Diary Of A Redhead

[mylolita]

I think also Bex,

 

You make a really good point - to take note of the little things! And enjoy and be thankful! It’s true.

 

My main restlessness comes from a feeling of - are we maki by the right lifestyle choice for our family that will affect us for the next 10, 20 years? Is this what I want out of life? My principles - am I sticking to my personal principles?

 

As much as I may not come across, I am a highly principled person, when it comes to myself individually. And; I think I am a big picture person who often forgets the little details. A scatterbrain who semi-functions! I think… huh… 🥲 

 

I am always eternally questioning myself and what is going on around me and inside me. I don’t know whether I will be able to release myself from this as it seems to be a bit of a personality trait of mine and deep seated. It helps me in so many ways as well as hinders me, making it hard to even try to relax and let it go! 
 

But I do need to take note of the small things. So many big things going on, so much pressure, so much hustle, so much, all at once. 
 

I keep seeing the finish line and I know once there there will be other challenges, mostly financial, but after that, at least we can get in and settled into a home that is ours. We have really been “homeless” since November and it’s been getting too me more than I probably realise.

 

Everything will tick along great for a few weeks then I’ll have this big outburst, always unfairly directed at THE HUSBAND! And it’s not fair! Or, everyone will say how happy and relaxed and yadda yadda I look but really I am dealing with trepidation and nervousness by cleaning loads and obsessively shopping! 
 

x

[mylolita]

Also, being in here has been an escape but I know it’s no good for me.

 

The days I spend too many hours online are the days I actually feel my worst and most lethargic. Getting out with the kids, as hard as it is initially to get everyone ready by myself and just get out the front door, is worth it in gold once we hit the fresh air.

 

I think the hubs working away a lot, and me having no help from family, means I am doing this mostly solo. The day night day night by myself situation is great for the first few days, but then I start thinking wow, I need D back. And I miss him, so badly, the second he leaves. I really do. He has stopped going away half as much since the kids were born. He hates leaving us and he misses me too. It’s affected the business. We don’t make half the money. But he wants more time with us. It’s a trade off.

 

Something has to give. I have to stop living like I did a year or two back, and reign it in. Once you get used to a type of lifestyle, it can feel like some kind of failure to revert back to something you once came from. Like stepping back instead of forward. But it isn’t! Not if it’s for the good of your family and well being.

 

Spending money never makes me happy or content anyway. It’s just a thrill, temporarily. Then I always feel bad and deeply regret it.

 

x

[mylolita]

Also - HA - I always thought everyone was the same but, I am learning, not.

 

I am constantly; and on a daily basis, concerned with if I am being authentic to my true self. In some shape or another, I am asking myself, am I being real? Basically, am I being honest and truthful to myself? To my little beating heart and it’s deep buried passions and more obvious passions?! Am I authentic? Or have I gone and… worst of the worst… SOLD OUT?!

 

I thought everyone was wrestling with this internal telling off but I realised as I got a little older, thankfully for them, no. Some people aren’t bothered by this! And that is a relief to think someone somewhere is happy - LOL! And unquestioning of themselves.

 

If I feel like something is going against my personal belief system, I will never do it, or if I do do it, the world collapses, I hate myself, and out flows some of the strangest and embarrassing behaviour from me.

 

I don’t know. Maybe this is loony thinking?!

 

The worst part of it is, I don’t actually want to really change this part of my personality! I feel it keeps me moving and grounded. BUT! I would like a little rest some days. In the real world; and mentally!

 

Gotta find that thing people talk about… begins with a ‘B?’ Balance? What is that? 🥲

 

x

[mylolita]

As a big old splurge of thought here…

 

…I am often maybe, quite hard on myself? But then again, I think that is a good thing. 
 

I have always thought, it is not up to you, yourself, to say, “I am creative”, “I am intelligent”, “I am a good mother,” “I am a good wife”, “I am a good friend”, “I am gifted”. Anything similar. Those judgements fall to other people. 
 

I would say - am I a good mother? You’ll have to ask my kids! Or my husband! Or my family! That isn’t mine to declare. Am I a good friend? Ask my friend. Am I a nice person? Ask the people who know me. That is not mine to own. I can think what I like about myself but it doesn’t make it true.

 

Same for creativity. I don’t know. What do you think? It’s not for me to say. The mob decide on those things.

 

I will take all this stuff onboard in life, then let it go through my filter, and then after all is said and done, I’ll try and make my mind up. Often it won’t ever be fully made up.

 

Is this just me or what?!

 

x
 

 

[mylolita]

Nearly 5pm and the beach feels like we are abroad today. Tide right in. Waves lashing; but small. A warm, evening breeze. Bee-we-aaay-uuutiful! 

x

[maritalbliss86]

On 6/27/2022 at 3:07 AM, mylolita said:

The days I spend too many hours online are the days I actually feel my worst and most lethargic. Getting out with the kids, as hard as it is initially to get everyone ready by myself and just get out the front door, is worth it in gold once we hit the fresh air.

 

Yes, this is very true.  

I've been way too much online in part because it's been a really slow two weeks or so... but it isn't a replacement for real life, and real life stuff just feels so much better, even if it's something small.

The beach sounds AMAZING, Lo... that is incredible!  

And yes, the spending money thing... if you can try to force yourself to keep track of a budget, even if it's not perfect every month  and you make mistakes, etc. that really shows you where you're spending and kind of helps, "reality," of your choices set in. I speak from experience 😉.  It helped SO much once I started tracking *almost* everything... it helped to reign me in, and be able to say No more to anything I'd regret later.

[mylolita]

“You lost today kid, but that doesn’t mean you have to like it.”

 

 

 

[Jibralta]

18 hours ago, mylolita said:

“You lost today kid, but that doesn’t mean you have to like it.”

 

 

 

Great movie. The best in the series, if you ask me.

[mylolita]

The whole way, since November - the whole way to getting those keys in the door - has felt like a meandering, wasteful, incompetent indulgence. 
 

Time has dragged on and moved too fast all at the same time.

 

Now we find ourselves in the dip of a luscious, remote valley, cocooned in a static caravan, a drive out to any near shop.

 

I wake up to the cockerels crow at dawn. I hear the cries of strutting peacocks. The kids break out onto the flaking wooden veranda, that wraps around the whole van, and gleefully chase the chickens, and beg D to catch them a chick.

