My Last Post

I had written a much longer message.  

I fell in love with a girl.  I was in love with her even before I stopped writing this and I omitted every detail of our relationship, everything about her really.  I think I might have mentioned her, a couple of times, but if I did it was in passing and without any real detail and certainly without hint of my true feelings toward her.

The post I deleted was going to explain, in some detail, exactly how she broke my heart; but the more I wrote the more distraught I became.  

The pain she caused me makes me hate her more than I've ever hated anybody or anything, which creates a whole new level of ambivalence within me as I still love her so fucking much and I can't help but grieve what she did, what I allowed to happen, what I did and what we lost.  I can't stop grieving it.  Lord knows I've tried.

It was love at first site.  I didn't even realise that this was this case until she finally slipped through my fingers.  I didn't believe in 'love at first site', other than infatuation based on a physical attraction, but now I think on it it's something I've experienced twice; once with a lady in Norway who eventually blocked me on all forms of communication for.. reasons I'm only vaguely clear about, to be honest.  And once with this girl who broke my heard so badly I suspect the damage to be completely irreparable.  (And the Norwegian chick doesn't really count as 'first sight' as i met her online and i don't think I actually saw her the night I first spoke to her).

My feelings for her spilled out in the end, I suspect after my last post, here.  And we had a relationship that I kept a secret throughout its duration.  I only got to meet up with her a few times since then.  I'd have seen her twice as often but things kept coming up that prevented me.

And because of that she cheated on me.  I'm not trying to justify her behaviour, I can't.  I recognise i had a hand in causing what she did but she was the one who did it and there were things she could have done to stop it, to rectify any problems between us without fucking some moron who won't move in with the woman he claims to love.

I kept my feelings of her completely hidden for as long as I could and, as a result, this blog seems to be full of lies and lies of omission.

I was about to delete the whole thing.

But I can't do that.  I started this blog as a sort of homage to my sister, who passed away more than 5 years ago, now.  It might be a failed homage but an homage it is nonetheless and I don't have the heart to destroy it.

If anybody who ever reads this has any idea how it may be possible to actually travel back through time... Please let me know.  I don't know what I'd give how far I'd go but I suspect it'd be "anything" and "anywhere".

Goodbye.

Curry Night

So... It's Sunday now. Nothing interesting has really happened yet so I'll start at Thursday night/Friday. But I'll be brief about that day.

Thursday, 8pm; I fall asleep, fully dressed.
Friday, 00:00; I wake up, just as dressed and have pulled my bed sheets over me in my sleep, as I do. I was hot, sticky and uncomfortable. And, having slept for 4 hours I didn't fancy my chances of nodding off again. Failing to get off I go online and do... Fuck all for a while. María was actually online for a few minutes but the amount of chat between us wasn't even enough to be classed as 'small talk'.
02:30; Nothing else to do I go back to bed. I lay there for hours before I fell asleep.
08:00; Elise arrives to dump one or more children on me. I'm so tired I can't actually process how many I have.
12:00; Tony arrives. I go back to bed.
5 something; I'm woken up because we're going to some church thing. I'm annoyed that I wasn't really given enough time to shower but I do so anyway, since everybody else who was going to has apparently already done so. (That doesn't count Chug. He bathes for no man).
19:30; We set off at the time the social event was set to begin. This has essentially become a standard household practise. If it isn't Tony holding us up it's Chug, which was the case that night. And it's mental because he went dressed in whatever he was wearing when he woke up; all he had done was added shoes and socks.

I had already been told that it was a 'curry night' but I decided to go anyway; curry is something that the British are incapable of screwing up, it's as if it's ingrained in our genes. Obviously it isn't because it's not a British thing; we've only actually had it for 1 or 2 hundred years. And I don't think it was amazingly popular until sometime quite recently.

When I realised that it was Glynn Hughes who was cooking I was somewhat disheartened as this is a man who has gone to great lengths to avoid providing food for any church events, even when all he's been asked to do was sandwiches. I do recall him having words with some of the relief society when they'd asked him to do so and he'd said that he'd happily 'provide the drinks' (as he often did, as it required no more effort than buying a few bottles of the cheapest pop or squash that he could get his hands on) .

We arrived to find everybody was playing DVD Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. The hall was divided into 3 teams, as the game is apparently set up for a multi-player mode of play. (Apparently not as many players as we had in attendance, therefore my team answered questions for 'player 1', the next for 'player 2', and so forth). All teams lost at £1000. Chug refused to participate in the game completely.

I went and offered to help Glynn with the cooking but he refused point blank. I tasted some and suggested he should add some spices but he said that 'not everybody likes it spicy'. I tried to explain that I didn't mean peppers or anything that would make it hot but Glynn just kept saying 'some people don't like it spicy', refusing to understand the difference between spices (such as cinnamon or musala) and peppers (chili peppers, etc). Looking I might have come across as a little condescending but I had no way to tell and no way of finding out retrospectively. I'd call and ask but I'm afraid I might be stirring a hornet's nest of some kind as trying to understand humans is something best left to other people.

I seem to recall that we had some mexican themed lunch after church one time and mum made a enchiladas (ie; I made enchiladas) and a mild chili. Glynn refused to try either of these on the grounds that he didn't eat hot foods. However they were both extremely mild and I can't see how he could qualify them as hot without trying them for himself. Everybody assured him it was mild.

Chuggle refused to participe in this, too; not only would he not have any of the food (which I admit that I completely understand) but he wouldn't even sit at the table with everybody else; he sat on a lone chair facing away from everybody. After a while Steve went and sat next to him for a chat. He must have ammused the boy in some way or other but it didn't seem to improve his attitude on the whole because he was back to his gloomy self as soon as Steve went to attend to other things.

Ultimately the food was edible though rather bland.

I spent most of the night talking to Lauren Thorley. I had previously assumed that her real name was 'Eden Ivy Lee', and that she had adopted 'Lauren' as a pseudonym because doesn't stand out so much, however she clarified that she'd changed it to Eden by deed poll some years ago. She seemed to be in good spirits, hard as it is for me to tell with people, though I think something might have been on her mind. She never seemed too cheerful when I first joined the church so I don't have much to compare her mood of that night. She thought I seemed miserable.

At one point she asked me what I had planned for the weekend and I honestly did not know what to day. I consider myself an introvert (though my friends and family find this hilarious) because I don't go out or socialise in general. My answer was "I don't know. Get screwed over by my sister and probably watch some cartoons" or something very similar. She smiled and said "You mean get stuck babysitting?". I was tempted to make a joke about incest but I decided not to bother. (I'd told the one about the 2 Jewish assassins who were hired to take out Hitler, earlier, and it had gone down badly).

(In the event that I have any new readers I would just like to clarify that I have never engaged in incestual relations. I hope that nobody took any implication that I might, but I have this dry sense of humour that some people tend to take seriously).

Her daughter, Hally, has grown as an almost surprising rate, but then I do tend to forget how much time tends to pass between the instances I see her mother and it's rarer still to see her. She must be 6 or 7 now. I meant to ask and I have no idea why I didn't do so.

I got home about 9:30 or so and eventually went to sleep at around midnight which I wasn't expecting given the amount of sleep I had already had that day.

If anything particularly interesting happened the following day I can't remember it.