Quest for the Holy Grail

The holy grail of human existance is predicated on the fact that, as John Donne was perspicacious to point out, no man is an island. Or woman for that matter. While Harriet Harman gets her knickers in a twist over the differences between the sexes (she seems to feel there are none, just a male conspiracy to "keep the little woman down"), I think more of the similarities, or at least, the complementariness of the sexes. 

Whilst I leave dissection of Harman's arrant (and dangerous) nonsense to others to complete, (Ms R for instance has a few, sharp words to say on the matter), the subject of today's rather wistful post is the need to find that other, complementary person - the one that fills the physical and emotional void at the centre of each of us. While women seek to fill the void more literally than men, metaphorically the need is the same in us all. Someone who fulfills us physically, who takes care of us emotionally, who gives and accepts our touch, affection, passion and lust. Who cares for us, even we care for them. Maybe the need to nuture is stronger in women, but is it not balanced in our lovers by an equivalent desire to protect? 

Yet the more we reach for this ideal, total, all-encompassing 'other', the more of a mirage the existance of such an individual seems. For whilst we dream of Gods and Goddesses to place on pedastals, we are each of us aware of our own mortal failings. While we have a tendancy to expect perfection in others, we are only too aware of our own feet of clay.

Experience tells us that we will never find all we want and need in one person. But hope springs eternal, or else we make bitter compromises, risking stability for danger, family for fun. We compare and contrast, are kind and cruel at the toss of a coin, each of us at times taking turns to be pursued and pursuer, so rarely the two roles combining in serendipitious fate. So the chase goes on - we are careless that we are the object of someone obsession, whilst the object of our own continues their own life mostly oblivious to us. Or you share an obsession, but its pointless, cos its not going anywhere - its as much of a mirage as a Platonic ideal (as opposed to platonic - if I'm not getting my philosophical constructs confused and generally talking out of my arse. If I am, blame the Kronenbourg).

So what is the answer to life, the universe and everything? Is it 42 married lovers, in the faint hope that if you don't spend too long with any of them, you can maintain some shreds of emotional detachment, and kid yourself that it isn't a synonym for emotional emptiness? Or do you pursue the hunt for the "one, true other", and spend the majority of your evenings sobbing into the sofa? Or do you just marry the nearest person, and try to forget you ever had needs and hopes beyond Tesco and the school run? Christ I'm depressed! That's what seeing K today does for me. That and the fact that I haven't seen D for a week and won't for another two. My efforts at pretending to myself that I'm not slightly pining are wearing thin. 

Sweet Seventeen

This week gift to feature writers and bloggers is the publication of Mira Kirshenbaum's book, "When Good People Have Affairs". From the reviews I've scanned, the thrust of the piece is the argument that extra-marital affairs are so widespread, that it is ridiculously simplistic to label adultery (and by extension, adulterers) as bad. Rather than the certainty of black and white, it might be better to take a slightly more shaded view of the motivations, reasons and explanations for affairs, and avoid the knee-jerk, "They've cheated so its over" point of view.

Ms Kirshenbaum lists 17 reasons why people cheat. For ease, these are: Break-out-into-selfhood, Accidental, Sexual Panic, Let's kill this relationship (and see if it comes back to life), Mid-marriage crisis, Trading up, Heating up your marriage, I just need to indulge myself, Ejector seat, See if, Distraction, Surrogate therapy, Do I still have it, Having experiences I missed out out, Revenge, Mid-life crisis and Unmet needs.

She further suggests that you should stay with your partner if your affair is a heating-up-your-marriage affair, let's-kill-this-relationship-and-see-if-it-comes-back-to-life affair, do-I-still-have-it affair, accidental affair, revenge affair or midlife-crisis affair. However, she says that you need to think carefully about whether to stay with your primary partner if your affair is of the following kinds: the break-out-into-selfhood affair, unmet-need affair, having-experiences-I-missed-out-on affair, surrogate-therapy affair, ejector-seat affair.

Now whether this taxonomy of reasons is completely exhaustive, I don't know. Where does, "Well, he asked and I was a bit pissed and quite flattered" fit in? And the categories are obviously not mutually exclusive - my affair with D ticks several boxes, both for me and for him I imagine. Still, most of the ones on my side are in the "split up" category, and a number of his are from the "stick it out" side of the fence, so there's a nice bit of post rationalising.

Further the author is wholly convinced of the wisdom of NEVER confessing the affair, perhaps a route that Titus, the Lazy Philosopher wished he'd taken in hindsight. Still, if the affair is of the type to give the marriage a kick up the arse, how do you establish that yes, you really are that pissed off and things really must change if the other party is blithely unaware?

I find the entire subject quite fascinating from a philosophical stand-point. I was quite flabbergasted to read in the Guardian this particular quote: "'Adulterers are neither kind nor good people, so what sort of sympathy are we supposed to give them?', said Leila Collins, a psychologist who has given relationship counselling for 15 years. 'A good person doesn't betray their loved ones. A good person who is unsatisfied in their relationship ends it before starting a new one.'"

What? Are you barking?? And what exactly qualifies Ms Collins to go busybodying around in other people's lives? I'm not talking about the bit of paper she may have tacked to her office wall, I'm talking about some tangible life experience, wisdom and compassion. Are you telling me that one placement of a penis negates a lifetime of selflessness, devotion and duty? Total bollocks. But yet, the pain, hurt and devastation that the discovery of an affair can have is not to be denied. But to read that a bit of dissatisfaction is apparently sufficient reason to jettison the other parent of your children and doing so in pursuit of a new relationship makes one a "good" person is not only ridiculous, but both naive, dangerous and destructive.

