Clandestine

Our new(ish) addition

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Two years on...

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Um, hi.

Wow!  So whoever runs the proxy server for symantec at my work finally decided that 'vox' wasn't 'pornography', so I can post on my blog again!  Yay!  (What?  What's that, you say?  Maybe I should get the internet at home?  Right.  Like they let people do that.  The internet only works when you're procrastinating, duh.)

News:

Qe bunz

Yup.  We eloped.

Other news:  North got a new jobby job working in his field, in a post with responsibility.  He loves it.  Me?  I don't love the sleeping nights he has to pull every six days, but I'm getting used to it.  Slowly.

Other news:  We got a place together and moved in in March.

Other news:  He will not, under any circumstances, allow me to get a ginger tom and name him Geoffrey, no matter how much I beg.  This bums me out, but I understand.  We have a very small flat.

Other than that?  Not much.  Working.  Sleeping.  Eating.  Running.  Getting up very early in the morning to do said running.  Being very happy.

It's funny, I started this blog because I wanted to be able to rant, and gush, about a 'new boy' in my life, and maybe I will keep on posting about this new journey that we're on together - but I'm not sure.  I can write about him on my other blog now, I guess - although, the fam reads that blog.  Don't know how much 'ranting about the husband' I want to do in that forum.  I don't know how much 'ranting about the husband' I will be needing to do, though, so watch this space.  While I might post only twice in a year, at least its full of surprises.  ;)

A wet-blanket-style happy new year.

Northern monkey

Er, well, perhaps I'm not going to be as doom-and-gloom as I feel; we all know how much editing I put into this here little bloggy thing. But man, today I am bummed. It's North's birthday today. You know what he got for his birthday? A t-shirt, from me, that's quite funny and cute (see? see how funny and cute it is?). A couple of cards, from his family. Oh, and a rejection for a job that he really wanted to get. How do I know this? Because he can't check email at work and I can, so he asked me to check it for him. So I did. First thing this morning. And wow, did it bum me out. The whole 'we are not going to be proceeding any further' and the 'you met some of our requirements, but others met them better' business, just makes me feel a little bit of despair. This is the second rejection in a month, and I worry that he's going to get all despondent again, and worry again, and it's his birthday.

Now, I know that there are options for him, that he has other things on the boil, that he is still looking at job pages and trying to figure out a way for us to live together (in three short months, guys) but I think I'm going to allow myself at least a moment of a pity-party before I see him this evening, and do my best to be a cheery little ray of sunshine. Because even if I don't feel it, I'll be damned if I can't act it.

It strikes me, today, that things really aren't easy for some people. I mean, I know that a whole lot of this is just a knock-on from the many and various ways that North has screwed up a good portion of his life (his education, his career path, etc) but he's trying to make a change, he's trying to make things better, he is really, sincerely, trying; and it's like every time he tries he gets shown up. Again and again. It's disheartening.

Whats really interesting is the fact that if we lived in Leeds this wouldn't necessarily be a problem. The job he has now would be more than sufficient income for us to live, and quite comfortably, too. I mean, in Leeds, two bedroom flats are still to be had for £80,000. Here? In London? The two-bedroom (small) flat I live in is priced at £245,000. Really. And renting? In Leeds we could have a nice two bedroom house or apartment for a maximum of £400 / month. Here? We'll be lucky if we can find a one bedroom apartment for £700. So, at the moment, I'm sad. It's hard for me to see things as being possible when every line of enquiry ends with a 'so sorry, thanks for trying' - or worse, nothing at all.

So what can you do, eh? Hopefully, North and I will be sat at home tonight, making lemonade with the lemons we've just been handed. And hopefully, the next job that he goes for will be the one, the one that he wants (more than this one), the one that he will be happy with, the one that will solve most - not all - of our problems.

