I'm sitting alone in the postgrad centre at uni. Someone else's book called "how to Get a PhD" stares at me from the shelf above the imac where I'm typing.
I'm not sure if the owner spent valualbe university resources on typing out long rants about their failed love life, but she has just submitted her thesis. i got her a double G&T yesterday......
Last time I broke up with Anna, I spent a whole month writing long and endless ravings about the minutae of my hearbreak. I did heaps of all-nighter sessions in the beige palace of PhD's; I think I updated my dodgy website and maybe even did some uni work.
This year, part of me was hoping that I'd be inspired to do similar sort of home avoidance tactic. However I've spent the past week in a kind of freefallng whirl - running running aimlessly. Visiting lots of friends, having dinner parties, or generla parties, or running off to whatever tiny distraction could drag me out of the house. Random Research Seminars. Anything.
I barely got my pissy little marking done - and even that was only today (did it straight after my coffee - before my brain was awake enought to be distracted). Then as I woke up, the knot in my stomach tightened. My veins started coursing with bile. Hate hate hate. she lives across the hallway. She hides behind her locked door, and writes, dreams, wanks, speaks to some other woman on the other side of the planet, washing down her fantasies with bottles of homebrew and left over wine. She's going back in june. I don't think she's going to move out of home though. I'm madly running around just hoping she will go somewhere at Easter. I gave her a deadline. I've been firm. What else can I do?
If I think any deeper about it it's just horrible. So I skulk in my room, trying to masturbate to the sex worker ads in free newspapers. Or desperately sending sad SMS's to friends (no, not while wanking). At least I'm not eating tim tams, but I can't read, can't sit at the computer, can't find my fucking lace up leather boots! I bet the bitch has got them under her bed. I want my books back. I want to cry. I want to wake up and be in some different reality. The nice one where I had a nice girfriend......
On the bright side, I don't have to deal with her when she's pissed (which I think is often). I don't know who does. I think the neighbours did last night. Last week, I saw her jumper hanging off someone's fence 2 blocks from our house! I took it home and stuck it in the stairwell. today I found her calendar next to the toilet. Saw her flight bookings. Saw that she refers to me in her diary as Marg. That particular version of my name makes me shudder. Dunno why. Yep, OK, Makes it easier to stick her in the hate book.I tthought about throwing her diary donw the toilet or out the window, but then, dunno. the 'do unto others' suspicion. I can't find my bedroom key to lock my door. I think she's got my camera too. She drinks my coffee - and I can't be fucked hiding it from her. I can't eat at home, so he might as well be eating all the veggies I bought.
this is sad, pathetic and trivial, and a bit horrible too. so I should write about the funny stuff: what people have been saying or doing to cheer me up:
A friend from uni invited me around to her place - and gathered a group of some of the brightest and creative people in sydney on the problem of what i should do. No one had any ideas - so I let myself get tipsy and stormed home and screamed at Anna and demanded she return my dictionary and bed sheets. she's kept her door locked ever since.
One teacher from art school invited me around to her studio to paint a friend posing in a FREAKY VOODOO SET UP! (with lots of masks and skeletons)
Another friend has given me some shiatsu massages.
A School friend invited me back to her massive house to drink cognac and watch Mr. & Mrs. Smith and stay in some incredible guest room. I felt like i was in a fancy hotel and the movie gave me nightmares, but hanging out with her was pretty cool. she also wants to take me clubbing - and keeps asking if I'm completely gay now - coz she reckons if i have a fling with a guy that I can meet in a club that it will do me good. About 10 years ago I had sex with people I could't talk to and I'm not sure if I want to repeat the experience. Paradoxically one guy who I found so boring that I nearly somersaulted backwards out of the window - I actually wish now - that I could have talked to more - coz he was really obsessed with architecture and I could probably mine him for some info.
Jane Austen would say that Its a truth universally known that bad conversation can ruin great sex, (being naked in a bed is a pretty full on place to have a failed conversation), whereas good conversation an always distract or comfort you from bad sex.
well I guess there are limits to everything.
The trouble with being in a long term relationship is that in the past decade most of my old flingables have settled down and married. or died. I guess this is the bit about getting older that sucks. I guess its meant to compensate for the feelings of self awarness and self confidence. If I was 10 years younger, this would probably kill me. Where as it is, spending a week involuntarily excreting every morsel of food from both ends f my gastrointestinal tract, getting a weird rash and losing a stone feels like a healthy reaction that will probably pass. And I know that I'll feel like shit for the next 12 months. And that the first time I have decent sex with someone who isn't her I'll brst into tears - which is probably a good reason to only have trashy sex.
Anyway - life as a newly single 25 years old has involved playing maiden aunt to lots of nestlers.
A newly married couple asked me over to have dinner and play their pianola! that was so much fun that I missed out on going to the sly fox and working out how to get laid. I ws having a fire hydrant day and sticking my head out of the bus window at eveyr tight jeaned female specimen within 500 metres....... during "You can't stop the music"I had a bit of a shane warne fit and started texting random poeple wiht lewd suggestions. (Damn that bad regrowth!) fortnuatley my phone ran out of credit before I got too far.....
An engaged couple invited me to their house to have lots of yummy food and really old armagnac - and they asked me to come to hawaii for their wedding.
another couple of newly formed franco-australo sapphic alliance members also asked me for dinner. And then didn't turn up. which was a bit weird. But then we met up later at the mum's house of the australian. the french half lectured me in two languages, insisting that I should move out of home as soon as possible. she's the only person who has said this, and she's french and I've just discovered a new shade of xenophobia. Merde A Les Guines Francaises! Even nice ones that seem to be making my friend really happy.
I've had amazing support from various lovely people around uni that have provided dinner, coffee conversation, drinks and random hugs. I never imagined the sandstone camelot would provide such a safe abode. I think Zoo is a guardian angel in disguise.
anyway - I think I've bored myself into anaesthesia.I'm really happy to get nice comments and practical suggestions for getting ABEL out of the house on a permanent basis. I was thinking of having a really loud long orgy in my bedroom for a week after easter - so if anyone is interested or available let me know. I'd probably want to run away at some point but I reckon people could just continue without me.
Blogging as Art: Life Writing Online
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