 

There is hardly a soul here on this maintained, hidden little park. The descended drive on down is almost spiritual, the elevated speed bumps force a slow crawl. You are pushed to take it all in. And it’s okay. You can’t help it anyway.

 

This place has soothed me into dreamless sleep on nights when the rain has bounced so hard off the tin roof, it has created mystic music. A million children playing the drums. The heat, trapped between the surrounding hills and patchwork fields, is contained when it comes, and doesn’t let up till late. The eternal blow and scan of the fans scattered across each room has been as comforting as the rain song. The tiny bathroom has muffled my tears. The light filled lounge has witnessed hysterical piggy back rides. The stream out front is cast off in a mini glow from my string of fairy lights, that warming twinkle from 7pm till past midnight.
 

The first day we came, I noticed the van next too us had two big floor to ceiling windows. In front there were two sagging armchairs, angled towards each other, a little low side table in the middle, with symmetrically arranged Nick nacks that never moved. The big tv would be on, and consuming the chair, would sit Kenny. Always bare chested, massively over weight, with his boobs resting on his tummy. His booming, jovial voice made the kids smile, and he always, always sang (“I sing cos I’m happy!”) 

 

As soon as we said hi, we struck up a kind of unlikely friendship. He would shout across, “Up to owt or nowt?!” In his beefy Yorkshire accent. I’d laugh and tell him if we’d been out or not. He always asked if D was away. Often he had been. There was always friendly, warm sympathy and a “just ask me anytime” helpfulness that came off his big juicy frame. He walked in a struggled shuffle, and used a stick. An old football injury, he said, compounded and made worse with his weight. He was also on a relentless diet. 
 

Last night, the clouds rolled over and the mild temperature dropped. I slipped a jumper on and one on my little bambino. She had pulled herself up to stand against one of the lounge chairs outside on the deck. D had taken the older two to the beach. Everything was quiet. Birds sung, but no one was about. The luxury of being nearly alone came over me.

 

I decided to reach in and open a bottle of champagne that had been moved around with us back and forth over the year. It had been a present. I never drink champagne when you’re supposed too, and I don’t like it much by its self, but I topped the glass up with fresh orange and threw my book onto a spare chair and told babe, hey, lets chill baby girl!

 

Kenny had his curtains drawn all day, his door open. Everyone kept their doors unlocked here. As soon as you came here, y’knew it was just that type of place. I had a weird and morbid thought as I settled down with the bubbles. Was he dead? Heart attack? All day?! I imagined him slumped over his bed, his mouth open. Was the condensation on his window some kind of, moisture release from his already decomposing, humongous corpse? I had wanted to ask his address, to send him letters, and a Christmas card. I started thinking I should go on up and call for him through his door.

 

If in answer, his whistle fluted through the air and there he was, shuffling down the path. “Kenny! Ken doll!” 

“Hey doll!”
 

He was chuckling the way only a Yorkshire man chuckles. We had a little chat. This and that. Over the fence, as we have come to do. Then I raised my glass and said, “You have to have one!”

 

”What is it?” He boomed.

 

”A chick drink. Hold on.”

 

I skipped back through to the kitchen, broke ice off, loaded up his glass, putting more champagne in his than mine, coupled up bambino and took the wooden steps down from the veranda to be standing where I always stood, underneath his raised lounge floor, at the alter of Kenny’s resting t**ts. 
 

He took a sip, saying, “You’re a diamond you are.” He paused. “Ooo it’s right nice!”

 

We got chatting then he ushered me up. “Come on, come on in pet.”

 

My babe played with all their old peoples ornaments. We gossiped and laughed about park rules. I called the manager the Gestapo. He told me all about his retirement. He told me about his ex wife. He told me about Lorraine, his long term partner. He told me that I reminded him of his daughter in law, who was due to have her third. We silently agreed with each other in between the talking that we both didn’t take life too seriously in the end, and mutual easiness made it’s little happy way into that primly kept living room.
 

He was lonely in a way, and so was I. It got late, and I took up and thanked him. Babe still had a long handled duster in her hand. I said “She thinks she’s Freddy Mercury at Live Aid.” More chuckles. He took my invite to come check our van out, he was genuinely curious. He helped me fix a handle back onto the drawer. I was disappointed to see him huff back the stone throw to his chair.
 

D came back, and I was pouring a third glass. I asked him to take another over to Kenny. More diamond sparkles for me! He raised his re-filled glass up our way, reached for the remote and settled into his quiet sports channel life for the night.

 

I don’t know why. Seeing Kenny made me happy. Seeing Kenny made me sad. 
 

I feel like there is a struggle ahead. I feel like, we are close to something we might have to then give up. I feel like, I will be digging out thick jumpers to put on top of jumpers this winter, lighting the old Victorian fireplaces come October, wondering if we will weather this storm, but in what way? Will it be, alright on the night?

 

The kids like to pile into our big bed at the back of the van after their bath. They take up my books, open them and pretend to read them very seriously, scrunching up their cherubic faces, my daughters full lips pouting in a heart killer rose bud.
 

“Do you think Mammy could write a book?”

 

My son lifted his head from the second hand pages of Jane Austin’s ‘Mansfield Park’. 
 

“Sure Mam.” He took a moment. He looked a bit confused. It was a confusing thing. Especially to me. 
 

“What would it be about Mammy?”

 

I looked at him. He was perfect. I really didn’t know. I never thought much about what it would actually be about! 
 

“It would be, about a girl. A girl, and the night.”

 

 

x

 

 

 

 

 

[mylolita]

Some days, I’m so inward, I wonder how I’m supposed to shake it off and be out in the outward world? 
 

Some days, I could think and think, and write and write; and maybe never stop. 
 

True luxury for me is - to always be left alone, but to never be alone. 
 

Does that make any sense?

 

x

[mylolita]

I can’t control the ocean, and I can’t predict a storm. If you think you can read the weather, you’re in for a wake up call!

 

Ohhhhhh my ditties! 
 

Basically, get your ship in order, b***h! 
 

x

[mylolita]

When I rock my baby to sleep, I received access to an inner world I forgot even existed. A sweet spot between just about to fall asleep, and not being asleep. Drifting asleep, whilst fighting to keep awake. A lucid slide. A happy doze dream. A stolen wink. 

