Ah, crap.

I did a bad thing. A bad, bad thing. I don’t even really want to be confessing it, but confession is good for the soul. And I did a bad thing.

So there I was, in a bar, just past midnight on new year’s. It’s hideous. It’s full of girls tossing their hair and guys acting like morons, all of them desperately trying to hook up with someone and pretending they’re having the most fun in the world ever. Your typical New Year’s Eve basically. And I’m a little drunk, but I’m feeling hopeful and positive. Because it’s no longer 2009, and it’s a fresh start, and 2010 is going to be my year. So it’s all good. And then, somehow, my brain decides to take a little holiday. And my fingers decide to send a text. To my ex.

I drunk dialled.

Or drunk texted. Or whatever.

The only reason his number was still in my phone is that in four months I haven’t even considered the drunk dial. And I’ve been drunk, but the drunk dial is just not how I usually roll. So I kept his number in my phone because one, if he ever called I wanted a heads up that it was him and two, iPhones are a little tricksy, and I couldn’t totally figure it out (I’m challenged that way). I never thought I’d actually use it. The only time I’ve considered contacting him was at Christmas, and after a long sober debate I decided against that. So why I suddenly decided to do it then is beyond me.

It’s not even that the message was bad. All it said was: Happy New Year. I hope you’re well. And since he’s in Kiwi-a-gogo Land, if his British number even still works he won’t be checking it regularly. I doubt he’ll respond, but I’m just so cross with myself. I feel like it’s bad juju. I opened the door, and I brought bad juju into 2010. Stupid girl. (Needless to say, his number has now been surgically removed from my iPhone, so it won’t be happening again.)

Ah well. I have two dates next week anyway. One with the Toyboy (aka the 26-year-old rugby player I kissed on Wednesday) and one with an estate agent I met last night. (An  estate agent! See, bad juju. Next I’ll be dating one of those guys who hands out parking tickets.) So now that I’ve made my confession, here’s hoping I can put it down as a last little hangover from 2009, and move onwards and upwards. After all, when I did it, it wasn’t technically 2010 everywhere. So does it count?

So long, 2009.

Well, it’s almost over. The end of this crappy year. The year that started out so amazingly with the perfect birthday and the perfect new year’s eve, and just went slowly downhill from there.

But the funny thing is, I feel really hopeful. Perhaps it’s because I’m in a good place with the breakup, where the worst is finally behind me. Maybe it’s because I’m starting to look to the future. Or maybe it’s just that full circle feeling – like when bad things happen in threes, and when the third happens you breathe a sigh of relief. It might be a little silly and supersticious, but it feels like whatever cycle I was in is over, and now a new one can begin.

Whatever it is, when the clock strikes midnight, I’m ready to say goodbye to my old life and start another chapter.

Here’s wishing all of you a great night but more importantly, a fresh start, and a new year full of joy and magic and hope. Happy 2010!

The birthday past: the birthday present

Okay, so you’ve had lots of opportunity to read about the things that didn’t work between Hunky and I and I’m sure that at times I’ve made him sound like a self-absorbed jerk. And he was, kind-of. Sometimes. But he was also one of the most lovely men alive, and now I get to give you the biggest, shiniest example. The happiest day I had with him, the day I loved him the most. My last birthday. The reason I’ll miss him so much this time round.

Last year, for weeks ahead of the day he went off on weekends shopping. Alone, and also with a female friend for help. He put so much effort into thinking about what to get me and eventually he told me that what he’d wanted to buy me was a pair of designer shoes. And I LOVE shoes. He didn’t get that, but he wanted to get me something really special, to make me feel totally spoiled. I couldn’t believe he even considered it, because have you seen the price tag on them Louboutins? But in the end, he didn’t get any because he didn’t think any were special ENOUGH. So instead, what he decided to give me was the perfect birthday. Which for me is the best gift ever, because when you have your birthday during the holidays, it’s hard for your day to stand out.

