The single most annoying thing about friends is how they insist on having a life of their own. Of course, this works out in your favour when you want them out of your hair, but by and large, I like the concept of them hopping off and back on to neatly arranged cupboard shelves as per demand. As an idea it is both practical and utilitarian and if your friends look anything like mine, hey, with a nice little glass fronted cabinet, you got yourself some cool house decor.
Maybe friends should come with switches.
I would pay money this afternoon to leave this city. Ten years and no time away. No exploration of the unknown (let's not even joke of marriage as the ultimate adventure or the thrills of motherhood, I have a convalescing child and an irascible husband at home), no life that is not influenced by bloody Bengalis and I could cry from the sheer hopelessness of it all.
And if I'd married the cute CA with the the wrong bloodlines or the computer engineer flashing the green card or even gone out with the rich spoilt brat (with the most eye-popping thingummy) no doubt I'd be whining just as much right now. Maybe I should have settled for the musician sweetheart but as he kindly pointed out recently, I was a pretty horrible girl to date, so it was probably quite an altruistic act to let him go.
The problem with being 27 is you're still young enough to dream like mad but with a respectable job and a child to bring up, you know there's no point dreaming. I recently went clothes shopping and it was just so damn indicative of my life's path, it depressed the shit out of me. I went through an entire floor of women's options, looking at silky frocks and cute tops and ended up buying the practical office shirts and a useful cord skirt. I'm 27. I'm too young to go brain-dead like this.
I think it wouldn't be so hard to take if I could always be the practical, responsible person I am most of the time. Most of the time I do the stuff that needs doing, fulfil my duties and try to please people. Most of the time I work hard to blend in.
And the rest of the time, I'm not at woman, I'm the girl who writes this daft blog. Prattling on endlessly, pointlessly, making friends and keeping distances. Silly and giddy and gambling. Gambling with her health, her happiness and her love and losing half the time. And getting up and gambling again.
I know, perhaps you all feel you're leading double lives. I can't reconcile mine. If he asked me this afternoon, I'd run before I could stop myself. There's too much rejection, too many silences, too many explanations of things that shouldn't need any, to hold me down.
Some days I'm jealous of people who have a clearer vision of right and wrong. My lines blur so fast, so easily, I'm never entirely sure I can be trusted.
What's the point of living only in my head? I was telling a friend the other day, we didn't marry for 24x7 companionship even if we thought we did. Because I for one am not prepared to supply it from my end either. But I'd like to believe there's a middle path, a relationship in which both partners feel secure enough to come out of their shells and join the other in their interests. To go for a play or a concert even though you know it'll be boring. To put your head next to theirs doing the stupid crossword even though you can't crack a single clue. I have to believe it's possible for selflessness to be shown in ways apart from making the morning tea or serving perfect meals.
Maybe spouses should come with switches too.
No, Vicky hasn't done anything to upset me. I know it seems like it, but it isn't. I just have the wanderlust so bad I'm beyond rational thought.