Spite and Malice

I have a terrible 'self-preservation' instinct when it comes to break ups. At the very least, I'm honest, but no one ever wants to be the bad guy when it comes to ditching friends or lovers. Truth is, breaking up is a very hard thing to do no matter whether you're the dumper or the dumpee. The dumper knows what's coming and hates it. The dumpee doesn't- and hates it.

So, not wanting to be the bad guy, I am terrible for sugar coating what I have to say with lots of self deprecating remarks like "I know I'm a bastard- I feel so horrible about this" and "I am a really bad person" and also trying to make sure they're 'okay. In my more optimistic moments, I like to believe that the person will forgive me. And, in time, it usually happens. Usually.

Talking of self preservation, I believe that 'get outs' are required in order to protect yourself. Staying in a destructive relationship will eventually destroy you. Sounds simple, but I have seen people stay with others until the horse's carcass has been well and truly whipped of it's afterlife, and it does no one any favours. You begin to resent and blame each other for your own failings.

You'll see in a previous post that I had an arduous ordeal quite recently involving a younger chap, and some naive, foolish part believed that eventually he would forgive me or at least be adult enough to accept things.

To be fair, I launched the first offensive. I convinced myself I was finally 'strong enough' to deal with seeing him again, no matter what the circumstances were. There is a club I have been avoiding because I know he goes there every month, but i thought it was ridiculous to live my life in fear. So I challenged myself, and I went.

When he walked through the door, he spotted me instantly. The 'how dare you' look on his face was almost laughable as he stormed to the bar, but it didn't subvert my nerves. I knew I had to be adult, but I really wanted to be childish and ignore him. It was too hard for me to speak to him. I thought if he speaks to me, I won't ignore him- I'll be civil.

He came up and tapped me on the shoulder when I was dancing.

"I'm sorry I didn't say hi when I came in- I didn't see you."

Oh really? With the scowl from hell?

"That's okay," I said

"I've just been to see IAMX"

"Oh, I fucking love IAMX" I said, wondering when he's going to get a personality of his own and stop copying me.

"How are things?"

At this point, I realised that we were engaging in a dialogue, and I really didn't want to go there.

"Things are good. How are things with you?"

"Good."

"Good," I said "That's nice to hear"

And then I turned back to my friend and continued to dance. There are two schools of thought here:

1. I was civil, polite and gave him what he wanted, but nothing more

2. I totally dissed him.

My intentions were purely and honestly 1. I can't have done too badly, because he tried the same discussion again when I was at the bar:

"How are things with you?" he said

"Good. How's things with you?"

"Good."

"Well, that's really good to hear."

And I turned back to the bar to get my drink. I know this may seem mean, but it was better than ignoring him totally and as I said I didn't want to speak to him. This is self-preservation... Any dialogue would have ripped the wounds right back open again and I couldn't deal with that. And what would it acheive to be friends again? To talk civilly again? I'm not sure it could happen.

It was over. I had done the last thing to seal the coffin of this relationship- I saw him.

It was a complete shock, though, when he then proceeded to spit a lot of bile on the internet about how I was a 'bad copy of good performance artists' calling me "consistently cold" and "a bad memory." as well as describing our encounter as "patronising and awkward". My silence has been dignified so far, and more than fair to him. I am now more convinced of his selfish nature that I described in an earlier post- that it was only him who could possibly feel tragedy and hurt, whilst I up in my ivory tower, aloof and unyielding, badly performed Laurie Anderson whilst mocking him.

So I did what any good artist would do- I wrote a song about it and it fucking rocks.

It seemed I misjudged him- though he was intelligent, he was very immature and it's quite easy to mistake smarts for wisdom. I still believe that one day he will forgive me and see my point of view. I guess I have to, and I guess he will have to in order to move on with his life.

Bitterness is not a good look for anyone- it makes you look older than you are.

If I Could Have Logged Into Blogger, I Would Have...

Well, my blogger account has been refusing to let me log in.

Anyway, it's been an interesting number of weeks, all culminating in the past couple of days. Have you ever heard of "The Secret"? Basically it's about positive thinking and cosmic ordering et cetera, so to change my fortunes, I decided to think positively.

It started off well; I got a job interview for one of my dream jobs (to be a music journalist) that went horrendously well. I thought I was a shoe in for a second interview. So I waited for them to call...

And I waited...

And waited...

And then my flat flooded.

So after fishing out my vintage shirts and brooches, and making sure nothing was damaged beyond repair, I took the night off work and went out drinking. Then I have a gap in my memory and woke up on my sofa. Then I went to Bristol the next day for a friend's birthday and started drinking again.

Return to London. Give up on job as it's now been 10 days when I finally receive an e-mail saying they wouldn't like to pursue it any further (thanks, guys). Resign myself to my mediocre and less than challenging job. Day off comes; I go for a drink with someone who's been hassling me from (hacking cough) Gaydar and, in light of the week's horribleness, I throw myself on him. I wake up and realise I have to go to work the next day in platforms and flares. I am ridiculed by work mates whilst still half drunk. Gaydar bloke texts me to say how wonderful I am; blood drains out of face when I realise I'm not *that* interested in him.

Another friend calls me to say she's broken up with her boyfriend, while I go out for work drinks and end up punching one of my work colleagues in the face. I run away to another bar for a whisky and coke to calm my nerves and bump into a random lesbian who invites me out. I go, and end up at said gay indie bar that I said I wasn't going to go to (you'll see that in a previous blog). End up spending the night with a music journalist from Manchester in an expensive hotel room.

Gaydar Bloke texts again the next day to see if I want to go out later. I agree until break up friend turns up and wants to cry on my shoulder. I tell him and he texts "So now two hearts are broken" and think to myself "Oh, shit. He *really* likes me. How do I let him down gently?" as I try to wipe the snot off my paisley shirt from crying friend.

Girl who's been escorted to Wolverhampton calls. Repeatedly. I stupidly ignore calls to avoid telling her she can't stay at my place if she runs away.

And for the third night in a row, I get blinding drunk whilst giving the "I hate men" speech to upset friend.

Wake up. Look around at the world and decide not to get up. Go to sleep. Wake up again and watch Kindergarten Cop and try not to consider how three days of drinking continuously has left a big pile of existential poo to deal with.

Go to work. Thank God I work nights and can have a night off from drinking.