Happy, Happy

Ha!  I say, HA!  Pie-crust promises from Sharondie, saying 'I promise to write more'.  I hope you all haven't been waiting with bated breath for my promised epistles, because, wow, have I been busy.  Lax, with the writing on the blog, because busy with everything else.  And sick!  I have been more ill this year than I have in many a long winter, so much so that I have actually gone to the doctor TWICE in the past month.  Of course, it being NHS, it's not been the same doctor per se, but they have my records all right at their fingertips, they throw me some amoxicillin, and send me on my merry little way.

Things are humming along nicely with North, of course, although he is tired and sick of his job.  We have been working on putting out at least two job applications a week, thinking - shotgun theory style - that pretty soon we're bound to hit something.  Until then he's working weekends and long days so that we can go to Leeds for Christmas, Whitby for New Year, and still start saving to get an apartment in April.  Which, really, seems like one of those near/far optical illusions - you know, like the hallway in Poltergeist that is all short at first but then stretches into eternity once you start running down it?  Yeah, like that.  Because on the one hand, calendar-wise, it's really not all that far away.  I only have four more paychecks to save some ££ for a deposit, which is a little frightening.  But then, when I think about how long it will be before we can have a place of our own, where we can put our stuff and leave it there and we don't have to run about getting everything together because someone accidentally packed someone's favourite pair of jeans - mistaking them for his own - and now someone doesn't have her favourite pair of weekend jeans to wear again... You get the picture.  Sometimes I feel so run off my own feet I don't even know if I'm coming or going.

So, my response has been a couple of things.  1) Throw money at Fitness First, because they have a little thing called a 'contract' and another thing called 'direct debit', and I have little/no desire to actually step foot on the premises, because I am tired and 6AM is so early and how am I expected to go to the gym when it gets dark at 3:45 and my mind is saying 'eat soup and drink wine and light candles because it's cold outside'?  Answer: I'm not expected to.  So I'm paying £45 a month for the privelege of not going to the gym.  2) Spend as much time as possible (outside of work, natch) cooking warm, soothing meals that are hopefully low in calories to offset the whole 'not going to the gym' business.  3) Nurse the various illnesses I've had this year by staying in bed all weekend - voluntarily - and read all of the Deathly Hallows again, as well as Little Women, so my poor pillow was soaked with the tears that leaked from my eyes whilst reading said novels. 4) Look forward to Christmas.  When I can rest. 

Although, I do have to admit, I'm a little worried about Christmas.  I'm meeting the rest of North's family - I've already met his eldest sister - and we're staying from the 27th to the 2nd, and while I'm worried that they're going to like me, you know, general worries that people tend to have when meeting the relatives of their significant other, I'm mostly worried for one specific reason; the past.  See, North, being seven years older than me, and a whole lot more of a 'serial monogamist', has brought any number of girls for his family to meet.  I am - in two words - nothing special.  Now, when North came to meet my family, one of  my cousins said (I'm not kidding) 'Sharondie has a boyfriend?!?' Which, really, does a whole lot in telling how my family has thought of me for the past thirty years.  (Read: bets were made as to my sexual orientation.  Not a problem, really, if I were, in fact, gay and not just, you know, hapless and luckless in love.  As it was, it was just hurtful.)  I guess it's because of this that I don't want to be seen as 'nothing special', because North wasn't viewed that way by my family. 

It's also due to what North tells me: that this is different, that we are different, and that we are special.  I guess I want him to go out of his way to convince his family of this, because, of course, I expect the impossible, and I want the moon.  I want him to declare me the one and only, to claim me, as it were, in front of his assembled family.  Partially because I am still a little hurt that they didn't even know I existed until last May - when North had to tell them that he was going to Hawai'i for a month.  (His middle sister said, 'Really?  How long have you been seeing this girl, anyway?' and he said, 'Oh, ages, I just didn't tell you lot, because when I do it just goes pear shaped.')  And no, I don't have a ring on my finger, or any kind of material promises - but I do have him asking me to tell him what kind of rings I do like, and he talks about our children, and growing old together, and he says that he's certain. 

