Ooh. Wow, a 43 year old talks about love. Quelle surprise
Relationships, like electric can openers and the plastic things on the end of shoelaces, are apparently necessary for making life more smooth, and sometimes pleasurable.
No one prepared us for this. Not Everywoman, the book whose author I never bothered to glance at as I guffawed and blushed at the content. Ooh, ovaries! What the fuck is that thing? Turns out a scrotum and weird looking things as they are, very useful for making people and a bit of a mess. Certainly didn’t learn about relationships from my parents, thank goodness.
My father had so many mistresses that one, roughly 7 years older than me, wore a tracksuit with her name on it. Another gave me a puzzle on my birthday which I found cryptic and upon reflection, I may be delving more into philosophy where she was hoping to delve into my father’s ‘bank balance’.
Nikki Gemmel explored the intricacies of adult intimacy in her fabulous 2003 novel, The Bride Stripped Bare. Life, and love and entanglements that are ignored for the sake of longevity and security increase the chaos of navigating being this overrated adulthood. Love is wonderful. Enduring love and affection is invaluable. But people are not robots fed with hopes and dreams of growing old gracefully and retiring to a lovely seaside village with a golf course and hand holding under a knee rug. That is a wonderful dream. Dreams are weird and complex, and you inevitably wake in a cold sweat wondering why there’s an inflatable flamingo in the bed.
How do we know if we are happy, or happy enough, should we seek more shreds of joy or just hold on to the safe pieces we have now? Is there a danger in grasping on desperately to comfort and security when there are parts which feel like a half-dimmed light, hoping the flicker will be enough to maintain the flame. Flames are for the young and hopeful. Surely though, in a world where sparks are fading, should we chase the itchy arrow possibly guiding impending doom and a future of bad food and more what ifs, or just settle in for whatever is unfolding? Everyone stays safe, everyone pretends to be happy. Life rolls on.
So now I feel confused about my over the pond anger towards Hugh Jackman. Who are we, random actors who he hopes to one day also fill a room of 40, or media pundits to deny him a second chance at love? This makes me feel very weird as all we are told is that there is a ‘one’.
How do we not know there is not a 2, 4, 89, I had to make sure I pressed 8.
That concludes my lecture on relationships.
Join me next week when I tackle small animal husbandry in cool climates wearing nice hats through a postmodern lens.