We woke up the morning of and had champagne in bed, which was our little tradition on my birthday. Then he told me a car was coming to pick us up and to get dressed. We went for breakfast at this lovely little French bistro in Kensington where I could have my favourite – eggs benedict. Then we walked hand in hand to Harrods, where he presented me with a very generous gift voucher. The Harrods sale was on, so I could get a lot more for that voucher than I normally would. In the end, I bought FOUR pairs of lovely (slightly less designery) shoes, perfume and makeup. The man shopped with me for something like nine hours. NINE HOURS. He didn’t complain once. He walked behind me carrying the bags, like I was in Pretty Woman and he was Richard Gere. He gave actual opinions on the things I tried on, and he didn’t get impatient when I couldn’t make up my mind. It was only after we left that I thought it couldn’t have been much fun for him, but you wouldn’t have known from how he acted.

After that, we went to a party at a friend’s bar. I wore sparkly shoes and a pretty dress. We drank more champagne, and we danced all night. It was the perfect, perfect birthday. I have never in my adult life felt happier or safer or more loved. Just knowing how much he wanted to make me happy was the best birthday present in the whole world.

When I look back on our relationship, it feels like that was the peak. It’s the one memory I can’t think about without missing him  in a heart thumpingly, earth shatteringly, jump on a plane to New Zealand, massive kind of way. And that’s okay. It means that even in years to come I’ll still be able to think of that day and how unbelievably amazing it felt, and I’ll remember how I loved him and why it mattered. And he won’t just be the jerk who dumped me and never spoke to me again.

And besides, if I know men, the next one will get all competitive and try to top it. Which can only be a good thing, right?

What it should look like

I spent last night at Caroline’s wedding reception. She and her husband had a small wedding  last month, so this was a chance for those of us not at the ceremony to celebrate with them. Both of them made speeches, and both speeches made me cry. Especially his, when he spoke about how insanely lucky he feels to have met her, and how amazing he thinks she is, and just how much he loves her. And all I could think as I listened, was how I would never have heard those words out of Hunky’s mouth. He did love me, that’s for sure, but not like that. So I’m glad that now I get the chance to meet someone who does.

It turned out to be a really fun night. 26-year-old boys were actually jostling to buy me drinks. 26-year-old rugby players even. Win! That was pretty good for my ego, especially since I’m about to be 32. The guy Caroline and her husband wanted to set me up with turned out to be cute, and nice, but he was surrounded by girls from the women’s rugby club most of the night. I spoke to him briefly before he left and he took my number, but he is so not going to call. I landed up spending most of the night dancing with another one of the guys, which was actually a lot of fun. He was keen, and it was nice to have a man look at me that way again. We had a little kiss, and it was waaaay better than my first post-breakup snog. He also took my number, and I reckon he probably will call. He’s too young for me, really, and I’m not sure I’d want to date him, but it was a good night. Good for the ego, good for the soul. Good. Here’s to more of those in 2010.

But right now? I’m off to Tiffany’s to spend the money I put aside for Hunky’s Christmas presents on myself.

White roses

I thought of something suddenly last night, that when it sunk in just seemed to sum up all the reasons why Hunky and I were never going to work. Such a small thing, but so revealing of how we operated.

A good few months into our relationship, we walked past a florist. The tulips were out. (I love tulips. I love pretty much all flowers, but I love how when the tulips are out it means that summer is coming.) I commented on it and, in his usual blunt speak-before-you-think way, Hunky said “Tulips were [his ex's] favourite flower.” Nice. So I never got tulips from Hunky.

I did get flowers though. Usually pink ones – mixtures of roses and daisies and lilies from florists. For Valentine’s Day. For our anniversary. Once for no reason at all. He once turned up to my flat with sunflowers – again, for no reason. And as I said, I like all flowers, and I loved that he gave them to me. But the flowers I love the most – and have done since I was about 12 – are white roses.

It’s ironic. That I knew Hunky’s ex’s favourite flower, and that I can remember every single flower he ever gave me, but he didn’t know this thing about me. He still doesn’t know that my favourite flower is white roses, and if he walks past a florist with the next girl and she comments on white roses, he won’t think of me.