So, yeah.  That's the state of things.  Now if he could just get another job, we'll all be happy.

Well, Hello!

It's been three months since I've written!  I know that the summer is usually slow, mostly due to being on holiday and not doing the usual routine, but it's really not like me to leave it for so long.  I do, I believe, have a reason.

I began writing on this blog because I did not think that it was in my best interests to tell everyone who read my regular blog that I was completely enamored of this new guy.  For a few reasons, some of which had to do with exes reading my blog, and some of which is a learned, natural reticence that I have about hubris and such things coming into play if I am too open about someone I like.  Now, those of you who have been a party to my relationship with North, would see that there was another reason for this as well: he wasn't very nice for a while.  In fact, the first four months of our relationship were as storm tossed as any old gothic fiction, and I didn't really want to give my friends and family - who are used to reading funny fluff pieces about students - a great shock when they read about this new guy in my life.  It would have also been terribly unfair for them to read about his assholery without ever having met him, I mean, how could he overcome that initial negative experience?  That is, I would have thought this if I had thought that far ahead.  At the time I didn't think I'd keep on dating North past two weeks, let alone that he would ever meet my family.

Well, Vox friends and neighbours, it's been a year.  Over a year, in fact, since North and I got together.  Our anniversary was our friend Super's party - the selfsame party that resulted in me being all screechy last year, and acting like the quintessential 'girl'.  This year was remarkable in that it was not me who had the crisis; it was North.  He was acting a tad bit jealous; a reaction to my unabashed joy at seeing some of his/our friends (male, natch) who I had not seen in a while.  This is not like him at all, and I think a bit of depression has been creeping into North's mind recently; a direct result of his hating his job and feeling like he'll never find anything better, and it leeched out into this night of revelry, and ended up in him feeling like I would leave him for one of his mates.

Not exactly logical, but there you go.

However, after explaining that I was only able to be so happy to see his friends and to show my feelings for these guys because I was so secure in our relationship, a lot of this suspicion dropped away, and only sadness about the job remained.  So, we're better now, but he is not.  Well, not quite.

So, the blog, right?  Well, North is in my real blog now, with little fanfare, and has also met the majority of my family, and didn't run away screaming, so that was a real bonus.  We are heading up to visit his family in Leeds this Christmas, and then going for a mini-break after the New Year to Whitby.  It's all very coupled up, over here in Sharondie land.  And as I've said before, if things are going well, they're nowhere near as interesting or easy to talk about as when they are bad.  Which, while it is a good thing for the soul, doesn't make for very good blog writing.

Even so, I hope to blog some more, here.  I'll keep you all posted on the gushy stupid love stuff instead of the scary horrible stuff, and try to be entertaining, even without an acerbic wit.

Lists

I am a list person. I like being able to reflect and write down exactly what I have to do in any given day. It's also better than, say, feeling overwhelmed by the amount of things I have to do/get/accomplish; there's something quite powerful about being able to set it all down and say 'this, THIS is what I need to do'. So, you know, it's not quite so scary anymore.

The other day, North and I wrote our first list together. It was entitled 'North's Things To Get for Hawai'i', and on the back was 'North's Packing List'. See, North has never been to the United States, has only ever been to France and Trinidad, and so is a little - um - new to the whole travelling thing. So, for him, thinking about what he has got to do before he goes abroad is, well, fun. For me, it just fills me with anxiety. See, North is a tad disorganised, and what with having some stuff at mine and some stuff at his and not knowing what is where and what he needs to get I could just see us, the day before we're supposed to depart, spending hours running around like headless chickens so that he can have his stuff sorted. This is not how I want to spend my last day of term, so I decided to make a list now, so he can get it sorted this weekend, thereby avoiding any last-minute panics. That his list comprises everything from razors and shaving cream to 'short shorts for his white white legs' is just hilarious, if also a bit daunting. It's like, instead of going halfway around the world to another civilised country, he's going halfway around the world to some remote backwater. Which, actually, Hawai'i is, sort of, but they still have sun tan lotion in convenience stores, you know? To hear North talk, he needs to bring everything because it won't be available anywhere else.