 

I will find myself in a matter of a micro second (probably a drop of the head and back up again), being transported instantly to the exact and perfect reality of walking through dark, thick wooden doors, into a small, select Spanish shop in the old capital city of Menorca, Ciutadella.

 

I can smell the exact smell of fresh, blowing, conditioned air. The aroma of new lace, hung with space to breathe around it. A drifting scent of another woman’s perfume who probably passed by five minutes ago across the cobbled street. Everything - light, sound, and smell - contained and preserved by the high walls of this fortress Marina. The hum of traditional music played softly over the speakers. And my eyes falling instantly to a white, lace skirt, the hem trailing off to one side, as if to conceal only one knee and reveal the other in an elegant peekaboo. 

 

Then I come too. 

 

I had been 14 years old. It was the first expensive shop I had ever set foot in. I was instantly highly self conscious and my senses were elated. I hadn’t been self conscious of myself. No, I thought vainly, even without a pound of pocket money to my name, I fitted in. It was my parents and sister who didn’t. They were causing me my awareness. My Dad, a notorious penny pincher and horribly practical dresser, was already desperate to leave. He saw the lack of price tags and wanted escape. My Mum was looking fretful and embarrassed too. My sister was trailing behind them, bored of it all. I wanted to head deeper into the back. The place got whiter and more minimal and more beautiful the more I absorbed. Before my Dad could say anything, I started parting clothes on a section of rail. To his horror, browsing, like a little lady. The shop assistant looked up. She was slim, olive skinned, with a high forehead and a thick fringe. She was beautiful. She gave me a little smile then looked away. So I had permission. 

 

I pulled out the first thing I could set my eyes on. I knew I didn’t have much time or Dad would change his mind. It was a white lace skirt, with an asymmetrical dipped hem. I turned to my Dad. Him and Mum were talking in hush tones. My Mum was on my side. I knew she secretly wished she had been so bold and picked something out to guilt my Dad into buying. We were on holiday, after all. But she never did and never would. My sister wanted to leave. I plucked something out for her too. The same skirt, but in pale blue. My Dad was rolling his eyes. He reluctantly didn’t want a scene. I did a mini jump in glee! I hugged him tightly. Okay okay, he was muttering. He was smiling slightly. A rare treat. I knew it was expensive. It was probably the most expensive item of clothing I had for decades to come. I wore it all holiday; and I felt like a damsel meandering those dinky, winding, Mediterranean streets. I felt pretty. I felt worthy of anything. I forgot all about my family and would walk ahead in my own world.

 

Other days, I have found myself simply sitting in a room of a long forgotten flat I stayed in with D. I look up, dreamlike, from another micro doze, taking in the lemon flavoured light transpiring off magnolia rental walls. And in the corner, my mother in laws old chest, the only thing passed down through their family. No one else wanted it. I was the only person to appreciate that chest. My speaker used to sit atop of it, and play lounge lazy house music all day and all night. The image of that chest, and the black curved speaker - plain as day. 

 

Sometimes, I drop away to feel the hard plastic of a school chair cupping my bum. My old classroom waits in front of me. It’s boiling hot. A packet of Smarties sit on the desk. I have a pencil in my hand, and I’m letting it tip tap quickly between my 8 year old fingers. The teacher, muffled by memory, is telling everyone to stop would they please fanning themselves, because it only makes you HOTTER!

 

I have travelled back to the sun coming through wooden blinds in striped shards, to lay on the bed. I see the bumps of my feet underneath the duvet. I can smell the musty, masculine smell of a man who has simply gone to bed, made love, then gone straight back to sleep again.

 

I travel through woods, through rooms, through areas and through time. I revisit the curve of someone’s lips, the way my Grandma’s voice would trail through from the garden to the hall. I smell the scent of my Uncles booked piled in arches over doorways, mingled with stew boiling, stone flags made cold in Autumn, and dusty, decades old woollen jumpers, a dog collar and lead waiting on a stand. I re-visit moments, huge and small. I wonder after, is this what dying feels like? 

 

That lucid moment, only brief, when I rock my baby to sleep. 

 

X

[mylolita]

I have always had one foot in each separate world. The left lies with the scrappers, the rollers, the Union Jack hoisters. The right is with the ladder climbing, social lifting, wanting mores. 
 

I love you because you are strong. You are handy. Not with the spanner, but with your brain, and your fists. I love you because I always knew you would be the most brilliant father - and you proved me right! 
 

There is an African proverb which states:

 

’The pretty girl walks by the poor man’s hut’

 

You can be rich in many ways. The smart girl knows this. 
 

——-

You think I'd leave your side, baby 
You know me better than that.
You think I'd leave you down when you're down on your knees,
I wouldn't do that.
I'll tell you, you're right when you want 
And if only you could see into me

Oh, when you're cold, I'll be there 
Hold you tight to me 

When you're on the outside, baby, and you can't get in,
I will show you, you're so much better than you know.
When you're lost and you're alone and you cant get back again,
I will find you darling and I will bring you home.

 

- Sade, ‘By Your Side’

 

———//

[mylolita]

I woke up to another scorching morning. The type of day where the light, even at 6am, beams through slated blinds, the sky eternally blue, building up and up to hot, all day, dry heat. 

 

Ever since coming to The Valley, our little static home with flaking veranda seemed to contain its own sun trap weather. The heat came in constant waves onto our sloping tin roof, heating us up like the insides of a porter cabin. 

 

It was all a novelty to me. Normally totally irritated by the heat, I didn’t mind at all. I had fun opening the fake wooden wardrobe doors and flicking through summer dresses, trying to choose what would be coolest and most effortless for a day lounging and trailing after the kids on bikes, pink and blue bucket hats little dots in the distance, the hills climbing higher and higher above them, trees almost meeting at a point above our heads - and still, the bluest of blue blue skies to be seen in a vast expanse. Always hot. 

 

Kenny has told me there was an out building with laundry machines in it. I had a big bag hanging off the hook on the pram, swinging like olden times, a washer woman, with all the kids about her ankles. The most pleasant domestic little picture. 

 

I took my time for once. The best thing about the Valley is, there is nowhere to go, and nowhere to be. Normally a hyper rusher, I had been forced to amble and, it had turned out to be good for me. I didn’t have internet, I had no car. There were no parks, no shops, no rows of benches. Just chickens, and hills, and trees, and sunshine, and little caravans and waving retirees, and country. 

