Tonight I Can Write...

Currently Listening To: If  You Had My Love (Jennifer Lopez, before she became J-Lo) // No Scrubs (TLC)

Currently Pondering: *Head nod* Those ladies had it right. And awesome outfits. IS THAT WELSH ON MY SPOTIFY??

Another long one folks! And a bit odd. I'm having an odd week, and I'm not quite sure what to think of it myself. But we have Neruda, and his poetry is awesome, so there's a plus at the very least.

Strange things are happening in the world lately...there's either something in the air or water, or perhaps there's a full moon (there isn't. And even if there was apparently lunar madness is a myth) but either way, something curious is happening. Odd things are happening, people are acting odd- even I'm feeling a little nuts. I'm getting really antsy, feeling a little out of place everywhere I go, I'm over-analysing nearly EVERYTHING that's being said to me, and I'm pretty sure my bitchier/more wreckless alter ego is trying to bust her way through. She typically only comes out when I'm a combination of drunk and pissed off, and leads me down the path of vodka shots (I frickin' hate vodka shots), drunken texting and lewd behaviour. Only now she's not so much drunk, just, pissy and looking for someone to pick on. The bitch.

Anyway, "stuff" has triggered me to go for a walk down memory lane, taking a left-turn onto "Past-Relationships Drive" and here I am sitting at the doorstep of the "International House of Fuck-Ups". I'm thinking: men are really screwy. I attract weird things and events. I'm not trying to say my entire love-life and persons therein have been terrible, but there are definitely some points I'd rather forget, or time-travel back to and undo. What is it they say? It only takes one negative thing to cancel out FOUR positive things? That's horrible. Yuck.

In my weekly stumblings however, I found this little gem:

"The best part of being in love is when you just love a person, and be happy about it. Even if that person can never be yours, even if you know it can't last forever. That's the true essence of love. It's not about winning someone, it's not about owning a relationship. It's just about being happy because you know you've loved someone. It's about being happy because you know you've loved someone."

-Source: Allenstar

This is probably the most succinct way of summing up my thoughts during a break-up. And I didn't even come up with it. Rats. Asides from thinking "oh you complete knob. You are such a knob" during a break-up, I do honestly try to think of all the things I've learned/learned never to do again in future relationships (so far the list is pretty long). I think the most resilient teaching was "how to put your defences up and keep them there", a message hammered home by seeing women in my family being messed around and then personal experience from relationships C and E. Maybe a little bit of G too. But it was somewhere between D and G that I figured there's no point in letting the horrible memories corrupt all the good ones. And sometimes it's ok to put your guard down. Now I think I've gotten the hang of looking at the bad, leaving it there, and going on to enjoy the good memories as if I'm living them all over again. C'mon, good first dates are still good first dates, and a good first kiss is still a good first kiss. 

Let's look at the beautiful words of Pablo Neruda now, the man knows how to write a good heartache:

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, 'The night is starry and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

It's a killer to read if you're even the slightest bit not happy with some sort of relationship. Or breaking up with someone. Sorry for any anguish caused, I really should've put a foreword in there or something.

As I did with Wuthering Heights, I shall do here, I'm going to pick up on the really minute undertones, and proceed to love and adore them.
"Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too."      This makes me think "500 Days of Summer". Haven't seen it? Sort that out. It makes me think about the times when you look at the other person and just begin to wonder "I'm not so sure anymore.." Either you've begun to notice the flaws you didn't before or you're feeling the tremors of impending doom. *Spoiler Alert* In the movie, you re-watch scenes which the boy saw as normal, enjoyable dates, but it's only when you get the slightest hint that the girl is getting "cold feet" and the same scenes look so different. It's so sad, but I think I can slightly sympathise with "No, this doesn't feel right, I see trouble on the horizon" and the best thing to do is to break than continue proverbially flogging the dead donkey. I was called a bitch (thanks, Alex) when I said I was happy the two of them ended up doing different things at the end of the movie. I'm sorry, but as lovely and Hollywood-friendly as it would've been, I appreciate just ONE love story where everything doesn't have to end up as planned- but is even better. My mother has always told me the problem with my exes is not the issues of "maturity" or "chronic dick-headedness" but its that we couldn't *handle* each other. Her theory is that you don't just move around each other, but you move each other. Like a Tango. Or a stream, flowing around and over big rocks, but picking up shells and sand. How calming, mother. She maintains that I should only marry a Chinese zodiac that can "tame a snake". Dig that innuendo. For clarity, I was born in the year of the snake and Mum's really supersticious. And she thinks I can be a bit too "willful" (read: domineering cow) Agreed. Anyway, that's what I think was the problem with the above relationship. The two obviously got on, but after the honeymoon period, she must have felt like the chemistry was replaced with convenience, and with no "good reason" like a fight or infidelity to break-up over, the relationship was just kind of plodding on. Then she tells him she wanted to shoot him in the head. Hahaha.

"Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes."      My biggest relationship vice? I'm hugely jealous/ protective. But getting better at it, I've figured out how to just let things go, and now laugh when I would've sulked, pouted and gotten all irate. I have more fun when I'm not wasting time being annoyed and not changing anything. Sounds like this woman had really beautiful eyes though doesn't it? He keeps mentioning them...

I know that this poem conveys a huge sense of him having a really tough time getting over a past love, but I do see just the tiniest glimmer of hope in the last lines: "...my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her./ Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer / and these the last verses that I write for her."
Almost sounds like he's saying he's ready to just leave things alone now, leaving them in this poem, and moving on from it. Closure. I like it. But then you might read something completely differently from all that. I'll just err on the side of optimism.

Damn I love Neruda.

So there you have it. This is what happens when the planets align just right, and I start thinking "Girls are from Venus, men are from...where the hell are you coming from!?"

For anyone feeling cynical about love,
be assured you could buy it with change from a fiver

Poor tumour-bear! I still don't have the heart to eat him,
he looks sad enough without knowing the end is nigh..

I'll be back to normal next week. I might even have a sparkly new phone to show off! Happy face.

How a Domestic Goddess Handles Her Adonis

The pilot light in the boiler went off.

The heating switched off, hot water was out of the question and a general panic ensued for a couple of hours (but mainly just between Elisa and I as noone else had noticed). After resetting the boiler umpteen times, we managed to spark some life in the ol' gal and she was back in action providing heat and comfort once again. This is just the latest episode in the ongoing "Stuff that keeps breaking in this house saga", a few days ago I fixed the hinges in my wardrobe with a pair of tweezers, weeks before that I'd scrubbed mould off the ceiling, and before that I got the joy of reattaching the toilet seat to the toilet (no tweezers there, just bare hands. Mmmm mmm.) Not even mentioning dealing with extracting a small-medium build dog's toupee from the bristles of the hoover. If I have learned one thing from this year living out of halls its that I am perfectly capable of dealing with minor domestic crises- my mother would be so proud.

Anyway this entire nightmare of a house reminded me of when my Dad foolishly left me and Mum at home while he was away on holiday, and in the course of ONE night, my mother had removed all the carpeting from the living room and hallway, set down a layer of that green insulating board, fitted new laminate flooring and varnished it. Single handedly. In one night. As in, I went to bed, entered a coma, and woke up to new flooring. I was amazed and Mum was beyond pleased with herself, smug for the rest of Dad's absence. But when he came back, he declared his hate of wooden floorings. He's a traditional soul who believes firmly that a good quality carpet is the staple of a good family home. That sort. Mum was not so pleased with this reaction.