Also, in other news, we are busy this weekend staying at home and not spending any money. Because, me? I like to lead by example. And having £140 until the Wednesday after next means that I must be a tad frugal with my cash. So we're staying in this weekend and listening to the Proms and drinking cans bought at Tesco.

Fidelity

North and I have a routine every weekend.  We spend Saturday afternoons and night together (invariably), sometimes this is extended to Friday evenings/nights as well, but that's more sporadic.  Usually dependent on cash flow, naturally.  What is constant, though, is Sunday.  On Sundays, we get up, make (or go get, again, depending on cash flow) breakfast, then I head off to Sainsbury's to get stuff for dinner, and he 'trundles off' to Tooting, or the club, to do his thing for the afternoon.  He buys the paper on his way back, and we have Sunday dinner (a roast of some sort) together.  Then we read the paper for a bit, he does the cryptic crossword and I pretend to help ('everyman' crosswords, I can handle.  Cryptic?  Not a chance.), until we stop reading, go for a short walk, then come back and get ready for bed.  It's nice, in its regularity.  We've been doing this for months now, with very little variation.

Now, yesterday, there was an article in the Observer Woman section of the paper, on sex and fidelity.  There were a series of articles, but one that piqued my interest primarily.  The Observer interviewed 5 men, all in varying stages of marriage/partnership, and asked them about married life and whether they would ever cheat.  I was surprised that 3 out of the 5 either had, or would - mostly because in my Pollyanna view of life, people don't do that when they're married.  (Pamela Druckerman would say that this is because I am an American)  What wasn't surprising to me, in the slightest, was when the interviewer asked the men if they would be OK with an open relationship and they all said no.  (Well, one said, 'maybe in theory, but not in practice'.)  The overwhelming attitude was, 'Well, I might like to, because I'm a bloke, but she can't, because that would be wrong.'  One of the interviewees even said, 'If I was able to have other relationships, that would be fine. But her sleeping with other people I couldn't deal with.' 

People say this all the time, that there's a double standard when it comes to women and fidelity, that women are not supposed to *ever* stray, or be sexually adventurous in the same way that men are; and even when it's a high-minded 'conversation' with men - all over the age of 29 - the knee-jerk reaction is that women somehow can't be a party to the same licentiousness that men can.  Which is something I just don't get.  I mean, aren't we living in a post-'Sex in the City' world, here?  Don't we all realise that women have the same kind of drives that men do?  Because, if we don't, then what does that say about the progress of the 'sexual revolution'?  I was always told that I was equal to men - thankfully, being born in 1976, I didn't get the 'Oh you could be a secretary' twaddle that my mother was exposed to - and I have led my life accordingly.  Why does this not extend to sex, as well?

Or, more to the point, why do I entertain these notions when I know, intellectually, that they are wrong?

A few months ago, I took a test that was 16 questions, or something, that helped isolate your dating style.  They all had yes/no answers.  One of the questions was 'Could you ever forgive someone who cheated on you?' and the answers were 'No' and 'That's an interesting question...'  I know that my kneejerk reaction is an emphatic 'No', but I also think that relationships are, well, really damn hard.  And I also know that I am doing my best to keep my end of the relationship going - I work out, I cook, I am funny (see how funny I am?) - but that doesn't mean that the thought of starting something new has never crossed my mind.