 

We turned at where we had named ‘The Chicken Bank’. An ancient stone building stood in the haze. I’d never even noticed it before. It was joined onto another building that was part of the bigger house. I clipped the pram up the stone step, pushed open the door. I could hear the gentle, hypnotic hum of laundromat machine drums turning and turning their white towel loads. Inside was cool and dim. Three mis-matched wooden chairs stood in a row against the wall, and a collection of high oak tables for ironing and folding. It was like walking into some kind of serene, hidden heaven. Now don’t ask me why. That lulling turn sound of the washing machines made me feel like I was sleeping and dreaming for sure. This whole country park, the kids endlessly and freely roaming, me, behind, with bambino riding in the pram - two months of it - all just a dream. Every day the same but never boring. It had all been an escape within my mind. I had concocted some hazy laze that had stretched on for weeks and weeks to save myself from the rushing and the pushing of regular life.

 

The kids jumped onto the tables, jumped back out, started climbing the banks, scattering more chickens as they ran, clucking and clocking. I loaded the washing in, fed the coins into the slot, a satisfying drop and click -  subduing all over again. 

 

I stepped out of the little cocoon of stone and lull and noticed a caravan enclosed by fencing. Inside, was the most scattered,  ornamental, peculiar garden. Centre front was a large water fountain, filling the scorching day with the sound of falling, trickling water. Heaven, again, had come to me in sound. Two blonde heads filled with blonde curls were now on tip toes peering in. Stone ornaments of Indian elephants, lions - in the distance, with no order at all, dotted about in a strange array, were imp figures playing flutes, goats, and pug dogs. On the porch, half hidden by sunflowers as high as the sky, sat a silent old man. His skinny legs were bare in unkept cargo shorts, open toe sandals showing bent, long nailed feet. Both his hands were laid simply on his knobbly knees. He was looking straight at me, his eyes seemed to go on and on and never blink, the lower lids turned out, and glistening pink with age.

 

“Morning!” That look. The kids were probably half scared, half fascinated. He was becoming a stone gnome himself.

 

He raised a slow hand in reply. He seemed very old.

 

“Are these with you love?” He finally said. His voice was weak but carried across the still heat. 

 

“Yes!”

 

“Keep them off the banks, will you? There’s been some nasty accidents in the past.” 

 

I couldn’t make out whether he was annoyed at them making a noise, whether he wanted them rid and out of peering at him and his strange electric fantasy garden, or whether he was a very gentle and caring old man, or whether he was mean and bent up. 

 

“Thanks.” I replied. Maybe he warmed. I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t read him. It was okay. 

 

“Have you been here awhile?” I asked out over the fence and sunflowers. The dreamy sound of the washing machine turning round and round, over and over. Bird song. The trickling of his aged fountain. He shifted slightly. I thought I could see a smile through the foliage, but now I think back, he never smiled at all. 

 

“I came here for five days to cut some grass. Only stayed for 17 years love. I used to be the grounds keeper.” 

 

I laughed. His expression never changed. His jowls stayed put. He reminded me of a ventriloquists disturbing dummy. 

 

“It’s beautiful here. I can see why.” I offered up, politely closing the conversation. 

 

Instantly my mind was filled with its usual questions. I needed to find out as much as I could about this strange circus man with his boney knees and his unappealing, sun beaten face. I started thinking there had maybe, once upon a time, been a girlfriend, and she had done him wrong. Or he thought so, anyway. He didn’t give the impression of having grandchildren. I thought, I wouldn’t want him round my children. Sinister things floated up into my head about him. I wondered if the motorbike parked outside was his, but then changed my mind again. Surely not. I saw him younger, lightly tanned, with close cropped hair, entering the office to start his first day on the job somewhere, out of school. Odd jobs and moving around. I felt how he might have felt, how warm the handle of the lawn mower had been, how soft the foam, how concealing and perfect the workers shed cloaked the tools and him, every lunch break, whilst the kettle boiled, rain or shine. Totally fabricated of course. 

 

Normally, I would chew the cud with anyone. I would carry on and on until we both knew everything superficial about each other and had forgot the time and parted ways new best friends, eager to see the next day arrive with a knowing wave and a good morning and more new, fresh conversations. But for whatever reason, I felt he wanted to sit, as one with his statues, in near silence, surrounded by only the beautiful mix of hypnotic sounds, nature and machine revolving.

 

A couple of days later, I felt so sad all of a sudden. I got happy again, as I have done here, within a few hours, or the most, a day. Any excuse to use the laundry machines.

The kids never kept off the bank.

 

X

[mylolita]

I’ve been without internet for 9 days. For 12 days. Maybe 20 days.

 

When you unplug, the world moves slowly. Sometimes it’s fast when you least expect it. It’s a good slow. A beautiful, timeless, peaceful, healing slow. Something happy starts to happen. You take note. You stop looking down, you start looking up, around. It’s b****y wholesome. A total refresher.

 

Here I am, no distractions but my notes and the clean Valley air and the kids and the brambles we are picking, scratching at my vibrant red padded jacket. Ripping at something, but I don’t mind. I can hear the drizzle glazing a thousand million leaves, but I can’t feel it. The bubble babble of a full stream topped by a nights cosy rain makes a little woodland symphony, private audience for me, the two blonde cherubs and strawberry topped bambino staring at us from the pram. The kids have dark bramble smudges swept across their lips.
 

As we graze through picking and plucking, the lost names of plants come back too me. Distant memories of my eldest aunt repeating plant monikers. “That’s broom” I say out loud to the three babes, surprising myself and feeling a weird elation at suddenly knowing, like the kid in the class who gets sprung at for an answer, to have it pop into their sleepy daydream mind, shouted out in the nick of time, surprising the teacher and themselves. Take that, teacher. They move on, scorned. They thought they could catch you out. They thought they could deliver that lesson. Don’t dare to daydream. But the daydream won that day. You taught them instead.

 

The whole world is mine right now and everything in it. My mind feels as clear as an eternal summer, even though the sky is grey, the land is damp, the mist settles and hangs - it all couldn’t be more perfect. Life feels augmented. All is well. 

 

x

 

[mylolita]

Y’know what? Sometimes, I really do need to get a grip. What the hell. Life isn’t always a bed of roses - they have thorns, for Gods sake! 

