You’re hot then you’re cold, you’re yes then you’re no, you’re in then you’re out, you’re up then you’re down
Katy Perry sums it up well. This is how I feel about Future Wife’s actions right now and it makes me feel so very vulnerable, especially since our last verbal conversation was me telling her about my late wife (read about it here). I’ve had two days of silence since her last text and that’s despite two exciting messages from me – the first being a picture of me with Gordon Ramsay who I happened across in one of his restaurants (no he wasn’t swearing at me), and the second being a link to a video of me singing and shimmying at my gig. The only other more exciting thing would be a picture of my boobs. Shall I try that?! Or is it just boy widowers who like that sort of thing? Cringe. Can’t believe I did that. Incidentally, I saw him last night. Poor man must be thinking the above about me. No kisses, no touching and I purposefully got on a different tube. Admittedly I had nice underwear on just in case I succumbed.
Aaaaaaaaaanyway. This is a sweeping statement about girls who like girls but, generally, when we like one another, we’re joined at the hip and constantly in contact straight away from the early days. That’s what I’m used to (I say this with incredibly vast experience having had two relationships ever, obviously) but it’s not happening with Future Wife. I hope she’s ok because last time there was a gap in communication, it turned out she was in hospital with an irregular heartbeat. Not good.
We did agree we’d take the pressure off a few weeks ago, but then she’s the one who jumped ME last week after my gig. Being with my colleagues, I was being pretty platonic and then before I knew it, she was attached to my face. She took me to hers. Not me taking her to mine where I can be as noisy as I want. She took my clothes off.She was the one who opened my legs (flashes are coming back). She bought coffee with me in the morning because she doesn’t have a kettle. That’s keen on her part, right? Not that I wasn’t ultra super keen. I’m just saying I didn’t initiate.
Insecure. I’ve never been insecure before. It’s not a word that describes me. But I’m insecure and I don’t like it. I must remind myself that I’m fucking superwoman, like I’ve written many times before.
To be honest, I’m not in the best of places and it’s making me feel super, super vulnerable and more sensitive than I should be. This isn’t the chirpiest or wittiest of posts but I guess it’s about time I had a wee rough patch, especially having been on such a high last week with being a diva on the stage and the sexy time. I must remind myself it does not mean I am slipping backwards – I’m just being a human having a natural reaction to losing the woman she thought she was going to spend her life with.
Tuesday will be my second wedding anniversary and I’ve found myself having howling griefblasts this week. Wids, you know those ones of the raw animalistic crying while curled up in the foetal position blasts where you’re shouting “why did you have to go and DIE? I miss you, I miss you, I miss you. Please, please, please come back” into thin air? Yeh. Those. And then I self tortured some more by listening to our special pieces of music. My eyes are puffy despite the Clinique All about Eyes and I’m exhausted. I just want chenin blanc. And my wife back, obvs, but wine will have to do. High functioning alcoholism suits me.
It’s a peculiar feeling wanting my late wife but also wanting Future Wife. I guess I’ll work it out in my head in time.