Detachment: Like the cracking of an egg.

It’s easier to push people away than you’d hope.

The realisation of this is a hard one because it’s stalked by a terrible feeling of rejection. Feeling un-loved and misunderstood: and shouldn’t a real friend always assume the better of you?

I plough on, head held high, unsure if I’m right or if I’m wrong but ploughing regardless till I’ve cleared the entire field. And if it saddens me so then why do I do it? Hand shoots up erect to the sky, me sir, I know, pick me, I know. Because there’s a long overdue spring coming and I need a fucking clear out. All this clutter, the eggshells so much trodden on that they have become the carpet, it needs to go. So the new broom sweeps clean and if it’s so easily got rid of then it couldn’t have really been yours to begin with.

Sometimes it feels, in this life of mine, that the only thing I don’t lose is weight.  But maybe, I speculate, these things are needed before the real work can begin, for the untying of all those pesky knots. You can’t renovate a house without first removing all the furniture and perhaps in the same vein, you have to deconstruct in order to reconstruct.

But what is it I’m supposed to learn from all these dreams of keys and ducks and walls closing in? Is everything we learn in life simply a lesson in how to die? Tragedy-prone as we all feel we are, can we take lesson from these things and graduate with honours to the big bright beautiful ever-after? To the palace in the sky? To the pacifistic equivalent of Valhalla I dreamed of as a child. The truth has to be that through the acceptance and understanding of death, life will take on new and fuller hues, and perhaps sometimes vice versa.

Losing friends is like the shedding of tears, or the bleeding of menstrual blood. You feel while it happens: anger, frustration, sadness, hurt. But once it’s done what you have left is the slightly exposed scrubbed clean you, warts and all. And you will learn to live with the new found space, fill it with new things, perhaps things that were destined to come to you. But only once you’ve stopped playing that record over and over, stopped finding new ways to beat yourself up for the failings of others, you’ll take yourself in your own arms and be the friend you always needed. Because what I realised is this: the most abusive and unreasonable critic is the one that resides deep inside the mind. If we can conquer him, then the rest is just child’s play.


Not just for the L of it.


Sexuality is fluid: like the pouring of a cold coke on a hot day. And haven’t I always said that ‘it’s about the peanut and not the shell’? So this new romance shouldn’t surprise those that know me. And if it does, well, what can I say, life is full of surprises.

So I fell for someone who wasn’t Phil. I never thought that would be possible. I didn’t want it to be possible, because moving on means you’re really finished…and I’ve never been good with endings. God knows I’ve said goodbye to too many people to now start doing it willingly. But life is a constant lesson in impermanence, and I feel like I’m learning it the hard way. He went one way, and I went the other. It’s as simple and as complicated as that. Looking over my shoulder constantly, remembering how sweet it used to be…before either of us knew really what devastation was. I drag myself forward kicking and screaming, the way my mother took me to school every day. I brat it up big style, sulking my fucking socks off till finally I look up: huffy, over the top of my glasses, arms folded, chin squashed to tits and what do I see? Something that was already there to begin with, right under my nose. The sympathetic blue of her eyes met with the begrudging brunt of my brown. A shining smiling patient beautiful soul that always saw something other than just darkness within me. Offering her hand, ‘come on you silly cow, get up’. And she was there. More ‘there’ than I ever allowed a friend to be. And although it took me a while, eventually I took her hand.

It’s been that way ever since. And now everyone knows about it and fuck knows what they really think but I’m not going to ask because quite frankly….I couldn’t give a flying fuck. Nope. Not one. I really couldn’t. All they really need to know is I’m happy…after a really long time. I’m happy. And no happiness it isn’t conducive to dark edgy writing and god knows this gay new image doesn’t suit the sorrow that’s been my shawl for so long. But fuck it, it’s what I need and it’s what I want. That should be all that matters but I know it isn’t always going to be to everyone, to some of the people who love me the most, to random fuckwits on the street. But I’m not repentant and I’m certainly not reluctant, instead I’m revelling in this romance that leaves me swooning like a sap and I’ll do everything I did when I dated a guy. I’ll hold hands in public, I wont refer to her ambiguously as my ‘partner’ or my ‘friend’ and I wont suddenly crop my long locks dyke short and act all geeze, ogling everybody’s tits thinking I can get away with it because I’m a girl. No I won’t, because my friends, this isn’t a political movement, it’s an eternal moment. It’s a romance between two souls and when all’s said and done surely THAT is the meaning of life. I don’t kiss her soft pink lips to make a political point. I don’t flaunt my attraction for her to show off or get attention or to rub anyone’s nose in it. I do it because it feels natural and it should be taken so. I do it because a new romance should always piss people off and nauseate with its cutesiness. A new romance is something to be thankful for because your friends can now stop worrying about you being bereft of a kindred. They can rest easy, knowing you’re looked after and the panic is over.

And what will be of him, I hear you ask? The him that will always have a special place in my heart. The him that was here before her. He will simply be. We chose this: he as well as I. And when the two of us meet there’s no hatred. A little sadness, sure, but that’s to be expected. We can smile and we can be honest and we have respect for one another and that is more than I could have ever asked for. That’s more than most ex-marriages have. I want it to be this way because I’m fucked if I lied before all the people we know and respect when I said ’till death do us part’. I meant it and I will always mean it. Granted, not in the same way, but certainly with the same strength and with the same conviction. And I know one day in the future I’ll be proud to say I loved both the best man AND the best woman. Through my terrible misfortune I’ll hopefully be able to come out the other side and say I was one lucky fucker to have had this.

If you saw her, you’d know how we came to be. Because she has a soul the size of a galaxy and a capacity for love and laughter that I cant help but adore. And me, with my tiny shrivelled sultana of a soul, how could I not be moved and amazing and quietly in awe? She is quite something in her own right and she sees both the wood AND the trees. When they get to know her, they’ll see she is both the birds AND the bees. I know they’ll instantly see what I see: a true sister of my soul. Hopefully then gender will be as irrelevant to them as the urinals that segregate it because the really worrying thing isn’t that I’m sleeping with a woman: it’s that I’m now listening to dance music!