My mum is the true definition of "Domestic Goddess", she cooks, she cleans, she plays accountant/therapist/cheer squad/ babysitter and mother day after day without much complaint (she enjoys relishing a little sympathy and gratitude from time to time, it gets her a free manicure and lemon drizzle cake if she plays it just right). Whilst keeping the household running, and making sure the family is firmly knitted together, don't go thinking my Mother is a doormat of the family or re-enacting that furiously annoying image of "Suzy homemaker", she very DEFINITELY undertakes the "-Goddess" part of the phrase. When Dad showed his ingratitude of what she considered to be an awesome renovation (it so was Dad, you fool) Mum (a.k.a Betty for those who don't know, dig that awesome name) didn't wilt and or look downtrodden, heck no. She ripped him a new one, and then educated him on why he was wrong and would be sleeping on the couch that night (easier to clean, more insulating than carpet, more fashionable etc). Afterall, what Goddess would opt to shrivel in the face of criticism and submit to a mere mortal's will rather than do a little smiting? Geez, come on.

My Mother, the awesome force. The woman who can take on a million chores in a day, lift you up when you're down in the dumps but put you back in your place when you get all knobbish, is my idol. If I had to single out one parenting technique that she pulled off well, it's how to keep people grounded. I will never be able to say how much I appreciate her keeping me in check when I'm away with the fairies, and the way she's taught me to reflect on myself when I notice the warning signs that something is on the brink of going wrong. I think that's invaluable, seeing as it's hard to really be critical of yourself without being too harsh, but also not just covering up everything with "that's not actually a problem though" and ignoring things at jeopardy. The balance between what we want to believe and what we have to realise. The battle between the Fellowship and Sauron. Good VS Evil. Aaaah reality checks. So Mum takes a "No B-S" approach to nearly everything, unless she's conning the Sky call center to give us a few free channels, and orchestrates it with such a flair that there really is no getting past her. It overlaps with this psychic ability of knowing when someone needs to hear a little cushioning "no, you're not being unreasonable" and the ever-honest "he was an ugly mug anyway, I never liked him, you just can't trust someone with {insert physical characteristic here}".

In the spirit of godesslyness, what do you do when your Adonis turns out to be nothing but a Narcissus (read: Jackass)?

Momma told me the following.

1. If you're right, educate the fool. There's no point in having a fight and making up unless you TEACH him why he's wrong, so then he has no excuse to do x/y/z again in ignorance. If he does it again despite knowing better, rip him a new one, you are not to be pushed over.

2. If he's right, be a dignified loser. This happened recently. I was crabby because I'd had a shitty day. Lover was crabby because he'd had a shitty day. Result was that we were sniping at each other and winding each other up= both in the wrong. We decided to quit while we were ahead, hung up, had the night to ourselves (I steamed a little bit, passive agressively made penguin costumes) and went to bed. The next day we started with an apology and a do-over, and it was fine. There's no point in throwing yourself at someone's feet the moment you've had a fight. Yes its nice to clear the air straight away, but you need time to reflect on a) how serious is this? b) how relevant is this? Is there anything more to it? c) you need to FEEL an emotion. Take time to feel angry/pissed off/indignant/hormonal, but at least let yourself come face to face with it. Sublimating the negative doesn't make it go away, it'll only fester in some other part of your life, or come back to bite you in the ass at some later date. "Sooner rather than later " lovers.

3. If he's being unduly demanding, make him do it himself. There's a fine yet dramatic difference between being a "Domestic Goddess" and just a slave. And saying "you're doing it because you want to do it" is a cheap line. You shouldn't do anything to validate your own existence on somebody else's terms. If I'm making you burritos, re-fried beans and nachos, I'm doing it because it satisfies my craving for the aforementioned/its a special occasion and you deserve a treat/ I have a killer new recipe. It's not me over-stretching myself just to hear a "Cheers love". Note: I don't feed my man crap just because I can't be bothered to cook, I'll always feed him well, but not because it "makes me a better woman". I'm also not a die-hard feminist.

4. If you're being unduly demanding, quit it. Review: are you standing up on account of your principles or being a bit high-maintenance. Is it reasonable to expect someone to call you more than twice a day? (I say twice, because Beau never picks up on the first call when his phone is on silent. The first set of vibrations are fobbed off as an itch/muscle spasm, the second set is the "oh shit, that was my phone" realisation). I knew someone who called their loverman upwards of 4 times a day, and when he went on holiday, I was called, to call my boyfriend, to call her boyfriend, to call her. He was still in Europe. It was the second day of a 4 day holiday. It was nuts. Turns out she just wanted to have a little chat, see how he was- he was the same he'd been that morning. Nuts.