Because I never told him. I didn’t want him to feel like I didn’t like what he’d given me, that it was second best. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. So I never told him.

And he never asked.

But the fact is, I do love white roses. And all sorts of other things I put aside or kept hidden, because I didn’t think he was interested, or that it mattered. And now I know that it does.

Out with the old…

Whew. So that’s Christmas over with. And I survived.

It was a pretty good day, actually. I had expected to spend Christmas Eve alone, but I landed up going to dinner at a couple I have known since schooldays, and then the three of us went off to Brompton Oratory for midnight mass. Their choir is really famous, so the carols were beautiful, but I could have done without the 90 minutes of all-Latin mass. Still, it was a lovely way to ring in Christmas Day.

The next morning I went off to a friend’s place for lunch with 17 other people. Heaps of food, lots of wine, it was great. I flirted a little drunkenly with my friend’s 24-year-old professional rugby-playing brother (what can I say, he was ho-o-o-t!). Which I guess officially puts me into cougar territory, but hey ho. It was all good fun.

In fact, I felt great right up until the second I walked back in through my front door. I looked at my phone, and it sort of hit me in a watch-your-knees-go-out-from-under-you kinda way, that he hadn’t been in touch. I wasn’t expecting him to; I didn’t even really want him to. But it was just sort of like wow, it’s Christmas, and even that won’t make him soften. This guy I spent two years with and gave my all to, and he doesn’t even want to know how I’m doing at Christmas. It was heartbreaking, but I think I had that cry coming. It felt good. It felt like letting go.

Some time ago, Santaslil pointed out that I should have a plan if Hunky were to contact me, the way that Shannon does. I’ve thought about that a lot and I know what to do if a check-in phonecall or email ever turns up. And I’ve thought about if Hunky ever wanted a reconciliation, what would it take? What would have to happen for me to consider that? Up until now, I had a sort of mental list. Things he would have to do or say. Being sorry for the right things. Willingness to do whatever it takes to make it work. But this morning, when I asked myself that question, there was no list. What my gut said was, nothing. Nothing he could do or say will make this okay. He’s not the guy for me.

I’m not saying I’m over this. I still love him. I will still miss him. I’m sure there are more tears to be shed. Being ready to be with someone else will still take time. But now he feels like part of my past, and I’m looking towards the future. It’s New Years next week, and I have a birthday coming up. It’s the perfect time for new beginnings.

There are going to be some major changes in the coming year. I’m 99% sure that I’m going to be leaving London. There are plans to be made, and some big goals I hope to achieve. And, inevitably, there are going to be some changes around here too. It’s out with the old and in with the new. It’s time to let go of the past. It’s time.

Watch this space!

The Christmas spirit

A lovely thing happened to me yesterday. After the Hunky family de-friending of the last week, it was a huge surprise, but I got a message from his cousin’s wife (who I got to know a bit when we were together). She didn’t say much – just wished me a happy Christmas – but I was really touched. After I’ve been cut out and shut out from his side for so long, it meant a lot for her to take the time to send those wishes, when she’ll know the background and she’ll be able to guess I’m probably having a bad time of it. It struck me as a very kind thing to do.

I’ve posted a few times in the last weeks about trying to find my Christmas spirit. How I’ve slowly got into it, but nothing like I have in the past. How I can’t help but compare this year to the last one, Wham-style. It’s hard to find the Christmas spirit when some days you just want to sit in the corner and cry.

But then I got to thinking about what the Christmas spirit really is. We’ve come to see the holidays as some kind of perfect picture of happiness and togetherness. If you don’t feel happy, you don’t feel part of it. But if you go back to the very first Christmas story, it was about hope for the poor and disenfranchised. It was about not feeling alone in the world. If you go back even further, the solstice celebrations were about getting through miserable winters. Later, St Nick was about random acts of kindness and generosity, just like that email. Hope in the midst of hardship. That’s what Christmas is really about.