 

Trouble in paradise - I can hear the chorus. Seriously, a hundred people waiting with rubbing hands in the wings to say, unable to contain their glee(!) “I told you so!” 
 

Even my own mother. You think I’m being dramatic. Even at the ruination of her own grandchildren, even as their faces looked confused at a For Sale sign being hammered into our newly owned lawn - she would damn well delight in my downfall. 
 

She came, bent over like an ancient hag, yesterday, at the veranda. I let her in, taking the bags off her that I imagined would weight a million tonnes but were light as ten daisies. She slumped onto the deck chairs and said, with a mischievous, devious smile, “There’s a lot to do at the house. Are you really moving in on Thursday?” She could barely contain herself at hopefully getting a hint of stress from me. What a b***h. Honestly. Y’know, you’re not supposed to say or think these things about iyour own mother but, really. You weren’t there on those deck chairs. 
 

I film flam between joyous optimism and hopeful cup filling for the future, to sheer anger! Sheer blame and anger. Anger at D, even. Absolutely ZERO sympathy. And again, would you even dare to admit that? I guess I just did. Because all my pretense has gone now. Boom. See ya! I can’t even wish to keep up appearances for much longer. I’m entering a street where everyone seems to be happily going along in their buying and extravagance and luxury cars, and here we are, struggling to decide which basic bills to pay.

 

A couple of weeks ago, feels like an eternity, I was faced with D staring off blankly as our middle daughter sat naked, beautiful, and tumbling with curls on our sagging bed. I could see tears starting to brim in his eyes. What the hell was wrong? Such a rare thing for him to cry. He could go a whole year, years even. I never see it. Nothing but, I can do it, I will fix it, don’t worry and just enjoy yourself. He wasn’t saying, just enjoy yourself now. I was not enjoying myself.

 

He rushed away. I could hear the bathroom door locking. Turning on the tv, shuffling the kids into the living room, I knocked on the door. I could hear him starting. The horrible, muffled shudders of a man who holds everything together quietly breaking down to himself in the tiny bathroom or a caravan. 
 

He let me in. He was whispering, hardly catching his breath, seeming close to a kind of panic attack, “What have I done? What have I done?”

 

”Has someone died?” I was asking, stupid as a brick. I knew damn well no one had died. I just wanted to delay it being said out in the open.

 

We were ruined. On the edge of ruination. Financial distress. God, what had I done? Had I shopped us into poverty oblivion? We were so b****y close to touching a kind of “big time” I kept telling myself was coming round that corner! 
 

I felt no sympathy at all. He was in turmoil. In fact, I felt a kind of revulsion for his display of weakness. Horrible of me. There have been so many times when I have been similar or the same, asking for support or help and he has been there, silently bringing strong arms around me to absorb it all in. Never judging.

 

Here I was. Queen of the Ice. Ready to ditch this one who was used up for my new millionaire, ready to propose or something, out at the laundry building. I just wanted to escape and have it all made better. I was trying to weigh up really how bad it was.

 

I hugged his stocky body. It was shuddering when new tears came. I kept cooing, “We can fix this. No one’s died. The kids are healthy. We’re healthy. None of anything else matters.” Chanting a mantra I didn’t even believe in, but knew I damn well should. What a horrible, terrible, twisted person I had become. I didn’t even deserve him OR the bundle of happy angels in the room next door.

 

What are we gonna do?

 

The whole pathetic show carried on through into the bedroom. Stable moments following despair for him in waves. I felt like slapping him and shouting, Hollywood style, “GET YOURSELF TOGETHER, MAN!” 
 

I held him at arms length. I didn’t even want to touch him. I said, “I don’t want any part in this pity party. What are we gonna do?!”

 

He kinda steadied, sat on the bed. We went through it briskly, hearing the kids running up and down the corridor threatening to bust through. The bills had got too high, because he was making a lot of money, but now he’s not, the bills are just the same. Well everything then? Well the business? Start again? Gather ourselves a cushion! Even have a break? No. No, because then he said he would have nothing left and that’s all he felt he could do. He couldn’t carry on our lifestyle in a regular labourer job. He had no qualifications. Sales was all he knew. Sales job, then? Like you used to have before I met you? For a company? They’d hire me maybe he says, but it was stressful again, living off commission and what you can pull in week by week. Gods sake! 
 

I blurting out, the dancing? Thursday night, through to Saturday. I could be gone after they are down. I could easily pay the mortgage and maybe more. If I could even do it. Could I still do it? I turn to him in our moment of financial oblivion and shame, basically asking him to check my 32 year old figure out. You definitely could still do it, he says. I am temporarily delighted and snapped out of the turmoil and end of times as we know it. But no, he says, no way. I stay home, with the kids, no matter what. He says, you’re married now with kids. It’s different. I start to argue! How is it? Most of the women I knew back then already had at least one kid when they were dancing! It’s not as if you start talking about your babies in the depth of a booth! He says no, it’s out of the question. 
 

Then the blame game began. I only ever wanted a normal little house in a cul-de-sac with a regular garden, he starts. Like a red flag to a bull. Did I make you do it?! I know fine well it was always mostly me pushing for more and more. I used the poor guy as my work horse and flogged him when he lagged. I say well get your pipe and slippers and let’s book in at the BINGO THEN every Saturday NIGHT! Why BOTHER, darling!!! If it‘s all too much! Let’s get a people carrier and draw a line underneath it! Oh! And you think because people don’t have money, or have regular incomes, they suddenly stop arguing about it?! There is no nobility in poverty! I start up. I can feel myself in monologue. We suddenly now want different things!?! I end up passionately taking my stage like some Opera lead. I always end up higher than the other person, physically, during an argument. I get told to sit down a lot. Sit down, the kids, he says. 
 

Now we are re-assessing aspirations, life goals even. Our very dreams and inner desires. I fear we are at war now. I am thinking, Spartan style, ya better get yourself off to work and not come back until you have some cold hard cash for me. Come back with your shield, or on it.

 

Talks of maybe having to sell the new house. Nothing left. Business been going down the pan for a year, this year, even worse. Blames of covid. Blames of taking too much time off. Blames of me, needing too much help with 3, and taking him away from his work.