They aren't techniques lacking compassion, there's equal chance for both sides to be right/wrong as long as you don't drag in lots of tiny "but, I....I thought he...but what if?"s that are utterly unhelpful. And usually all in your head. I pity Alex for the first year at uni I put him through, yeesh, all the fuzzcrap was exhausting- it's a wonder I didn't get the axe after that. Luckily, Mum gave me the whole "You really want a relationship like this for the rest of your life? Do you see you guys making it to the alter bickering like this? Do you see yourself at the alter with anyone like this? You want him? You want anyone?" talk and straightened me out. We now operate on a no B-S policy. I don't get away with things/ get to kick up a fuss because I'm a girly girl, but he also doesn't get to be spoiled by me just because he's my man. I cook burritos, he makes cajun pasta. He goes off and does his own thing, I go off and do my own thing. We get back to each other and he brings flowers, I bring out the nice knickers.

"Alex, that tone of voice is patronising and winds me up, stop now before I hang up."

"Sorry. Lilly, I would love to spend time with you, but if you're not talking and have only called me for the sake of having me around, I'd rather go to bed."

"Sorry. Night!"

Every girl deserves flowers from time to time

Turtle shelling is a favourite pasttime

Man makes cajun pasta

Man make good man

Breakfast in bed, with inadvertant loveheart in a pancake

Keep your Darcy, Im holding out for a Heathcliff.

Prepare for a long one folks!

Currently Listening to: Home (Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros) & Hero (Mariah Carey) Yeh I'm mixing genres! What of it?!
Currently Pondering: Bleh, too much milk. And why haven't I heard "Home" sooner!? It's a firm favourite.

We sat on the sofa, snuggled under Elisa’s duvet, ate the remnants of her Birthday cake, and indulged our Christmas and spinster spirit simultaneously by watching Bridget Jones’ Diary. Colin Firth as the ever-delectable Mr Darcy, and Hugh Grant (omgomg, he WINKED at me this year at the Open, yeh, HUGH GRANT noticed me on the way back from the loo and acknowledged my existence!) in his usual businessy-playboy type role. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Anyway, BJD is meant to be a modern spin of Pride and Prejudice if I’m right? It was made with that in mind correct? I get its also meant to be a collection of journalistic columns by Helen..thingamybob. It doesn’t really matter, its just my tenuous bridge from one classic love story to another, and lo! I shall spring into my main argument.

Mr Darcy, as lovely as you are, and in spite of the flocks of women looking for a modern Darcy of their own, like our dear Bridget, I myself, am looking for a Heathcliff.
-Yeh you heard right, I’m a Wuthering Heights fan. Cathy + Heathcliff 4eva. Hang on now, no don’t go leaving, just sit tight and I’ll try and show you why if you haven’t already read this book, you need to.

It applies to real life! It does! I’ve seen the scenario SO many times that: Boy meets girl, boy falls in love with girl, boy finds another boy after girl, girl sits there thinking “oh...crrap.” Now, if girl is to make any sort of choice between the two, it seems only logical she’ll chose the man who can show her that she won’t be happier with anyone but him, correct? Unless she has some masochistic tendency or a materialistic definition of happy, of course. In any situation, disappearing off the face of the earth, making a girl feel like an idiot while she’s harbouring affection for you or cavorting with other girls will NOT secure the lady’s hand, Darcy. Again, unless she has slight masochistic tendencies. I’ve seen and heard about this situation from friends male and female, experienced it for myself, and can determine it is not fun for any of the parties involved. I have total sympathy for anyone caught in this situation, but ultimately, don’t get more stressed about it than needs be. The course of true love never runs smooth, but that doesn’t mean it needs to be like treading a minefield. If it gets too much for you to handle before you get into a relationship with someone, what would an actual relationship with them be like them? I found comfort in pages 54-59.

“My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff's miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning: my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it.—My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I'm well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being.”