An example: this past friday, Dublin, Dervish and I went to Project Orange in Clapham Junction.  A few weeks ago, when North and I were having issues (right before I moved house), Dublin and I gone there and been (kind of) chatted up by some boys.  They were Irish, Dublin is Irish, we were drunk, it was easy.  Then, this past friday, we saw them again.  One of them - The Hat - was expending a whole lot of energy to talk to me.  Now, there is a part of me that says that this bloke was only talking to me because he wanted to get in on a conversation with Dublin and Dervish (two very attractive and fun girls), but the two of them both thought he was genuinely interested in me.  Whatever, really, it's a moot point.  Dublin said, at one stage, 'It's a shame that this bloke is so cute, and so obviously interested in talking to the one girl here who has a boyfriend.'  I found myself thinking, well, two things really.  First thing: if I had been single, I would have fucked up the conversation anyway by being too frickin eager.  My number one downfall.  If I care, I care too much.  Second thing: What would I do if this guy wanted to see me again?  Would I say yes?  And if I would, what would the reasons be?

I'll tell you right now, there's really only one reason why I would even entertain the idea: security.  North's famously precarious financial situation makes his long-term prospects shaky, and I don't know how long I can be a part of that.  I mean, I will for as long as I can, because I love him tremendously, but the things that I want - as I have said before - are hard for him to help me get.  This is only financial.  And while it's the only thing, it's a big only.

Because the guy? The Hat?  Nowhere near as interesting/funny/cute/smart (seemingly, this is after one semi-drunk conversation, after all) as North.  Nowhere near as compelling, nor as attentive.

Which is really the rub, at the end of the day.  Part of a relationship is liking that person; really liking them.  Wanting to talk to them, to get their opinion, to see what they think and to bounce ideas off of them.  Being interested in what they do - even if it's just errands and bullshit.  The rest of the relationship is commitment.  Loving them, thinking of them.  I know that I love North, and that he loves me.  And as long as we can keep liking each other, I'm hoping that the fidelity question never really has to be asked.  Or answered.

Commencement

North & Me

Dictionary.com gives the definition of 'commencement' as: an act or instance of commencing; a beginning.  I'd like to just be a little bit of a git here, and say that the true commencement of any relationship might just be when you get pictures taken together.  And this is not when the pictures are the awkward, 'oh, I dunno, should we, well, I guess' kind of pictures, but the silly kind, the uninhibited kind, the kind that you usually take with your friends.

So, witness.  North and I, in a picture.  After this one, there are a spate of them from the following few weeks, but I like this one the best.  It's not the first we were in together (that dubious honour goes to my mother, natch, when she and my dad were visiting) but it's the first of the 'oh, a picture? sure' kind, and the one that I think turned out the nicest.

Mostly because we both look pretty cute here, although North looks a little starey-eyed, and also because he's wearing my favourite shirt of his.

There have been bumps on the road recently (most recently in Croydon, this past Saturday... why is it that Croydon is a vortex for all bad behaviour, anyway?  It's like people go there, just to have fights.  Couples, girls, boys, doesn't matter.) but that ended up well because we began talking about some stuff that's been festering for a while.  You know, how I have been freaking out and he has been seeming to just be happy with 'whatever'... well, he's not just happy with 'whatever' and I definitely found that out this past weekend.  He's been worrying, too, but he's just not a 'talk to think' person, he's a 'don't talk about it and maybe it will go away... until it explodes in your face' person.  So we've talked, now, and I hope that we will continue talking, because I don't like pretending like things are 'fine' when they're not.

It's one of the best lessons that Berna taught me.  Don't pretend that you are not fussy/angry/upset/hungry/irritated when you are.  The pretending is the worst part.

Other than that, for the most part it's been all good.  Yesterday was more than 'all good', yesterday was awesome.  North came over for dinner and we watched Rome and it was in the new place and all the tension that seemed to surround us when we were kicking it at the old apartment was just not there.  It was really nice.  I had a wonderful evening, night, etc.  It was mitigated by the headache I woke up with this morning, but that soon wore off (I think it was from grinding my teeth) once I got my day going.

So, yay.  Looking forward to this weekend (Canada Day!  Sare's having another BBQ, I think) and to some sleeping (moving last weekend had the strange effect of making the weekend seem a) really long and b) more tiring than anything I've done in a while) and being content.  Kind of like a cat.  Purring.

