Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Fuck you very much

Swimming today, and I'm confronted with thoughts of heartbreak boy. I get to thinking I need to do something, say something, write something somewhere to say 'what the fuck?'

He was in town and asked if he could take me out for dinner on my birthday. He named the restaurant, he said we'd have wine, he said we should erase that last time we had dinner. He said all the right things, so I said yes to dinner.

Sunday night he doesn't come to the housewarming, after asking for an invite and saying 'see you there'. I was disappointed, but not too much. It was easier without him.

Monday midday he sends a 'happy birthday' text. I reply and ask if we're still on for dinner. He waits about 3 hours before replying to say 'Could well do, gotta pack tho' and asks if I'm having drinks that night or if that was the previous night. I say it was the previous night. No response. I worry and get angry and workshop it with friends before sending another text saying 'Don't worry about dinner'. I felt fucked around. It seemed he wasn't keen. I didn't want to feel fucked around. I wanted to say so much more, but didn't.

His reply: 'oh alright, enjoy ur day and cya next time x'. Time passed before i wrote 'Yeah, not sure if there'll be a next time. I'm disappointed by your lack of commitment to plans made. Guess i'm being too sensitive, but i find it hard to be otherwise'.

The next morning: 'Dear Sydney friends, sorry to disappoint but you know how it is when you've got family shit to do and only one weekend. thank you for understanding, cya in June, and know that i love ALL of you, [name with cutesy y on the end] x'.

No, you don't love me. And no, I don't understand. And no, I don't want your stupid bulk message apology. Nor do I want your meaningless x. No doubt you see me as demanding, but it was my fucking birthday. I kept that time free for you. I was stupid to do that. I could well have organised dinner with friends. As in, people who do love me, respect me enough to be there when they say they will, and aren't emotionally crippled and evasive fuckheads who crave attention, but no real intimacy. Fuck you. No really, fuck you.

And now I'm thinking about deleting you from fuckbook, but don't want to play stupid high school friendship games. So for now you're just muted. But I don't ever want to see you. For it kills me to know that if I do I'll be putty in your fucking hands. For some reason I can't not want you. Despite the hatred I feel for you right now.

I guess I believe that you're damaged. You told me once that you were licking your wounds, and this is the image of you that stays with me. You're scared of everything. You want me to want you but you won't let yourself want me back. You give me enough to keep me there. And when I get too close you bite. A wounded animal. And I think this is what draws me to you. I can see that you need help. I feel bad walking away. I want to fix you.

But you're too fucked up and I've got a paper to write. Adios.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

i'm not going to

i'm not going to new york.
i'm not going to toronto.
i'm not going to montreal.
i'm not going to croatia.
i'm not going to paris.
i'm not going to marseille.
i'm not going to algiers.
i'm not going to morocco.
i'm not going to spain.

i won't be spending time with friends in these places.

i'll be staying on my stupid continent, working on my stupid phd.

and this makes me sad.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

pacifistically yours

these last few days i'm shuffling around, shifting goal posts, defusing the weaponry that i've placed around me. i want nice. i want respectful. i want to communicate openly, responsively, purposefully. i want to no longer blame other people for fucking things up for me.

i guess i've been projecting some fucked up things over the past year or so, and these things, i feel, have contributed to many relationship and communication break-downs. maybe, just maybe, i'm passive-aggressive. yikes. i'm always quick to call it, never so quick to own it. but maybe.

so yeah, my new mantra is to be nice, respectful, open. and to not jump to conclusions if someone doesn't respond to something i write or say. and to not blame people for bringing me down. and most importantly, to not find refuge in feeling misunderstood.

i hate to say it, but a lot of these feelings arose from attending the feminist conference on the weekend. i found it disappointing. i found that people didn't really listen to each other. i found that many people arrived with their agenda items, adamant to voice them, but not ready to engage in any real, useful, dialogue. what i did love was listening to Larissa Behrendt. she put me in the zone i needed to be in. she made me want to do something.

but in all, it was angry, bitter, and awkward. and i do wonder how you can change the world with anger. well, i guess it's warranted, but need it not be distilled into something else, something that shifts people, shifts ways of doing, rather than culminating in 'us' shouting at 'them'? so much 'us and them'. and that just marginalised most people there. i felt myself shifting between the margins in much of the conference discourse. as male, i was 'them'. but as a festival participant, i was 'us'. i was enlightened, but only to a certain extent. i was privileged. i was other. i was the upholder of the patriarchal system. but i wasn't. and i'm not. and i have much in common with 'the oppressed' if you wish to be spouting such language. but i don't think we should be. surely if you position yourself and 'your group' as the oppressed, then you put yourself in a bind. how can you ever move beyond 'them and us'?

there was much talk of 'the movement', particularly in the last afternoon summation. but i'm not interested in belonging to a unified movement. people felt the need to draw lines around 'the movement' and surmise who 'we' are and what 'we' stand for. what the fuck? isn't anyone aware of why the 2nd wave 'movement' fractured? identity politics is not useful here. 'we' are too many people with too many struggles to fit under one umbrella. gone is the time to move in one direction. mutual support is good. dialogue is good. respect is necessary. a delineation of 'the' movement is not.

maybe i'm stupid for thinking that we live in postmodern times.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

licking our wounds

he started a conversation in chat. i entered it cautiously. he asked when i was coming to melbourne, and into his arms. i responded to the first part of the question. i asked him when he's coming to sydney. he'll be here when it's my birthday. maybe i shouldn't have asked. i don't want to think about him on my birthday. i don't want to think about him at all. but i do. i willed him to say hello tonight, and he did. i enjoyed his flirting. i loved that i had his attention, his words, and that he was reading mine. we connected. for the first time, since his leaving, a conversation.

he asked if i'd found love. i said no. an odd question that i can't help dissecting. i asked if he had. he said he was still licking his wounds. from his ex, i assumed, but he wouldn't clarify. i can see that he likes me, thinks of me, maybe even wants me. but it feels like a game of cat and mouse. he's unpredictable, flighty, off the cuff. i can't read him. so i try be less engaged, less wanting, and speak to him from a distant, safe place. but i can't help wanting to be there, in his arms. where he'll no doubt rip me to shreds.