12

My girlfriend, she sure can be a moody so-and-so – and I find myself really hating it; if there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s a woman being miserable, snide, emotionally blank, saying she’s fine when she’s obviously not, withdrawing her love. It really, really gets to me. Wish I was one of those blokes who was just all into themselves, and left their partners crying out for attention and affection, and did his own things, telly and sport and pub, etc. That might make things easier.

She’s young, my girl; maybe that explains it. I dunno, I can’t remember what it was like to be young – but aren’t people just all into themselves at that age, and all up and down, remnants of teenage hormones, no real awareness of others and the needs of others. She can be pretty selfish at times too, and that bothers me as well. I watch her mum do everything for her, and she does nothing in return, and I’ve seen the way that I’ve given and given, and how she’s given so little in return. Is it youth? Or is it her? And does it really matter? ‘Cos aside from these unsaid things here – which I don’t feel I should or could say out loud (maybe if I had some real live friends), I do really like her – I’ve chosen to be with her, and things are going really well, and I can see myself being with her for a long time, should they continue in this vein. Just that certain things bother me, and I want to write them down.

One of them is blowjobs: maybe that seems daft but, man, when we first got together she was all over it, sucking and swallowing with gusto, loving it, making me feel great. Now, it hardly ever happens at all, and what I once got in a week is stretched over a two or three month period. Maybe that’s the female equivalent of the guy who buys you flowers and dinner and stuff, and then once he’s got you he stops. In any case, it makes me sad.

Another thing that bugs me is how lazy she is, how she can sit around all day doing nothing, reading trashy books that she doesn’t even like, watching trashy TV on youtube, reading magazines. She’s got so much talent, and she says this and that about using it, but to really get anywhere with talent you need to make an effort, put some work in, and I don’t see her doing that. She could be such a good singer, and such a good songwriter – but at the minute she seems content with playing crummy little gigs to friends and family, singing almost karaoke versions of other people’s songs, and being a superstar to a very small circle of drunks and nobodies. She wants to make something of herself, I know she does – but how can I support her in this? I think she’d better than that, but at present she refuses to get off her sometimes-growing arse. Meanwhile her mum runs around like a blue-arsed fly doing everything for her, after working twelve hour shifts, and that just bothers me more.

Her mum’s like this saint, and she’s done a really good job with raising her three daughters, giving them everything, giving overwhelming support and encouragement, even when she herself might be deflated and tired. But at the same time I think Perlilly’s been spoiled, got so used to having things done for her, and got so used to being loved and adored at the drop of a hat, that she finds it difficult when that doesn’t happen, when that doesn’t come from me. And so she gets mad when I don’t fawn over her every little thing, when I don’t drop everything I’d doing to pay compliment her on her performance or her latest haircut. She knows she’s been spoiled too, but that doesn’t make it much easier. But do you think I give a monkeys about hair? It’s just the thing that sits on top of your head! Sure, you go to a woman (when she’s just had it done) “that looks great,” and they’re happy with that, and you move on. But to be obsessed with it, to primp and preen – to be looking at me lovingly, and then to realise, oh, no, she’s not looking at me, she’s looking past me, at the mirror, at herself – that’s not of any interest to me. Yeah, I guess she’s pissing me off a bit at the minute. I guess I should explain.

She went to Leeds last week to get her hair done; the three weeks before that had been bliss, practically honeymoon-like, non-stop lovey-dovey and cuddles and happinesses. Then she went up there, for some God unknown reason, and had a Mohawk done, and had it died extreme blonde – which I’m not keen on – and I feel like she’s come back a different person. Nothing. No affection. No lovey dovey. No cuddles. Did something go on for her up there? No, I don’t think that. Did she get mad because I didn’t immediately ask her how her hair went, when she called me up in the middle of the only decent writing I’ve done in ages? Well, yes – but surely not for, what, four days now? But something’s gone on, and I don’t like it one bit. I wish the old her was back, mad hair and all; I wish I just got to see her how she actually is, beneath all the dye; I feel like I don’t recognise the person that’s lying two feet to the right of me. And that’s a shame.

