felt. Not at work probably. I wonder if he’s sad about his girlfriend. He seems just the same as normal.
Book group was good. We talked a lot about the book and about history and how it’s portrayed. How there’s so much we don’t know. I really felt part of the group. I was pleased to see them after the summer break and it was good to have people who’d shared my book, rather than being in my bubble.
There’s a work night out on Friday and I’m going to go. Simon will have to babysit. I’m feeling remarkably positive and the sun is shining.
15 September 2005
Birthday Letters – Ted Hughes
I haven’t read poetry since I was at school. Then I found it pretty difficult and impenetrable, so I guess that’s why I’ve avoided it since. Schools have a lot to answer for! So I was daunted that this month’s book is poetry. Actually, I still am daunted. I’ve read a few of them. They are difficult at first. I haven’t the mind set for them, or the experience of understanding them. But I find after I’ve read a couple, they become easier. I don’t understand everything they say, but I get the gist. And I gat the emotion. I think that’s the thing that shocks me most – how moving they are. I read one this morning – The Shot – and I was nearly in tears. How can something I don’t quite understand be so emotive. I guess it’s nearer to music that other writing is.
Generally I’ve been less inclined to burst into tears than I was. I wouldn’t say things are great – just jogging along really. Simon and I have got into a workable rhythm, which, while we’re not having a good time together, at least we don’t rock each other’s boats.
At work I’m getting on better with people. Went for a night out with them last week – for a pizza then the pub – and had a really good time. I was pretty relaxed, a bit tipsy, had a good laugh and a joke. I found out some more about Matt’s girlfriend. Apparently she went off with some French guy when they were in Paris, and she’s still there. Matt was laughing about it, but you could tell he was really cut up underneath. We’re all busy hiding our emotions most of the time, pretending we’re OK. I wonder what the world would be like if we stopped hiding, let it all out on show. I suppose that’s what I did earlier in the summer, and it was labelled as an illness. A breakdown. What broke down was the illusion of being all right. I stopped pretending for a while. So I was given medication to patch over the cracks. Re-establish the façade. I’m managing without now – I can project the façade unaided again. But I wonder if it’s worth while – the pretence.
14 October 2005
At the meeting the other night we read poetry to each other. I was worried before I went because I didn’t understand some of the poems. But most of the others were the same. There were some we all liked, or some liked more than others, but I don’t think anyone had read every one. It was amazing how much better they were read out loud. Some bits which I didn’t get when I read them to myself, seemed obvious when I heard them read out. I liked Black Coat – mainly because I liked the idea of being on your own like that, by the sea, finding a part of yourself. I read that one out. We talked about Sylvia’s father and her relationship with him and Ted, and how Ted felt about that. But I was more interested in Ted alone, what that was like. Someone said the sea is a symbol for the unconscious. I like that. I think maybe I should go to the sea on my own. I never have done.
Generally I felt guilty because I was envious of Ted and Sylvia. They obviously were going through hell. I’ve never been suicidal – never had the courage. But they felt so passionately. Love, hate, fear. Life and death. Black and white and red. Everything in my life has always been so grey and fuzzy.
Though lately I’ve had more fun. A group of us at work have started a quiz team and I’ve been out with them most weeks. Lots of good beer fuelled chats with Matt, about books and films mostly. We even chatted about the Birthday Letters. He read some of the poems – years back when the book came out – in the nineties I think. He thought Sylvia was too much for Ted to cope with – for any man to cope with. He said she’d have been better off if she’d been a lesbian, had a female partner, because women would deal with that level of complicatedness better than men. I wasn’t sure – she seemed pretty physical – into her man and childbirth. Not sure that sex with women would have helped. Maybe some good girl friends – but then I’ve never had any myself so I don’t know what value they have. The women in the book group aren’t that close – only once a month friends. I wouldn’t call any of them in a crisis. Though maybe that will change.
Matt hasn’t mentioned his girlfriend again. I suppose he’s getting over her in a silent manly way. I don’t talk to him about Simon either. It sometimes seems like this great unexplored pit beneath our friendship – because I guess he is a friend now. We avoid it in case we get stuck and can’t get out again.
In the loo at the pub Sally said – you and Matt are getting on well these days – with a funny look. I shrugged it off. I said, he’d a nice guy. She said, it’s the nice guys you have to watch. But she’d wrong. I’m married, overweight, a mother. He’d free and single and good looking. He wouldn’t be interested in me.
14 November 2005
Bonjour Tristesse – Francoise Sagan
Haven’t written for a while. I liked this book, although some people in the book group didn’t. I liked the girl. She was so unlike anyone I could ever be. So cool, polished, self-possessed, confident. Not that I’d want to be her. She was immature – but not for her age. And that’s the point. She was seventeen and so was the author. If the writing was like ‘pony-book writing’, as someone said, then I didn’t mind. She was barely out of pony book age. And anyway, I used to read pony books and I liked them. I think it’s a measure of how good for me this group is that I didn’t feel put down and insecure over that comment. I feel I can stand up for my own opinions.
The five people you meet in heaven – Mitch Albom
I didn’t like this book. It was a lazy book. Like the writer had an idea then skated over the surface of it. It was meant to be profound, but it wasn’t. It made me angry – offering such a superficial idea of something which is so important to so many people. I’d rather someone just said, when you’re dead there’s nothing, zilch. Rather than trying to justify a miserable unsatisfied life with these touches of chance meaning. The man had a crap life. Just say it.
I talked about it with Sally in the pub. She’s read it and she liked it. Said I was taking it too seriously. It was just a tale. Matt was there too, but he hasn’t read it. Said he probably wouldn’t after what we’d said. Sally told him to give it a chance.
22 November 2005
Planning to go to the Christmas do this year from the office. Haven’t been before. Don’t know why. It always seemed too much effort. And Gregory sleeps better now, as well as him and Simon getting on better, So I feel better about leaving them together.
22 December 2005
High Wind in Jamaica – Richard Hughes
I didn’t like this book. Didn’t connect with the characters, didn’t know what the author was trying to say. Were we meant to identify with Emily or blame her? Were we meant to feel sympathy for the pirates?
To be honest, I haven’t given the book much thought. Went out with work for the Christmas do, and ended up kissing Matt. Don’t know what to think. Embarrassed. But then it was a Christmas do, and everyone was drunk, over-affectionate, kissing and hugging all round. Just that this kiss with Matt ended up being more than a quick peck. And I liked it. That’s probably the worst thing. I liked it and I wanted to do it again. Still want to do it again. And he probably puts it down to Christmas high spirits. Worse still, has forgotten. Haven’t seen him since, as he’d off now for Christmas. I am too tomorrow. Whole of Christmas to dwell on it.
Mum’s coming to spend Christmas. She’ll keep us all busy. And Gregory too. He’s old enough this year to really enjoy it.
29 January 2006
Reading Lolita in Tehran – Azar Nafisi
I struggled through this book, but it really was a struggle. It made me feel inadequate because I hadn’t read all the books she wrote about. Stupid, but there you go. I am stupid. Stupid to get so bothered about a book, stupid to think Matt would give a second thought to kissing me at Christmas. Never alluded to. He doesn’t even seem embarrassed. We just carry on as normal, good friends, good colleagues, no kissing.
And I’m being unfair to the book. It was fascinating. And as well as inadequate it made me feel incredibly lucky, to be living in a society where I can read what I want and wear what I want. If I’d kissed Matt in her country I’d probably be up for execution. Makes my every day worries seems trivial.
|