So perhaps this year I’m closer to the real spirit of Christmas than I was when I had the movie-style holidays. And perhaps this Christmas comes at the perfect time to bring hope, and to remind me that it won’t always be winter, and that I’m not alone.

Whatever hardships you’re facing this holiday season, I hope that the festive season brings you hope for better days to come. Here’s wishing you all a very happy Christmas.

Hunky’s Christmas inbox

Since Hunky won’t be getting a message from me this Christmas, I got to wondering what might be in his festive inbox instead. Here’s how I like to imagine it…

Two more sleeps until Christmas! Have a good day, everyone!

Tragedy!

I think one of the reasons it takes so long to get over a bad breakup is that it’s never just one kind of loss. There’s the loss of the person in your daily life, the gaping hole, the hurt like a missing limb. There’s the loss of the life you planned on – all the things you let yourself hope for that won’t be yours. There’s the humiliation of it, especially if you were left – knowing that someone took a good look at everything you are and said “no thanks”. There’s all that love, and nothing to do with it. The bittersweet memories you don’t know where to put anymore. The loss of intimacy – the connection that once meant they were your person, and you were theirs. And who does that make you now? There’s the loneliness, the boredom, the awkward social situations, the difficult questions. There’s the hurts and disappointments every time another tie is cut. And alongside all of that grief is the sheer pity of it.

There’s something inherently hopeful about two people falling in love. We’re all so different and complicated; it’s a miracle love ever happens, that it ever works. It’s the biggest risk, but the one we’re all waiting to take. And when we choose to love and to trust and to drop our anchor with someone saying “here – here is my place” we are filled with hope that this time, this one, this love will be the one that sticks. Whatever kind of relationship you have, both of you invest in it and nurture it, and choose to stick with it over and over again. You choose to believe.

That you can love and hope and trust and try and it can still fail… just feels like a tragedy. And mourning the dead thing that once was love – whatever that love became – is one of the hardest breakup griefs of all.

Here is a wound that never will heal, I know,
Being wrought not of a dearness and a death,
But of a love turned ashes and the breath
Gone out of beauty; never again will grow
The grass on that scarred acre, though I sow
Young seed there yearly and the sky bequeath
Its friendly weathers down, far underneath
Shall be such bitterness of an old woe.
That April should be shattered by a gust,
That August should be levelled by a rain,
I can endure, and that the lifted dust
Of man should settle to the earth again;
But that a dream can die, will be a thrust
Between my ribs forever of hot pain.

Edna St Vincent Millay

Loose threads

Ironic that I was talking about Facebook this week, and then today I noticed both Hunky’s mum and sister de-friended me on Facebook.

I feel quite weird about it. On the one hand, of course it was going to happen at some point. I felt weird taking them off my list, but I assumed that at some point they would make that call. And there’s really no need for me to stay connected to either of them – of course I have no intention of contacting them anyway. The same reason a friend’s husband de-friended Hunky this week – as he said “there’s just no point”. It doesn’t change anything. We can’t be more broken up than we are now.

I suppose the only part that feels a bit sad is that it was obviously a co-ordinated effort. That they’ve been talking about me and he’s obviously asked them to do it. That he wants to ensure there are no ties to me whatsoever. That he is clearly never, ever going to speak to me again. That’s the part that sort of makes me angry. I’m the good guy here. All I ever did for that boy was love him. Maybe I didn’t get it right – maybe WE didn’t get it right – but I sort of feel like I’ve been treated like someone who did something awful to him. Unless there’s something I did that I’m completely unaware of, I really don’t deserve to be cut dead and I’m still disappointed that he’s treated me with so little respect. But… well. So it goes.

I’ve asked the friends I have who haven’t de-friended him to do it. I know they were sort of waiting for my cue, and there is some advantage to them being able to tag me in pictures or let me know things like that he left the country. But if we’re going to cut ties, then hell, let’s cut ties. At this point I think it’s better we know nothing about each other’s lives.

Ah well, off to bed. I’ll feel fine in the morning.