life, relationships

St Valentine’s Day Blues

If you’re in love, great!  You have my best wishes, you don’t know how lucky you are.

The last time I was truly in love on a February 14th was in 2013 when my marriage to C was strong.  Twelve months later it was faltering, 14 months later we separated.

That was 2014, it’s two years on and I’m pretty much over it now.  I wish we hadn’t separated but we have; she now lives elsewhere with a child from another man, I no longer wish to be with her.

So, moving on, things should be better, they should be good.  Well no, they aren’t .  Not at the moment anyway.

For me, 2015, after a dreadful 2014, began with renewed optimism and a determination to get out of the funk of my failed marriage and move on.  I was on dating websites and actively pursued dates.  Things started ok and by the end of March I met the wonderful M who I utterly adored.  We would meet on Saturday afternoons in her home town of Manchester, drink, talk, laugh, mooch around and be great company for each other.  Then at 8.45pm I would have to catch the last train home and she would catch a bus home.  After all, our respective children needed to be looked after.  We had our moments, we were good for each other but living 50 miles apart presented its own problems.

In April last year, me very senior lady boss texted me and asked to meet.  We met.  She was leaving her partner although still living with him at the time but their relationship was breaking down and there was DV involved.  She pursued me, vigorously.  She was/is attractive, successful, solvent.  She did nice things for me, paid for me, bought me presents, we liked each other, we laughed and the great thing was, she was local.

I stopped seeing M.  That was difficult. LB was going through a tough time and liked a drink.  Liked a drink a little too much.  It was too much for me; I began to question whether I had made a mistake with M and found I couldn’t cope with LB’s super-charged emotional state.  I stopped seeing her; for a couple of weeks anyway.  Then we tried again.  She moved out, worked hard and drank hard.  I didn’t fare well with it and called it off.  I told her this wasn’t our time, that she had to well and truly move out, find her own place, move in with her kid.  I told her she should begin to love herself again, be content with her life and start again.  The way things were, LB was in a classic rebound situation.

In July 2015 my first line manager announced he was leaving the company.  I went to see LB and her boss and asked for the job.  I, along with 5 other internal employees was interviewed by my first line manager and an independent manager.  LB deliberately did not get involved with the recruitment process.  I got the job.

LB suddenly became my new first line manager, I felt we needed to rebuild our bridge.  We went out, chatted, drank in moderation and had fun.  It felt natural, normal and right for us to get back together, so we did.  I was still not 100% certain but after we made a couple of mundane trips out together I found myself really enjoying her company.  She had by now bought her own house, moved her kids in, cut the drinking down, was exercising and looked great.

Then, after about 6 weeks of me being in the role the rumours began.  The whispers; I had only got the job because I was sleeping with LB; people felt uncomfortable speaking in my presence in case it got back to LB.  I told LB about this and she called off the relationship immediately.  That was the end of September 2015, it’s now February.  What makes the situation worse is that my position is on a 6 month temporary contract so within the next couple of months I should know whether I have the job permanently.  In the meantime, LB cannot be seen to allow any decision she makes to be compromised by accusations of bias by being in a relationship with me.  She reports to some very senior people who hold the power.

I hold out the hope that I WILL get the job and LB and I WILL get back together.  But I don’t know, it has become a taboo subject.  And you know what?  It is utterly unfair.  I have been widowed and I have had a wife leave me but because of rumour, innuendo and jealousy(?) I cannot be with the woman I want to be with.

It feels like being in a movie but movies only last a couple of hours, this is lasting for months with the ending unknown to the cast.

And that is why I sit alone on St Valentine’s Day.  Frustrated and a annoyed.  I hope I get the job, I hope LB and I get back together.  I could date someone else but I can’t.  As someone said, first I need to mend it or end it.  Still waiting.

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Barren Times

Fact of the matter is, I barely blog any more.  I started this 2 or 3 years ago when I was happy, full of optimism, the future was bright, it looked like dreams I had would be fulfilled in the company of a woman I considered beautiful and I loved dearly.  That all changed on 24th April 2014 when she left me, moved in with another guy 6 months later and had a baby by him exactly 9 months after she walked out.  It’s been tough.

But in past 15/16 months my mind has never been so active, so fertile, so bursting with thoughts and opinion just dying to be released and put into writing.  All the sadness, all the grief, all the bitterness, the humiliation, the drinking, the anger, the drinking followed by anger.  The on-line dating websites.  The messages, the money spent on subscriptions, the replies, the non-replies, the dates.  How many now…10, maybe 12.  First base, past first base, fears, concerns, thoughts…what if she comes back?!  Money, lack of money, loss of benefits I was previously entitled to, no more savings, DIY, yoga.  Elephant Journal (thank you).

A few attempts last year helped me get a bit off my chest and I discovered there were others out there just like me, mostly women it seems.  Aren’t men supposed to be pigs?

Where am I?  Where am I today in the ongoing process that above all motivates me to pursue, at the age of 52, love?  The internet is full of men and women just like me.  The lonely, the rejected, the spurned, the sad, the singles by choice, the serial players.  Slags, sluts, whores.  Players, gigolos and misogynists.  Wankers.  I’m in there amongst them, somewhere. Honest, caring thoughtful.  Me and my on-line profile.  Log on to match.com and it proudly boasts 65,703 currently on-line.  All of us, after just one thing, trying to find one in 65,703.  It should be easy, shouldn’t it?  No, it isn’t.  It’s a conveyor belt, a meat market, a ‘shit against the wall’ scattergun approach.  I’m a glass half full person.  I love to travel.  I’m bubbly with a zest for like.  Looking for my knight in shining armour.  Players and married men need not apply.  I go to the gym twice a week.  I love walking my little dog.  Fuck off!!  Fuck off the lot of you.  No don’t.  I’m here.  I need love, I’m lonely but I won’t admit it.  I like getting pissed now and again but I won’t tell you.  I like to be a little edgy but that might put you off.  I’m lazy around the house but hey, I’m loyal.

I don’t know. Really, I don’t.  I may have another date soon.  It’s on the cards.  But I know it will probably lead to nothing but I’m optimistic.  No-one is perfect.  No-one.  I’ve learned tons, loads.  More in the past year than in my previous 51 about life, love, friendship, people, men and women.  It’s all in my head and in my heart and has been processed incessantly day and night but not expressed on here but in me.  The way I am, not via a medium but through me.  As it should or what’s the point?  One day I’ll die and then I probably will think what’s the point.  Frankly there isn’t a point.  Or is there?  Another question.  My last for now.