I’m having trouble wording my second reason for loving this book. Basically, the love that Cathy and Heathcliff have for each other isn’t perfect and functionable, but it’s so fierce, and so passionate, that it does work. In a non-working way. *Spoiler warning* They never marry, but it still seems like they are magnetised to each other, and despite them trying to fight it, desperately trying to guard themselves from giving in to each other, it seems inevitable they will eventually end up together. Come hell and high water. Almost. I appreciate fairy-tale depictions of love and romance, They make me go all gooey and warm, but in practicality, I find more reassurance in the idea that no matter what might happen, I’ll have a love that can’t be waivered. Not so that I then have permission to mess around and act like a jerk, and I’m not talking about soulmates, but I’m trying to get to the idea that you can find in someone something that ignites this intense feeling in you, that can’t be dampened down. I think that’s nice. I might be too idealistic, but I don’t think that beyond the reach of most people. Maybe.

Before I lose your attention, I need to use my favourite part of the book, please? Ok! Cathy has married another man, for really terrible reasons, has become sick with all the grief she’s caused herself and by Heathcliff’s disappearance and reappearance in her life, and now she’s on her deathbed, with Heathcliff come to visit her:

'You teach me now how cruel you've been—cruel and false. Why did you despise me? Why did you betray your own heart, Cathy? I have not one word of comfort. You deserve this. You have killed yourself. Yes, you may kiss me, and cry; and wring out my kisses and tears: they'll blight you—they'll damn you. You loved me—then what right you, of your own will, did it. I have not broken your heart—you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine. So much the worse for me that I am strong. Do I want to live? What kind of living will it be when you—oh, God! would you like to live with your soul in the grave?'

'Let me alone. Let me alone,' sobbed Catherine. 'If I’ve done wrong, I'm dying for it. It is enough! You left me too: but I won't upbraid you! I forgive you. Forgive me!'

'It is hard to forgive, and to look at those eyes, and feel those wasted hands,' he answered. 'Kiss me again; and don’t let me see your eyes! I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murderer—but yours! How can I?' 

Do I need to explain why I love this part or can I just stew in a feeling of “*ooof* that’s emotive”? I have a thing about being as honest and accurate about stuff as I can, I’ve found it’s the only way to speak to guys without things “getting complicated”, and my friends get a kick out of my “bluntness” from time to time. So here we have a man telling his girl exactly how he feels about her, with no reservations, and he kicks her butt a little. Bitches be crazy, and I know I’m better for having someone tell me when I’m being out of line from time to time. At this point in the book, I have fallen in love with Heathcliff. Minus the twisted parenting skills.

I’ll finish with responding to the argument of “How can you like any of the characters in this book?! They’re all evil!”  “-ARE NOT!” Look, look right here ok? Cathy has died and Heathcliff is spiralling into some intense mourning period here: 

'May she wake in torment!' he cried, with frightful vehemence, stamping his foot, and groaning in a sudden paroxysm of ungovernable passion. 'Why, she's a liar to the end! Where is she? Not there—not in heaven—not perished—where? Oh! you said you cared nothing for my sufferings! And I pray one prayer—I repeat it till my tongue stiffens—Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living; you said I killed you—haunt me, then! The murdered do haunt their murderers, I believe. I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!'

Ok, he’s coming off a little harsh by wishing her anything but restful peace, but look underneath that. He is so afraid of a life without Cathy in it in any way, he is on his knees pleading that her spirit finds a way to wait for him on earth until he too passes, then they might both be reunited and move on together. I like the little glimpses of his vulnerability you see from time to time, I don’t need a guy being a total wimp all the time (I am viciously irked by men who need to man up), but this is an acceptable occasion.  The love of his life just died after all. 

Phew, that was a long post. Maybe not a very good one, but maybe someone is now a little curious to read Wuthering Heights? Someone other than myself. I’ll be re-reading my little dog eared version if I ever finish my work. 

Yaay for non-typical romance!!

Elisa's Birthday Cake.

My battered copy of WH, broken spine, notes within, some would have a fit.