Cuddle Time

Last month I mentioned my Dichotomy - that life was pleasant but without extremes. Part of the upside was my saggy, baggy, deaf old cat. This morning I found him dead in his basket - 19 years of memories consigned to the incinerator. I'd expected, in my usual non-sentimental style, that when then time came, I would simply bag him up and drop him off at the council tip, but this morning, I uncharacteristically came over all mawkish, and paid £65 to have him lovingly cremated.

Wow, is there ever money in dead pets - I shall bear it in mind if I ever need a career change and feel I could manage to keep a straight face long enough. It was almost worth the money for the comedy value - the ever-so-sympathetic-wily businessman says: "Would you like to lay him out in the Chapel of Rest or shall I? You can take as long as you want to say your final goodbyes." Me: "Errr, can't you just take him away, he's starting to smell..."

Strangely enough, almost the last person to see him alive was D - he had a free evening and popped over to the house. His first visit to the house & the first occasion that wasn't a fumble on expenses. Life, eh?

All-male brothels for women

I was reading a commentary by Ariel Leve from the Times earlier, on the subject of Heidi Fleiss' new venture in the Nevada desert - a brothel for women. Her column, although amusing, missed pressing most of my recognition buttons. Perhaps its because she's from New York. Apparently, she can't sleep with someone without wanting to talk on the phone afterwards. Talk? To someone you've just slept with?? Christ alive, we're British, don't you know. We don't talk - we go to the pub, we get pissed, we pull, we sleep with someone, we bump into them again, stuff is repeated and sometimes shuffles in embarrassed fashion into something resembling a relationship. Certainly no talking involved though.

There again, women from across the pond seem rather hung up on "dating", whatever the hell that is. Some Canadian bint was slagging off British men as "too polite, too repressed and too misogynistic" and has written an article called "The Tragic Ineptitude of the English Male" implying that British men are drunken women haters. Despite not actually ending up in bed with one the whole time she lived here (surely frigid?), she is cashing in on her lack of first-hand knowledge, xenophobic misandry (yeah the irony completely passed her by, but then Alanis Morrisette highlighted that Canadians never really had a firm grip on the concept) and general cultural missing-the-point to turn this drivel into a TV series. I'm sure the Canadians will lap it up.

Personally I know nothing about this dating malarkey; my history is all around long-term serial relationships. They all started with a shag, because then you both know where you are, and assuming neither of you actually blow your nose on the curtains, it then morphs into a relationship, (because you didn't chose a flaky feckwit to start with) and its just less trouble to carry on with the one that's there & willing, rather than cast about for someone new. Its not clever, its not exciting, there's a high percentage of danger of ending up spending your Sundays in B&Q, but hey, at least you get laid and the opportunity to go halves on a curry on a Saturday night. Perhaps I settle for too little, but many of my friends seem jealous of what I had. 1 marriage, 2 long-term relationships, 1 one-night stand that dragged on for a week (damn I'm good!) and the current entanglement. And not a single date.

But one thing she said did pull me up: "If I announced I’d like to have sex with no expectations, demands or agenda - I’d have to turn men away." That I suppose is exactly what I am doing currently - I have no expectations, demands or agenda in this fling with D. Why would I? He's married and staying that way, with my blessing. But according to her I should be beating them off with a shitty stick, as the saying goes. And I guess if I advertised the fact that I was that accommodating, I would be. Somehow though, it is a bit sad though that I have given up articulating even to myself what an expectation, demand or agenda might look like. It seems so fantastically pointless including someone else in your plans, even a hypothetical person. Is that just giving up?

Becalmed at sea

I'm aware that my rate of posting has dropped off recently. This is mostly because I have nothing new to relate - there are only so many ways I can put "Saw D - shagged him". I have been attempting and failing to drum up a social life. I have identified that what I need is not a man, but a life. Unfortunately, all the good times outside of a bedroom I have had recently feature an offspring or two, and that is no way to proceed long term.

I have seen K a couple of times - I've even been in his new flat. That was.... a lot to describe in a simple blog. As a word association dump to give you an outline: Heart wrenching, bitter, detached, lonely, impatient, superior, guilty, miserable, quietly chuffed, relieved, horny, ashamed, motherly, lover-ly, nurturing, reluctant, exultant, sad, tiptoe, irritated and vindicated were some of the emotions and descriptive words that go part way towards summing up my feelings during the time it took to get a guided tour and drink a cup of coffee. Bottom line is that its over and he's not my problem any more, and worrying about him is detracting from the energy I need to rebuild my life. Tough but true.

D has been making considerable efforts to ask me my movements and invited me down for a "visit" at his hotel on my way past. I'm not sure he wanted me to stay all night, but I decided I would. I probably won't next time - good grief, hearing his snoring is a relief because it means he's stopped fidgeting. Temporarily! But I like him, oh I like him lots.

Over the weekend I called in to Hay, just to claim some literary boasting points. Unfortunately, we just missed Ian McEwan's discourse on "On Chesil Beach" (which is really rather poignant if you want reminding what crap sex is like). Whilst she was pottering round the poetry shelves in the various bookshops, I found myself browsing the Mind Body & Spirit sections, wondering if there was a way to magic up a social life. I came across a white (whoops, nearly typed that as shite....a Freudian finger-slip?) magic book of spells. I read the one that claimed it would draw my lover to me for ever. Well, even if I could be arsed to assemble the petals and rose oil and whatever, I'm not sure I'd want him hanging around all the time. There was also one for getting rid of a rival - you wish her good things apparently (and assemble even more crap) and she'll scoot off after them and leave the object of your joint desire alone. But then I decided that if by some coincidence, writing on a chicken's egg in green ink at moonlight were to coincide with a marriage breakup, I'd feel too guilty to get in there anyway, so best leave well alone. Too apathetic to make a good witch, I guess!