volcanic's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- in which ms v is bitten on the arse by a green-eyed monster I'm not a massive fan of Henry Rollins' music, it's a bit shouty and scary for me, but I've always had a lot of respect for the man, simply because he seems able to articulate himself in a way that's very appealing. I do sometimes wonder if his pro-women stance isn't a little manufactured to elicit swooning and fawning from the fairer sex, but I could be wrong. Whatever- he interviews very well, and I've often found myself falling for people on the basis of what they say in print. It was this quote from Mr Rollins that got me thinking this weekend: "I've learnt to really respect women on all levels. I've also learnt that I'll never quite understand them, and I'm cool with that - I'll always just be a student. " I like that. I like the honesty, which seems to fly in the face of all the "wisdom" that magazines and self-help books like to peddle, assuring us that they hold the ultimate secrets about what makes the opposite sex tick, in order that we can seduce them, bed them, cling on to them, dump them painlessly and move on to the next conquest. Maybe it resonates with me today because that's a little bit how I feel about George, right now. George did come up this weekend. He arrived at two on Sunday morning. Much as i wanted him to come, I was finding his reluctance to make a decision a little hard, and i told him so. His response: "I'll have a quick bath and then I'm on my way". Result. Kind of. I tried to make it clear that I wasn't trying to emotionally blackmail him into coming, just that the not knowing was chewing me up inside, because I've been missing him so much. Whatever- he came. And we've largely had a good time. It's been a bit disquieting in some ways, seeing him very tired and quite vulnerable, having a disagreement about the way i spoke to a very rude waitress- he quietly and calmly told me how situations look very different through different eyes, and I felt humbled. Well, a little humbled- I still maintain that I had good reason to be cheesed off! I don't know, it's been strange. Lovely, but strange, having him here for three nights, living in my space, doing day-to-day stuff with us. It's getting a lot more real now, we're talking about real issues, real events in our lives, getting to know each other warts'n'all. One of those warts is still irritating me a little. Well, to be more precise, my reaction to one of his warts is annoying me. Jealousy is a horrible feeling- it's the one which fails to respond to logic, fact and reason. I don't get it often, but when I do, its power never fails to shock me. A few weeks ago, George was telling me how another staff nurse had mentioned to him how highly she thought of me, saying I was cut out for management, a very good nurse, all that kind of thing. I think I cut him off mid-sentence to say how I thought she was a bit of a bimbo and an airhead. This judgement, I'm ashamed to say, was founded largely on the grounds that she's tall, leggy, blonde AND very good at what she does. So much for sticking up for other women, eh? I'm not proud of it. I know it's based on jealousy, because she's one of those girls that when you mention her name, the men always lower their newspapers and say "Phwoarr". It gets worse. Last night, me and George were talking about something that happened with the last person he was seeing. Being nosey, i asked him who it was, just to put a name to them. George faltered, and looked nervous. "It was [insert name of leggy, blonde, gorgeous alleged bimbo here]" Oops. In fact, NOT "oops", but bollocks, shit and all the rest of it. "I was going to tell you the other week," he continued, "But I got the impression that you didn't like her very much..." It's crap, isn't it? Or rather, I'm crap. Very crap. Because it didn't stop there. I ended up going into complete inadequate paranoia about it all. I'm sure George was trying to help when he said it finished because it was "just physical", but I don't know whether that reassures me. I know that George likes me. George positively marvels at the fact that we talk- all the time- very frankly and openly and honestly, in a way that constantly surprises us both. This whole thing feels very special, and we've both said so. There's a closeness and a rawness and a sense of intimacy between us that feels very, very good. If I look at it at a very basic level, I can tell myself that it was ME that he drove 80miles to see in the dark the other night, in a strange car to a strange place, me and nobody else. God, I feel stupid. Naked, exposed and very vulnerable, too. I read another good article in yesterday's Observer, specifically about the jealousy that arises over past lovers. I found a good point in it, and I'm trying to take it on board: "We can't hope to be the first person our partners have loved, but we can work hard on being the last..." Next time I start whingeing about this, will someone throw that one back at me, please? 7:32 p.m. - 17.09.02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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