Friday, 15 August 2014

Salad Days

Because of trying to eat low-carb, my work lunchtimes are stultifying similar: essentially salad in the summer and soup in the winter.  I don't know why a sandwich seems more interesting and should seem to have more variables but it does.

I tend to eat the same thing until I can stand it no more and I am lacking inspiration to think of new combinations - so I thought I'd ask you.

At the moment I'm eating chicken and avocado - leaves, marinaded chicken, half an avocado and a couple of baby tomatoes with balsamic dressing

Previous choices I'm now sick of:

1) Smoked salmon and prawn with Marie Rose sauce, half an avocado, cucumber and leaves

2) Proscuitto, dolcelatte and fig with leaves and balsamic dressing

Any bright non-carb ideas?  Any soup ideas also welcome!

Today I have a day's leave and am meeting my mum, niece and nephew to do a treasure hunt in the City and a trip on the river bus and cable car.  Should be active and as my brother lives in Cheshire, I don't see them much.

Tomorrow we have an epic hike with friends - including pub lunch.  I had to check with them whether they'd be okay for a 10 miler as last time we took friends hiking, they were so exhausted they fell asleep in their dinner!  Oops.

Monday, 11 August 2014

Clothes line

Do you know, I am actually glad we're not going on holiday this year?  And that is only because of the agonies about clothes.  Much more so if it's somewhere hot where I might have to wear a swimsuit - or look odd.  Or look a damn sight more than odd in a swimsuit of course!

As it is I'm fretting at the back of my mind about dinner in a posh hotel restaurant for P's birthday.  I seem to be treating it like I treat mirrors - I look at it out of the corner of my eye, and yet manage not to see beyond which is necessary.  Although if I don't get on and book it, it won't happen anyway.  A couple of years ago we went there and I wore a navy lace pencil skirt and a satin belted kimono jacket and actually felt pretty good: I was at least 2 sizes smaller.  My pencil skirt days are behind me literally and metaphorically.

We've been doing lots of hiking - in fact so much that I struggle to stay awake on Saturday evenings. I'm also trying to do one or two long walks during the week.  Does this help?  Who knows.  I suppose it gives me the illusion of trying but I don't think I'm any slimmer.

Still putting some effort in to food - I manage a healthy, low-carb breakfast, lunch and dinner but I'm eating too much fruit and too many snacks.  The odd bag of crips (even lower calorie ones) DOES count and I need to stop that.  I seem to be hungry a lot at the moment and I don't know why.  Mind you, there's an unopen bag of nuts on my desk that I could eat instead of Wotsits and must.  They'd fill me up too.  It's just they're so..... worthy.  No matter.  I pledge: no more crisps.

Thursday, 31 July 2014

Clothes maketh the woman

I met with two friends for a drink and something light to eat tonight.  No biggie, right?  (No pun intended...)  Except we went to a hip members' club in hip Hoxton.  I'm surprised they let me in - and I wouldn't be surprised if they terminate my friend's membership as a result!

I am the antithesis of hip.  I'm kinda frumpy really.  That's not exactly a style choice, but it how it all ends up.  I felt acutely uncomfortable all night.

I texted one friend to say that I'd have to buy an outfit if we were to do that again - but it's really like the pig's proverbial lipstick, ie inconsequential to the overall effect.

I am sure it was supposed to be a treat and I feel mean that I hated it so much.

And I wish I could get a makeover.  Is there a way or an outfit that could make me look okay whilst I (over)fill it in the way I do?  I don't think so.  I don't mean a makeover, do I?  I essentially mean the whole magic wand bit - and actually even the Fairy Godmother had decent base material to work with!  Hmm, as ever, I seem to be left hoping for a miracle!

Thursday, 17 July 2014

Of floracide and other things

In the long slow tarting up of our flat, we have cleared our small balcony and I have re-planted the planters.  Sounds simple but I have the opposite of a green finger - probably a black one.  All plants in my care die.  It's been less than a week and the violas are looking sickly, the lavender shows signs of queasiness and only the cosmos looks okay.  And even then, some of the leaves are dying.  P helpfully suggested plastic flowers.  No.  Obv.  I think I have to have temporary flowers and keep replanting and slaughtering fresh victims.

