Scream if you want to go faster!Posted: July 30, 2011
I don’t like rides that go round and round. Take me to a theme park and I’ll be the one on the rollercoaster. Upside down, stomach-dropping plunges, breakneck speeds – yes. Round and round and round – no. Just the idea of Waltzers makes me feel a bit sicky.
To say my life has been a bit of a rollercoaster ride lately would be something of an understatement. The last year can be neatly bookended with my husband leaving and my Dad dying, and that would be enough, but just for a laugh there have been some heart-stopping plunges and sick-making loop-the-loops along the way. A whole lot of turmoil. A sense that I’m not really in control, a passenger on board my own life. My rollercoaster carriage has broken free from its neighbours and is doing its own thing. Forget going that way! We’re going this way! Weeeeeeeeeeeee!
So obviously the best thing to do is seek comfort in the emotional equivalent of the bloody Waltzers.
I wrote in my last entry that it was over between me and The Pirate, but that I wasn’t ready to talk about it. In the time it’s taken me to find the words, we appear to be back together again. If we ever were together… Let me start again: The Pirate and I are having sex again.
OK, it isn’t just sex. We saw each other last night, we went out for a drink, we watched TV, we went to bed, he came in my hair (ugh ugh ugh) after giving me a lovebite on my inner thigh (classy sex all round, then). And we woke up this morning and had less tawdry and more emotionally connected sex. And in between all the sexing there was talking and comfortable silences and all the things you’d expect from a couple – except we’re not.
And this is the sticking point, the Waltzers part. Because now, he really knows what I want. The essay-length email from me that precipitated our blink-and-you’ll-miss-it split saw to that (sent at 12.45am – note to self: quit sending potentially life-changing emails in the dead of the night. Everything is worse in the dead of the night. Save as draft, lady. SAVE AS DRAFT). And his response to this email (also dead of nighty) was less ‘I don’t want a relationship’ than I’d expected and more ‘I can’t give you what you need right now’ – which is basically saying the same thing in a different way. I hear his words, but I don’t seem to be able to listen to them.
And so we’ve fallen back into the same groove we ever had, the groove of calling and texting and talking loosely of ‘next time’ without making any firm plans. Round and round and round we go. He now holds all the cards. I told him to commit or it was over. He couldn’t or wouldn’t commit and discovered the laughable emptiness of my threat. What has that taught him, huh? I’m a mother. I know all about making sure you follow through on any threats you make. I can do it with The Boy – why not The Pirate?
Because I’m arrogant enough to believe that I can change him. That I’ll be the one to make him abandon his buccaneering ways and settle down to appreciate the joys of domesticity and co-parenting and true love and hot sex on tap. That I can turn a Waltzer into something more sedate and less stomach-churning – the swans at Alton Towers, perhaps. Ha! Even as I write that, my lips are twitching with mirth. As if!
And would I want him quite as much if he wasn’t such a heady ride? Do I really want a swan when I’ve got me a pirate?
I talk to my friends about The Pirate a lot. Yeah. They’re pretty much sick of hearing about him already. And they all offer advice that’s basically a variation on a theme: he’s as into you as he can be, he’s giving you as much as he can, it’s unlikely to get any better than this, shouldn’t you quit while you’re ahead?
Well yes. Obviously that’s the sensible thing to do. But where’s the fun in that?