 

I didn’t want to know and I didn’t want to hear it. Thoughts of how I could do it all myself started wizzing through my fantasy mind. Silly stuff. Write a book in three months, somehow have a published best seller, go to, like, Italy with the kids and my new fortune next year, be chucking the keys to a brand new Porsche in his ridiculous lap. You’re welcome. Going back to dancing. Working nights after the kids go to bed. The idea at first filled me with dread, then it became a delightful nocturnal escape I could retreat too and make my come back in the velvet underworld. Like Rocky, in Rocky 2. Or Rocky 3. Whichever is the one where he has to witness the bailiffs emptying his mansion, Adrian hanging on his arm like a good wife, unlike me, plotting and scheming because he, failed, me.

 

That day was one of the worst days of my life. I had never seen him so pale and so fragile. It was revolting and terrifying. I felt on the brink of collapse, just because he was. I kept finding humour about it within my own mind. I kept thinking of different rural off beat turns we could take. Live in a tiny cabin with chickens. I always wanted that. The thought of bowing down to something like that didn’t wound my idiot pride and vanity filled ego because it almost seemed like an artistic decision rather than a bankruptcy. 
 

We watched the kids play unaware in a park. I knew after this grey day and this bathroom sobbing reveal, our lives would never be the same. I don’t know if our marriage would. 

 

I don’t know what’s happening. Things seem more positive now. But now and then, more often than I’d like, resentment drifts up. It is nearly out of my control and I can’t stand it. I refuse to accept that.

 

D and the world are damn well forgetting that, I always get what I want. In the end.

 

x

[itsallgrand]

That's a really intense post. I read it a few times. Being pretty raw with yourself for sure.

Has the dynamic changed at all? Will you change how you approach things at all? 

Any clue why this was your visceral reaction to him being so vulnerable and in need? Is there a pattern there with you? If there is, any clue why?

 

[mylolita]

20 hours ago, itsallgrand said:

That's a really intense post. I read it a few times. Being pretty raw with yourself for sure.

Has the dynamic changed at all? Will you change how you approach things at all? 

Any clue why this was your visceral reaction to him being so vulnerable and in need? Is there a pattern there with you? If there is, any clue why?

 

Evening itsall!

 

Thank you for reading.
 

I realise I am often the villain of my life, and I know I can be ice cruel. I can be a terrible person. I could go on the list making… immature, spoilt, selfish, vain, conceited, delusional even sometimes… fantastical in thoughts and wishes. Impatient. Judgemental. Manipulative. Controlling. Over emotional. There is also the opposite side to me with all the good and great. I am not the hero, for sure. I have realised that. I’m not the best wife. I spend a few seconds daily lately thinking my husband deserves better, and that I don’t deserve him.

 

Why was this my honest response? I feel like I am book reviewing for a character in the reading circle here itsall! And that’s a good thing, actually. A reflective, introspective thing. 
 

I don’t know. I wish I knew. My honest response was… I need you to snap out of this. I saw our whole life and everything in it crumbling, through not just my husbands fault, or external situations, or mine as well. But I imagined how it would feel to tell our children we have to sell our house and go live… with our grandparents. I thought about what I would have to sell off. I imagined the car keys that would no longer be flung on the top because it would have to go. And I didn’t feel okay about it. Not one bit. I felt panic, I felt calm plotting logic. I felt a million other things than having to comfort my husband. I went into a spiral survival mode of, how do I fix this? How do I shake him and say, we can’t just break down?

 

Which seems repulsive and terrible. It is, I realise that. I should have hugged him for hours, held him. Told him it’s okay, everything will work out. I don’t need all this stuff. We can live in a small house. He should have heard all of that. I started to say it too him as well, I began, but I couldn’t finish. Something flipped and it felt like some other woman talking. It wasn’t true and it wasn’t what I was thinking. 
 

We have had many big talks since. Mostly all positive. Some other arguments. I don’t know. If you start to put the inner private midnight hours of a 15 year marriage out in the open with every corner and nook exposed, I would imagine some bad times come out. I often think, is this how everyone is? I have a gut feeling no. Probably not. I know no marriage is perfect. But, what about great marriages? Surely, most things are done how they should be?

 

Whenever I write here, I am compelled, and, I need to be as honest as I can be, or I’ll die a death. My soul kind of, shrivels, at the lie. 
 

Me and my husband are a perfect but terrible but unique little mix of personalities. We are both daydreamers and I would probably say I am on the artsy side, he is most definitely creative. But he is pragmatic, logical, resourceful and to the point. Where his resourcefulness and sales savvy ends, my whimsical, hot headed, over emotional dreamsy begins. We both align on so many unusual points. But it’s like putting Donald Trump with Kate Bush. That’s us. When we work, it’s absolutely incredible! When we don’t - fireworks. And it’s always him telling me to calm down or fight fair. He has all the emotional control, I have zero. 
 

You haven’t heard the half of it, I am ashamed to say.

 

We both love and adore each other deeply. But it’s been rough lately. I’m trying to be better, because I know he deserves better. 
 

He‘s always been this rock. He has always had everything under control where as I am kinda, internally all over the place. Him emotionally going down the pan at the same time as our life and lifestyle as I know it was something I just refused to accept. I didn’t want to face that reality. I gave him a verbal slap. It wasn’t right, and I don’t expect a smidge of sympathy for any of it.

 

But I wrote it and I needed to write it and life goes on and moves on and… I feel what I feel and, I am what I am. There is no black and white to me but, plenty of grey areas. My husband is much more Nobel and straight up and down with his principles. I admire him and respect him as much as I love him. And he is my best friend. What can I say. I was wrong that day, very wrong. But what I said too him was right. Or should I say, correct - to how I felt. And I said what I meant, cruel as it was.

 

I will always regret how I handled that day.
 

x

 

[mylolita]

Oh! Itsall! I just have to add… 15 year marriage seemed to roll off the tongue and fit better as a turn of phase in the moment. It’s a half truth. We have lived together as a couple for 15 years. We have actually been married for 8. 
 

x

[itsallgrand]

That's actually quite understandable. Yknow, none of us really know exactly how we will react when things go bad until we are actually in it. We like to think we know, but a moment in a crucible often brings up things in us we aren't used to facing so immediately in our face.

You had thoughts but you didn't leave. That's the bottom line. Maybe this will take your marriage even deeper. 

It makes sense to me you'd panic when his role has always been to be the rock. And suddenly, he wasn't. He was the opposite. Shock to the system. You two have this agreement on how things will be and it got shaken up. Anger makes sense to.

