Still here, honest!

One of my twitter friends asked me if I was still blogging this week *looks ashamed* the answer is yes with a guilty little no rattling around in my head, the truth is that sickness and a little thing called #nanowrimo is keeping my brain spinning.

So you know I’m still here I’m going to give you an excerpt from my National Novel Writing Month attempt. The point of NaNo is you write like the clappers and leave your internal editor on the shelf until December, so this piece is uneditted and raw – forgive me my errors and typos!

My main charector is not unlike me, a married, slightly sarcastic 30 something *coughs* with several children, although unlike me she blogs about relationships mostly and gets to live life a little more lasciviously than I ever could! Her blog posts are scattered through the story, this excerpt is one of them. (and btw, she swears a lot :-s)

Blog Post: The world is full of frustrated housewives.

 Or so we are led to believe. Apparently I’m one too so I’m told, yes, apparently so, although I certainly don’t feel frustrated.  After all it has been bought to my attention that it is generally considered, that a woman who has reached a certain age and thinks or writes about sex, must be sexually frustrated and not getting any; and also apparently, anything she does write about must be pure fantasy because otherwise, why would she need to write about it?

 Yes, okay, I’m a bit irked about that suggestion but I can see why, stereo typically, someone who has not lived enough to be able to see life from my shoes might think that…

 Stereotypically, is this life?

 We women strive from a very early age to find ‘the one’ he has to be everything we dream of. Animal instincts kick in at such an early age, the need to find someone genetically superior with whom to procreate.  At school when we should be concentrating on being educated so we can be useful independent beings and it’s all chaste kisses behind the bike sheds and experimentation with peer pressure, gropes at the school disco and sixth form study sleep-ins are just a hotbed of fornication. At university its all this party, that coffee shop, this bar to meet the lads, alcohol, perhaps drugs *shudders*. In the workplace its short skirts and heels, cleavage and mascara, trilled laughter at the photocopier, furtive touches at the watercooler, a quickie in the stationary office. Yes, I’m prone to exaggeration but you get the picture. Because he is out there somewhere, our Prince Charming who will sweep into our lives and make us complete and as they say love is blind, is there really such a thing as perfect?

So he’s caught and ensnared by your girlish charms, the love life swirls in a vortex of passion and discovery. You get engaged, married; get a house, things swim along nicely in your D.I.N.K.Y lifestyle until the need for a small person rears its head. But this is progress, the next step in the chain, or so we are told. A child is born and yes, he/she is the ultimate in beautiful.  Even at few weeks old when you have been getting up every 2 hours to feed, you mind is numb, overtiredness threatens to shatter your sanity, tears rolling down your face.  The sink is full of washing up and you have no clean clothes because they are covered in upchucked milk; but the baby is still beautiful, thankfully, God Bless Mother Nature. 

Fast forward a few years and you start feeling you have a grip on your life, yes, I did say years and I’m not kidding. If you are lucky you have got to stay at home and nursery starts allowing you a few precious hours breathing space; or as a working Mum you are still dropping off, working, picking up being Mum 24/7 – harsh.  As life gets back into a manageable pattern and if you don’t have the mad urge to have another baby, what do you see when you look around you? A not so controlled house with wallpaper being shredded off the wall, or crayoned on? A tired and disgruntled husband who has taken second place in your life for three years and feels neglected? A nonexistent sex life due to sheer exhaustion? So you sit back and take stock. Your hair is a mess, your body flabby, you are tired and strained, a night out is a dim and distant flicker in your imagination, a day off seems impossible. Your husband thinks nothing of farting in front of you and cuts his toenails so they ping all over the bathroom floor, leaves his dirty socks rolled up in balls in the washing and expects you to pull them loose before they get washed.

Yep, it’s a nightmare. Your mind is waking up and it doesn’t know who the hell you are any more. Your body is waking up and you want to be flirtatious and sexy, you want romancing and loving, perhaps with a little hard f*****g thrown in for good measure? Mr. Wonderful has become Mr. OhTooFamiliar and clawing back love and passion seems nigh on impossible. You no longer know who you are so how can you hope to find the ‘we’ again?

Bored, frustrated? Perhaps….

Sadly I’m no self help guru, the simple truth is I don’t have the answer. It’s a back to square one job. You can’t expect to be the woman you were pre-family so you need to find the woman you are now. The woman who has a family, who is tired, who needs to love and be loved in return.  The only suggestion I can think of to make it work from here is communication and sharing. Marriage is hard, it never stops needing to be worked at and if you can’t talk you might as well call it quits now.

Find out what you need, in a world where everyone needs you be aware that you have needs too, emotionally, physically, sexually, intellectually, you need to feel worthwhile and fulfilled and it is your husbands ‘job’ to contribute to you, as it is yours to contribute to him. You are in this together and if you want it to stay that way, you need to talk.


She watched him as he walked across the green, his lithe athleticism in fluid beauty of movement. Sinewy strength of taut muscles, tension bound like the worried expression on his face. She knew so much was wrong with his life, so much that she just couldn’t fathom the depth of his concern. Worst still, she was ineffectual to help him.

As he saw her his face became radiant, like clouds lifting after a summer storm making way for the suns rays to caress her skin.

“It’s good to see you.” he said simply and she nodded her voice suddenly silenced, he sat down next to her on the bench, folded tightly, his elbows on his knees, he ran his fingers through his hair, knuckles white with pressure. They sat in silence, each comforted by the presence of the other but maintaining distance. She listened to the sound of his breathing for some time, waiting for what he wanted to say. Eventually he murmured “I’m so glad you came.” He lifted his head and met her gaze with his glacier blue eyes, so penetrating, reaching into her soul, grasping her heart and twisting, her emotion rushing to her throat.

“You know don’t you.” he asked and once more she nodded and looked away, staring across the open space into nothing. “I’m sorry, it can’t be any other way.” he sighed “You have been all that has been bright to me for such a long time. Thank you, really. I love you.” he fell silent, his message delivered.

She felt the breeze on her face, noticed the chill creep through her coat and eventually the reality that night had fallen and she remained sitting on the bench in the park reached her. She turned to where he had sat so many hours ago and there was nothing, a gaping space where he should have been, to hold her, whisper soothing words of comfort and ease the pain from her body with his tender kisses.

Slowly, rising to her feet, fighting the cold cramp feelings of inactivity she stood. As the long-captive tears rolled down her cheeks  she reached within herself to the very core of her existence and found a spark, a glimmer of hope which made her move and took her safely home.

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