Xanga feels like a ghost town sometimes. I come back from time to time, but little seems to happen. I suppose I can be a ghost for a few minutes.

It's been nearly a year since I wrote an entry. What's happened since then? Well, I'm still working in the Council part time and playing internet poker on my days off. I'm pretty good, apparently. My friend told me last night he looked up my screen name of a database of several hundred thousand internet players and I was 11,000th!

My parents are still separated, but getting on well, and I still go to Michelle's house once a week. I also visit my Dad every weekend, which I think he enjoys. He likes to cook elaborate meals and test them on people, which I'm obviously fine with. I feel guilty about going back every weekend. I should probably be going out and meeting people more, but I dislike heading out into city, and pine for home.  

My brother moved in with his girlfriend Kath. They bicker a bit, but are still very much in love, I think. They have a little black cat called Milly, with huge eyes and a wonky tail. Unfortunately Milly's brother George got squished on the roads a month or two ago, and Kath was very distraught.

I went on a few dates in the past year, but no chemistry to speak of. I'm a bit lonely, but I'm used to that and still pretty happy. I have a platonic soulmate and I'm not sufficiently desperate to do what my uncle did and marry someone he didn't love just because he couldn't stand to be alone.  

If anyone of my old blog friends are reading, I miss you.

I get a little wistful when I visit Michelle's house, because she has a wall covered with photographs. I haven't taken many photographs in my life, so I've missed out on the opportunity to document the things I've done. However it's a little strange sometimes seeing old photographs of myself, as I often can't remember how I felt or what I was doing in that period of my life. It's similar when I go through old schoolwork, or university notes. I think, 'did I really once know these things?'Occasionally a smell or a chance saying arouses an old emotion, a glimpse of how I once felt, but then it goes. I'm very prone to nostalgia because of these brief flashes of emotional memory.

Mum's moved out of the family home, but seems to be coping well. Last night I drunk a LOT of alcohol for my birthday celebration, and my friends got me a chocolate brownie with a candle on it. I was mucho touched.

You mean you're going to turn down a perfectly good misery-wallowing opportunity, and come over all stoical and optimistic?
 
You bastard. I guess I'll have to fall in line.
 
Please pass my love to mum, and tell her not to worry. I don't want to make things harder for her than they already are, though I couldn't have said that with any confidence a couple of days ago. That said, it's probably best if I don't see her for a while, because I'm still a bit frustrated and don't want to throw a 'Kevin'.
 
Looking forward to seeing you and Tom on the weekend. Perhaps some bridge on Sunday if you're up for it.
 
Sam.
 
PS - Might be in late on Friday. Will let you know nearer the time.


 

---

From: robert********@tiscali.co.uk
To: sam********@hotmail.com
Subject: not a reply
Date: Tue, 26 Feb 2008 15:00:17 +0000

Dear Sam

I'm not replying as such.

Probably.

The official communiqué reads as below.

Carrie is off to Anne's Friday until Tuesday so not here for the weekend, and has already twigged you're not wildly ecstatic about things.

If you do want to feel miffed at the situation be my guest, but please don't bother on my account.

After 4 weeks of knowing what was about to happen, I've become quite used to the idea, can see possible advantages in the situation and am rather looking forward to my new circumstance.

The main thing bothering Carrie at the moment is the way you feel about it [I'm a heartless bastard and couldn't give a shit].

This is patently absurd.

As I'm happily resigned, and don't need to be worried over the pair of you could end up feeding each other's angst for nothing.

As far as you're concerned, nothing much will change - the bungalow will stay with me, I'll have enough to live on and cook with - you can do your own bloody washing, including the [spare bedroom]  bedding when it starts to smell.

''Ask not for whom the bell tolls '' etc - it's stopped ringing for me, I'd ignore it if I were you.

R.

 

 

Dear
After 30 + years together, Carrie has decided that it's time to move on.
We remain friends, and wish each other well.
When she has found a place to live, she'll be moving out of 'Oakleigh'.
I'll be staying with the animals and occasional hotel [kids] guests.
High days, holidays, parties etc. will be as before, all under one roof, but now we'll have more spare beds to accommodate weary revellers.
Booked holidays and parties are unchanged, and we hope, both of us, to see you soon.
Regards Rob.

Hi Dad,
 
I'm sorry for bailing on Sunday. I know you spent time planning that meal. However, I was in shock and probably wouldn't have made great company. Not that I normally do ('The Monosyllable Kid'). Anyway, it was a selfish way to act.
 
To his credit, Tom dealt with the news with remarkable maturity and pragmatism. I took it like a five year-old child. I know I should take a balanced view, to try and see things from both sides, but my overwhelming reaction has been anger towards mum for doing this to you. To my mind, you're much the same man you were ten years ago. If anything, you've become a kinder and more understanding person, particularly since retiring. It's a cruel irony that had you continued to work yourself into the ground with a job you hated, perhaps none of this would have happened.
 
I spoke to Michelle, who was sad and surprised to hear the news. Her parents separated when she was young. She said sometimes it's not a case of right or wrong, but of people growing apart. I suspect I'll eventually come to see things in those terms, but until then, the dame done you wrong. I think mum's made a crazy decision, to leave a good man who loves her very much. As much as I wish her happiness, I hope she'll realise that.
 
The weirdest thing about this is that it's made me realise how much I've used our family unit, and my perception of its stability, as an emotional crutch. And for far too long. Perhaps I should grow up.
 
I'll stop rambling now. I hope you know I'll be there for you if you need me. Or at least, when you want someone to eat your food and groan when you repeat your old stories.
 
With much love,
The Stunted One.
 
PS - For fuck's sake, don't reply to this. Seriously. I'll only get embarrassed and wish I hadn't sent it. 
 

My mum has announced that she's leaving my dad.