Growing Pains

As usual, it's been a while.  Same reasons, kids, things are mostly fine here in North country.  But not totally fine, as is evidenced by my writing.  Maybe I should try to keep up with the whole blog thing when things are going well, because as it is, posting only the bad stuff is pretty shitty: and pretty much not representational.  However, considering that I am probably the only person who actually reads this here blog (as I am the one writing it, natch) I guess it doesn't really matter, as I am writing merely to clear my silly head, anyway.  I will still pretend to write to someone, though, more out of allegiance to Victorian writers than anything else, and because it helps if I can pretend that someone is actually listening.  Maybe not sympathetically, but listening nonetheless.

So, dear reader, you know that I am new to this whole 'relationship' gig.  You also know that it is a hard adjustment to make - ostensibly because you've had to do it yourself - from living without any thought of any other person or their feelings or desires to living with their feelings and desires and having to adjust accordingly.  This has been a problem of late.  Not because I am having trouble with the adjustment, but because North is.

He got a new job, see, and it's taking a toll.  He is travelling 2+ hours a day to and from the job, and he works from 7:30 to about 5 every day.  Usually without a lunch break, because he feels responsible for what he's doing, and because the company he's working for has put him in charge - in name only - of the other workers on the site.  So he's busy, and tired, every day.  He's also irritable, and frustrated, because his living situation has not changed and he wants it to change, very much. 

What this means for me is that instead of getting the usual North, the North who has a fantastic sense of humor and who likes to hang out and see me, I'm getting the snippy, bite-your-head-off North who doesn't really want to do anything, ever, and who doesn't want to see anyone.  Now, I understand his issues, I get that he's busy and tired and wants to be able to have his own place, instead of crashing with friends, but what I don't get is that I have somehow become the sounding board for all his irritation and angst.  I don't particularly want to know this new version of my boyfriend, I want the old one back thankyouverymuch.  And I don't know what to do about it.

His solution is that we will only see each other on the weekends.  But I'm not sure how I feel about that.  I don't know if I want a weekend boyfriend.  I mean, I know it will probably be better in the long term, but I don't know how I feel about having some kind of weekenderly situation where that is the only time I see him.  Maybe it's for the best.  And maybe it's for the best that he would want to go see his mates on the weekends instead of seeing me - I just wish that he would have talked to me about it instead of getting all angry and defensive when I ask what's going on, why the change.  Because, before, he was quite happy to spend all weekend at mine: now he makes it sound like a jail sentence.  And how can you reconcile the two?  If he only wants to see me on the weekends; how can he say that he doesn't want to see me, that he wants to drink with his friends?  It makes no sense.

After having this conversation, via the phone, late last night, I woke up this morning feeling sad.  I know I shouldn't have brought it up when I did: he was hungry, it was late, I'd been out.  But I had tried to talk to him on Sunday about it, and failed, and I wanted to know.  I wanted to have some kind of resolution, because I am wondering how long he will put up with me, demanding his time and attention, when he's tired and irritable all the time, and so we fight.  How long would anyone put up with a relationship that was causing them nothing but grief?  I have felt it before, and I feel like it now: I am more trouble than I am worth.  It would be easier for him to just be on his own, and not to worry about me.  Because my life is settled, insofar as it can be: I have my job, I have my flat, I have my stuff and my friends and my plans.  His life?  Up In The Air.  Always.  So how to reconcile the two?  How can we make something work that - right now - seems to be nothing but irritation and strife?  It's getting to the point where I don't want to ask him if he's coming out with me and my friends.  I don't want to worry whether he's going to be fussy or in a mood or angry.  It's not because I don't want to help him through whatever tough time he's having, that's not the case.  It's because I can't see it changing.  Or, don't see it changing, anytime soon.  And I feel like I am the reason for a good portion of his irritation.  I am the reason he's tired and angry all the time.  Whether it's true or not is a moot point.  I feel it.