I haven’t quite had the energy to blog for a while. I mean, who cares, really – it’s not like the world is waiting on me, but the fact is, there are only so many things you can fit into your life. Work, for instance, for a while became all-consuming (to the extent that I got a ‘red-line’ temperature while trying to fit two weeks’ work into two and a half days. I like that phrase ‘red-line’! I don’t know what it means but the doctor said it with an impressed expression – and I sure know I didn’t feel well at the time.
And then there’s romance. It’s a tempestuous thing, sometimes I feel as if I need a team of management psychologists at my elbow as I negotiate the rutted fire trails of true lurve – but I haven’t got one, so, well, I struggle on. My love is beautiful but fragile, laid back but moody – I don’t have the equipment to handle him (common sense, emotional intelligence, even just some manipulative ability would come in useful) or the heart to leave him be. Alone together, we relax into effortless happiness. Apart, we manufacture uncertainties. As anyone might imagine, all this takes time and energy.
Today I realised that he’s my dad – that’s why I love him so, and that’s why he bugs me so. Not ACTUALLY my dad, obviously (unless he’s been reborn as a hippie, which would really annoy him). But so very like my dad – tall, rangy, endearingly affectionate, loyal, trustworthy, passionate, jealous, and, um, a tad emotionally manipulative. You know the kind of person who goes all quiet, and then waits till you notice and ask why, and then comes out with some totally weird answer like ‘YOU know!’. And then I think you’re supposed to feel bad, and resolve never to do THAT THING again – that thing you didn’t even realise you did – and then you’re forgiven, until next time. The point of all this is (I’m guessing) to bind you tight and make sure you pay attention to Number One. I guess a person plays this game because they’re afraid.
Well, we’re all afraid. I’m in love, I’m not going to run away, but if I let it, this game will work on me all too well. The trick – and this is where the team of psychs would come in real handy – is perhaps to ignore the proffered guilt trips, and be lavish with what the person really wants – which is, I guess, demonstrated commitment and affection. Lavish is moving way out of my comfort zone, but I’ve got a doctoral degree in guilt. Plus, even my friends would say I can be pretty damn irritating (which is a way of saying, no wonder sometimes he gets a bit crabby). Ergo, even I can see that work’s required.
Which brings me back to blogging. It’s important not to lose perspective – I don’t want to be the Sylvia Plath of suburban Australia (mainly because that’s a really stupid name). So as Cat Stevens said, I’ll try to blog again, and perhaps not be so narcissistic about it this time. You don’t have to read, or comment, or like – if you do, that’s lovely, and if you don’t, I don’t mind. Hang on, I’ll just say that in an Aussie cowboy drawl….Ay dooon’ mindd…that’s how my honey says it, think an octave above black soul and a slow smile working its way out through a couple inches of beard…