All that matters is how you both go forward now. I sincerely hope things look up soon....and your marriage keeps evolving. If I had to put money on it, I'd put it on a positive outcome. I think you have the foundation. 

 

 

 

[mylolita]

3 hours ago, itsallgrand said:

That's actually quite understandable. Yknow, none of us really know exactly how we will react when things go bad until we are actually in it. We like to think we know, but a moment in a crucible often brings up things in us we aren't used to facing so immediately in our face.

You had thoughts but you didn't leave. That's the bottom line. Maybe this will take your marriage even deeper. 

It makes sense to me you'd panic when his role has always been to be the rock. And suddenly, he wasn't. He was the opposite. Shock to the system. You two have this agreement on how things will be and it got shaken up. Anger makes sense to.

All that matters is how you both go forward now. I sincerely hope things look up soon....and your marriage keeps evolving. If I had to put money on it, I'd put it on a positive outcome. I think you have the foundation. 

 

 

 

You are very understanding itsall!

 

I have a temper on me as well (Oh wow! What a peach I am turning out to be huh!!! This is NOT a good advertisement). 
 

Most people can be at their best when everything is going to plan, that is easy! It’s being good and noble and stable once the chips are down that shows your true character. I haven‘t been tested much in my life, I am quite sheltered, I know I am.

 

I don’t want my replies to come off as self defence. I’m not justifying half of anything I ever put here. I’m getting it out there and exercising some urge to write. 
 

Thank you for your support itsall - it’s very sweet that you would say something positive and forward like that. With me being such a hot head, our relationship has had it’s passionate arguments from week two! The main thing I have found is that we make up. I haven’t told everything to this diary, so it’s unfair really on anyone like yourself maybe trying to gather a picture of a relationship. There is the micro and the macro and the major, going on from dawn till dusk.

 

Are you married yourself? I am just being nosey! 
 

x

[itsallgrand]

I'm not married, no. I'm in a common law relationship, going on 7 years. Our anniversary is coming up pretty soon, the 7 year itch lol. I'm not feeling itchy. We had a small ceremony where we exchanged vows and signed paperwork. Maybe not as romantic to some but it was perfect in my eyes. I'm not even sure if our Anni lines up with that day! It's more one we chose for a turning point, if I recall.

I can be mercurial, and darn stubborn. I'm still surprised I'm in this relationship and it's really good. We have our moments, who doesn't, but overall it feels natural and we compliment each other. I always tended to going my own way, find it easier to be on my own than not. He adds to my life, and yet respects my extra need for space, it's one of the things I love about us. 

I guess I related on a certain level because though I'm not going anywhere, there's a part of me that flits to "I could do this on my own if things ever go too sideways, no problem, bye". Sounds harsh written out, but there it is . He knows that about me though. He knows how independent minded I can be. At some points in my life, it was to the point of no longer just about independence but also a desire to stay the heck away from too heavy of commitment to one person. I was a runner!

So yes, that's kinda why I asked if you knew where your reaction came from. When you understand it, even if it pops up, you can make conscious decisions about it. If you don't, it's like being carried by some outside force it can feel.

Ok I've gabbed enough! 

[dias]

8 hours ago, mylolita said:

Most people can be at their best when everything is going to plan, that is easy! It’s being good and noble and stable once the chips are down that shows your true character. 

I believe it's very difficult to act rationally and kind when things are tough and it's the first time you are facing something like this. Yes you could be more understanding since your husband is going through a difficult time (it's not like he doesn't do the best he can - and men do cry sometimes throughout their lives although not in front of other people, we are not robots + brief pity parties are necessary to pick up yourself again), however, your instinctive reaction is understandable to an extent especially since you have young kids. 

As long as you make up again and you find common ground once the initial emotions start to  fade, I believe it's fine. He is not a robot and although he is a competent person life can be a b*tch and you can't do much sometimes. You are not a robot either, your initial instinctive reaction was not the best, nonetheless, if you are able to start thinking rationally again and understand what was wrong I don't think it matters in the long term. You have a good foundation. 

[mylolita]

11 hours ago, itsallgrand said:

I'm not married, no. I'm in a common law relationship, going on 7 years. Our anniversary is coming up pretty soon, the 7 year itch lol. I'm not feeling itchy. We had a small ceremony where we exchanged vows and signed paperwork. Maybe not as romantic to some but it was perfect in my eyes. I'm not even sure if our Anni lines up with that day! It's more one we chose for a turning point, if I recall.

I can be mercurial, and darn stubborn. I'm still surprised I'm in this relationship and it's really good. We have our moments, who doesn't, but overall it feels natural and we compliment each other. I always tended to going my own way, find it easier to be on my own than not. He adds to my life, and yet respects my extra need for space, it's one of the things I love about us. 

I guess I related on a certain level because though I'm not going anywhere, there's a part of me that flits to "I could do this on my own if things ever go too sideways, no problem, bye". Sounds harsh written out, but there it is . He knows that about me though. He knows how independent minded I can be. At some points in my life, it was to the point of no longer just about independence but also a desire to stay the heck away from too heavy of commitment to one person. I was a runner!

So yes, that's kinda why I asked if you knew where your reaction came from. When you understand it, even if it pops up, you can make conscious decisions about it. If you don't, it's like being carried by some outside force it can feel.

Ok I've gabbed enough! 

That’s great! I remember distinctly hitting 7 years with D. It felt like a milestone. It also felt like a flash in the pan and FOREVER all at the same time! He felt the same. We have crammed so much into 15 years it feels like we have lived three lifetimes together. 
 

I suppose I have done a lot of growing up beside him. I have become a woman whilst being with him - or, I should say, I was already a little lady at 13, 14, with my y’know, let’s call it, sophisticated and ambitious tastes! But I was 18 when we got together, he was 28. He was fresh into starting his own business, he’d had it for about 3/4 years at the time. And although he didn’t have much money he was doing well and I could feel the force of his ambition and optimism and yes, his talent and certain unique cheeky bold charisma that often goes hand in hand with anyone who is a “sales person through and through”. I’m nearly 33 now and that time going through my late teens, 20s. Buying houses, renting so many, getting married and having a bunch of kids close whilst all growing his business like mad nutters has caused me to not look back and half the time I don’t know where a year has gone. Huge blocks of life, I just can’t remember. 
 