But let’s talk about the good things. She’s a lovely girl. She’s bright, she’s funny, she’s got bags of potential. And just maybe, if the things I don’t like in her are as a result of her youth – well then, I’ve bagged a totally awesome human being ‘ahead of time’ (a bit like, what’s that thing called they do on internet chat rooms? That’s it: grooming). She’s got so much going for her – emotional intelligence, calmness, smarts, beauty, humour, talent, creativity, sex, and more – that, really, I shouldn’t complain, and should feel lucky. And I do. Just some days…things bother me – her foibles, her sniffing-round ex, her pettiness and moods – and then it makes me wonder. Makes me wonder what the point is. Makes me wonder if I shouldn’t be better off elsewhere. Makes me wonder if I love her.

And that gets me on to to a whole different subject: love.

I wonder about love; I always do. I wonder sometimes, do I love Perlilly as much as I loved Sara, my ex? It doesn’t often feel that I do – but what I have with each of them was different. Is it love just because it is passionate and tempestuous, and up and down and characterised by needs and wants? It certainly feels that way at times – and it certainly feels that that’s the kind of love we’re supposed to hanker after, if we believe what we see in our media, which is our primary teacher. I think that’s what I had with Sara – and, correspondingly, it was probably the love I had with my mum. Wanting. Never getting enough. And being criticised and told off. That’s what my mum was like, and that’s kind of what Sara was like, and maybe that’s why I think that was love. But know I’ve broken that and found someone that doesn’t make me feel like a bad person, who doesn’t criticise or nag, and I’m wondering what that is exactly. Perlilly is probably just what a person would be on paper if you had to jot down a list of traits in an ideal partner – save the absence of blow jobs and moods – and I do have to say to myself, in my moments of doubt, that I’d be mad to let her go. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with her; what’s the problem? The problem is, I guess, that I don’t feel that wanting, that needing, that desiring that somewhere I’ve been taught to want – except, of course, that I do when we’ve been broken up. But then is love something else? Is this constancy and harmony, respect and admiration and loyalty, something altogether more subdued and tranquil than the grand passions we see and hear about in our movies and TV programmes and books? Is love still wanting to hold hands after fifty years of marriage? Is love wanting to rush your partner into bed the moment you see them? Or is it somewhere in between? And how would you know anyway? I mean, does it even matter? What if love was just choosing someone of good character, that you enjoy spending time with, share a few common interests, and commit to? And watching it grow and grow over the years? Can you even see love in the beginning, or is it something that comes with time? It’s a sort of complicated matter! And one that I don’t know the answer to.

This, however, I do know: that most of our times are good; that she’s a darling person, trustable and honest, fun and intelligent and nice; and that I wouldn’t want to be without her, that I feel we have a future, that I like her lots and do, indeed, love her too. And sure, well, there are things that I don’t like to – no doubt, there are many things about me that she doesn’t like also – but the question doesn’t really seem to be: how can I iron those out? Or where can I find someone who doesn’t do those things? But how can I tolerate them, and accept them while still maintaining my happiness, and how can I get it into my thick head that people really are different, that no one’s perfect – certainly, I’m not – and that’s just the way it is? That, really, is the question that I need to answer – and the one I’ve probably been looking to answer for a very long time.

Maybe when I do that I’ll have understood a little bit more about this mystery called love.

And then, later that night, we meet in town and she tells me all about it. She tells me what’s been bothering her, why she can’t express it, and we talk about ways to manage the situation more easily in the future. Suddenly, connection is restored, and in an instant I’m thinking what a wonderful woman she is, and smiling, and everything is better again. The next day we make love – for the first time in about a week – and that seems to cement the whole process; we’re back together; we laugh. Hopefully she can remember next time, just to say me, “I need some time alone, I need to work a few things out, I’m not feeling great but it’s not you, I hope you’ll understand. I’ll be back to see you when I’m feeling better, and I’ll talk with you about it then, when I’m ready, but in the meantime I just can’t. But, please, it’s not you, I love you, I’m sure it’ll be all fine soon” – and then I won’t be left dangling.

And may I be able to find the presence of mind to do the same the next time I’m in a nark. But she really is a wonderful woman.

Cheers!

Rory