What I really need to do is sort out my clothes.  I have a LOT of clothes - and yet I reckon only about 2% actually fit me.  I have some nice things, surprisingly.  Surprising because I pretty much buy everything from ebay.  It seems pointless spending money on clothes - firstly because I am ever hopeful that I will lose weight (HA!) and secondly because, well, lipstick on a pig.  If I ever get back in my 16s, I will have a whole wardrobe.

This weekend we have guests coming.  Conservative eating guests.  We're doing Italian as I know they like that (they don't like Thai!  Who doesn't like Thai?!).  Antipasti including homemade caponata, meatball lasagne with tricolore salad and tiramisu (because P loves it and I hardly ever make it).  Almost embarrassingly easy.  I had a stern injunction not to put too much pressure on myself and because time will be tight, I have heeded it.  But I still feel almost furtive about the lack of finesse and effort (look away Seren!  This is not the calibre of food of chez Seren)

And now, on to an update.  Firstly, thank you all for your comments - I appreciated every one and it made me feel less alone to an extent I can't properly exress.  I think the main things that I will take away from them is 1) Amy and I should clearly swop husbands (although 2 clingy people in one marriage might be a recipe for disaster), 2) Yes to the flouncing - but the circumstances have to be right.  We talked about his behaviour and he took responsibility for being horrible.  I didn't talk about my feeling that he doesn't love me; I am pretty sure he thinks he does and it would be pretty patronising to insist otherwise.  In fact, he said he did and he said he couldn't understand why I needed to be kept being told I was a 'worthwhile' person when I so clearly was.  This is quite effusive for him.

Thursday, 10 July 2014

An explanation

I just read Gabby's comment (thanks Gabby) and I feel awful.  Maybe I have not been fair in the way I portray P.

If you were to meet him, you'd like him.  Everyone likes him - he has charisma and seems very laid back and genial.  He's a great reconteur.  He is funny, quirky and clever and he has real creativity.  The other day he noticed it was Independence Day and we were home - he suggested having an American themed evening and we had US food and wine and watched an American film.  Above all, he is fun!

He isn't particularly laid back fundamentally, but I guess most people are different privately.  He has a low tolerance level for idiocy - and I do irritate him.  He's extremely self-contained - unless I make the move after an argument he would be quite capable of withdrawing and withdrawing until we became strangers.  I am sure that if I left, he would not try to stop me or even look back.

I don't think he values me - and most of this is about how awful I look.  And I have to be fair - I loathe the way I look, why would I expect him to feel otherwise?  I can't meet my own eye in the mirror, how can I expect him to meet my eye?  How can I expect someone to see a value in me that I do not think is there myself?

He can't remember today what he said last night - and I can't forget.

Love - whatever that is

I write for many reasons - this is catharsis.  Maybe it's self-indulgent, but unless I draw the poison I sometimes think I'll go mad.  No-one needs to read this sort of thing.

My name - my real name - means beloved.  But I never have been.  The only person I knew truly loved me was my late grandmother.  My father couldn't stand me - from an early age, I knew this.  It's okay, he's not a nice man and I can do without him.  My mother sees everything through the prism of herself - she's not capable of standing outside that.

My husband doesn't love me.

He would say he does - and I'm not going to illuminate him - but I know he doesn't.  I watch, you see, how men treat the women they love.  He barely meets my eye, he is very rarely affectionate and the main emotion I evoke in him is irritatation.

Don't get me wrong - when things are bad in other areas of my life, he's a rock.  He gets irritated by the way I handle things but he'll help me battle through things.  But I can no longer pretend that things are okay when I feel this unhappy.

Tonight is a great example - not dramatic but typical.  He was out last night and didn't arrive back until late; this disturbs my sleep, and whilst I do not resent this at all, I was tired today.  Actually I look forward to it because if he is going to be affectionate, it's when he's had a bit to drink - and I like that.  We were both having our hair cut but rather than going home, he went to meet a friend in the pub and said to come and join them.  I would rather have gone home but I was pleased to be asked.  All was well until the end of the evening.  They wanted to go to the pub after dinner, we went in and P's friend bumped into someone he knew.  P and I waited at the end of the bar for him.  I tried to steal a moment for the two of us and attempted to meet his eye and snuggle in to him.  This was rebuffed - because, I was told, he did not like the beer.  He later said this was "needy".  We left; I tried to take his hand and was told no, he needed the loo.  We found a loo and I fumbled for some change - this was described as controlling.  He came out of the loo and flicked water at me - and took my arm and wiped his wet hand on it.  I said "don't do that" and he walked off without a backwards glance.  He often does walk on and doesn't look back but this was pointed in the extreme.  When I caught him up I was told I had caused him to miss the train (a delay of 3 mins) and told to apologise for hurting his feelings when he went to take my arm.  I got a series of comments all the way home about not doing "what a normal person would do", how I am inept at relationships, how I do not know how to be part of a team, I have to have everything explained to me like a child and so on.  I did apologise and tried to explain how I felt from his actions but this was dismissed.  I tried to ask whether it was worth it to cause such an upset.  I was told I'd spoilt a pleasant evening.