I guess really itsall - I ask you about your relationship status with bias because, I know it’s not tasteful or even fair, but often I find people giving relationship or family advice to have had, no solid or lasting relationships, or have never had a family (this doesn’t apply to you you are not giving me baby rearing whilst being married advice!) but, you can see maybe where my pet peeve comes from! When someone has all of a year under their belt at 40, or a string of divorces, or, failed terrible relationships and then start to reel off all the things you do wrong, I can’t help sitting there not taking a word they say seriously!

 

I wish you the best of luck in your relationship. I realise marriage isn’t for everyone! We are a very traditional type of couple, it feels like, the last traditional man and wife on this modern planet who aren’t deeply religious! 
 

We both have very solid, un moving and defined roles. I clean and cook, absolutely always. I mostly look after the kids. His job is to work and provide. You can see maybe how, when one of us perceives the other as “failing” or struggling with this, the blame game can get started real easily. Because it’s like, well hunny, you only have to do ONE thing! But that one thing is major! It’s defined and straight forward but, you can see why the 50s housewife turned to the gin, and why the 50s silent strong provider would come home and bury himself in his paper, ignore the kids his wife had just hurriedly washed and made beautiful and clean like fresh cherubs for his arrival, and just want a darn beer God damn it I’ve slaved all day!

 

(I also edit to say, I am not unhappy in these roles. With or without him I am that way inclined and know of no other way to operate. We have discussed hypothetical situations and he says, over and over again, if I came into a billion pounds, he wouldn’t want one penny of it. 
 

The story of men who do well, and have younger wives who spend every penny of it with wild abandon, isn’t new. I am not the first and won’t be the last, but it doesn’t mean it’s right, or attractive. I have got away with a whole lot in my life. I talk my way out of 90% of it and wing the rest. Doesn’t mean, again, it’s the ethical and right way to go through your time on this earth.

 

I often think, the religious idea of coming to the gates of judgement at the end of it all is like a general human metaphor for life we all experience, one way or another, Hindu or atheist or Muslim or Christian or Buddhist or Jane or whatever else. It’s the idea that, we know we are going to die. And when that time comes, will we be proud and satisfied and comforted by how we spent our time? How we lived our lives? I know I will be at my own version of those pearly gates. Religious people think it is at the end. I can see why, and I can go in for that too - it’s right, of course, the final reckoning. But I think you’re at the gates more often than once. Terribly, those moments of deep sinking realisations. We look right into our book of judgement and often, it ain’t too peachy. I don’t ask it to be perfect or righteous. I just want to be true to myself, and do the right thing, for me, and others - by my own standards, no one else’s. In that respect, I am God. We are our own Lord and master. I judge myself every single day.)

 

x

 

 

[mylolita]

4 hours ago, dias said:

I believe it's very difficult to act rationally and kind when things are tough and it's the first time you are facing something like this. Yes you could be more understanding since your husband is going through a difficult time (it's not like he doesn't do the best he can - and men do cry sometimes throughout their lives although not in front of other people, we are not robots + brief pity parties are necessary to pick up yourself again), however, your instinctive reaction is understandable to an extent especially since you have young kids. 

As long as you make up again and you find common ground once the initial emotions start to  fade, I believe it's fine. He is not a robot and although he is a competent person life can be a b*tch and you can't do much sometimes. You are not a robot either, your initial instinctive reaction was not the best, nonetheless, if you are able to start thinking rationally again and understand what was wrong I don't think it matters in the long term. You have a good foundation. 

I think you are being too easy on me Dias but, thank you, and of course, you are right.

 

We are a strange and forceful little mix of personalities, me and my husband. Sometimes it works and sparks fly and everyone witnesses our obvious love! Gets swept away with it! Other times, it’s very dark, and when we argue, we really argue. It’s driven by me, of course. My husband is definitely not placid. When it comes to me though? Yes. He is eternally patient and forgiving. I don’t know how. But the meek and accepting on the fencer he is not. No one much messes him around because I think, there is an animalistic undertone to all our interactions and, men, they have a dominance hierarchy just like women, but it’s more obvious and more physical, and I think other men realise he won’t take it, verbally or physically. He grew up in such a rough dog eat dog area, he’s had more physical fights than he can remember. But I know he would never lay a hand on me or the kids. It’s a calculated, controlled thing for him. Me, I am aggressive in my own way and fly off the handle and use words as my weapon of choice. They hurt more. I think sometimes he would prefer me to slap him.

 

This is horrible, isn’t it. It’s not an easy admission for me, and it isn’t the half of it. I am sure everyone would rightly hate me if I carried on and told some of the other heated moments that have happened between us. 
 

You start with someone, and often, those attributes initially are the things that draw you in and make you wild about someone. Then, with time, they become the things that you learn to battle over, and despise in your other half. We have both thrown each other’s character back in our faces. We both won’t change, or not by much. He often tells me we just need to be kinder to each other; and more sympathetic. It’s true. Times are rough, it’s not the time to go to war with each other, to make myself feel better, just to have someone there to blame. He gets it from every different angle, not just me. His parents are cold and negative and have never once said a simple well done, or congratulations. It’s so sad. We often have long talks into the night about it, but it always ends where he rolls over and says they will never change so let’s just get some sleep.

 

Of course men cry - and, it’s unrealistic and cruel of me to expect him to be our fortress the whole of his life. He is like Atlas carrying the world. You never hear a complaint, but it comes out in other ways. Clipped way of asking for something, a nag, irritation or impatience. No one is perfect. Road rage seems to be another off shoot of a bad mood.

 

We move into our new house tomorrow. I am hoping the space, the fresh start - the conclusion to all our stress and strife, will make some time to just let each other lie and say sorry. I apologise easily. He always tells me, even during an argument, you’ll be coming to me tomorrow cooing at me saying I’m sorry and embarrassed and didn’t mean anything I said. This is all true. I’m more readable and text book than I would like to admit. I have my predictable patterns.

 

Last week, I was in bed, talking to his back. I said, “I’m sorry I haven’t been more supportive.” There was a big pause. Obviously no, darling, it’s okay, don’t worry. From that pause I knew I had really wounded him. 

 

“Okay love.” He starts. Then, another pause. “You just get in these moods. Let’s not argue.” Another pause. 

 

“Everything’s alright, as long as we’re alright.”

 

x