As I say, this is not unusual.  I work pretty hard not to cause any kind of upset but inevitably these things happen - I reckon every 2-3 weeks.  He always says it's my fault, I always get the "not normal", that I am controlling and a doormat and that I think the world revolves about me.  Of these, I would say only the doormat accusation is valid.

I do not handle confrontation well.  It feels as though my stomach is beating hard in my heart, my mouth goes dry and I think I might be sick.  I kind of hope I am sick as it would maybe purge the overwhelming feelings of desperation and unhappiness.  In reality I know he'll be fine tomorrow - it will have passed for him.  He's aleep now but my heart is still beating too fast and I feel very unhappy.  I cannot sleep and I do not know what to do with myself except this.

I don't think this is love.  I'm not going to tell him he doesn't love me because a) it sounds arrogant and b) I don't really want him to realise this and leave.  I know he doesn't find me attractive - and in this, I cannot blame him.  I cannot blame him, but he's put on a lot of weight and to me, he's still him.  But I think, no I pretty much know, that if I were more attractive, things would be better between us.  I think he would look at me, meet my gaze, be less dismissive and contemptuous. I know I have integrity and I'm kind but I also know that this is not enough - not for him, perhaps not for anyone.  Fundamentally I fear I am unloveable but I would like to somehow get him to fall in love with me;  I just don't know how.

Monday, 7 July 2014

Aye, an' there's the rub

As I have documente before - with more candour than sense maybe - I am occasionally afflicted with 'chub rub'.  Oh yes, I have all the glamour.

So I bought a pair of anti-chub rub things - a little like cycling shorts (and yes, I'm aware of the irony) crossed with some sort of surgical bandaging -  that you wear under skirts.  They are grim things indeed; souless, joyless and aggressively ugly.  Now, I don't need to be told of my singular lack of physical charms.  Indeed, I would rather not be reminded on a daily basis (other than in reflective surfaces which I shun like a vampire afraid of betrayal).  So I decided to try something called bandelettes.  They look a bit like the top of hold ups, without actually holding anything up - lacy bands.  They're reasonably attractive - possibly not so much that I'd wear them sticking out of a pair of short shorts, like in their advertising.  But then, if I could wear short shorts, we wouldn't be here in the first place.  You measure your thigh and order from a company called Mish - who, I must say were super-quick with delivery.  They come in black, white and nude and I ordered nude - although anyone who has met me will know that nude on me is almost certainly white.

Today was the inaugral wearing.  I tried them on yesterday and they felt pretty good - snug without being like a tourniquet or that weird thing the guy wears round his thigh in Angels and Demons.  Airy too - which after surgical bandage/cycle shorts, was rather nice even if I did keep nervously checking my skirt was still in situ.  They do roll down a bit at the back on one side - presumably like everyone has one breast slightly larger than the other, there is also a larger buttock.  Or that may just be me.  I was a bit anxious about walking/walking upstairs but a commute and a short trip out at lunchtime and they were still in place.  All was well until in the middle of Victoria station the left one started to descend.  The more I tried to surreptiously tug at it, the more it tried to roll up.  I shuffled into W H Smiths and hid in a corner, trying adjust them.  At which point, it rolled decisively up into a band, shot down my leg and pinged off across the shop floor.  I fielded it with a speed that any professional baseball player would envy and shot out of the shop.  Now, of course, I had lace on one side and naked, unconfined flesh on the other - a recipe for rubbing if ever I heard one.

I put them back on for a trip to Homebase (on the basis that no-one would turn a hair if they pinged off in synchronicity) and they stayed on so it's possible that I had not adjusted them properly.  Tomorrow I will try again.  It's equally possible that they will choose the most inopportune time to go free-range then.  It's anyone's guess.  But faint heart never won fair, unblemished thigh.