October 8, 2011 § 26 Comments
I learned yesterday – and this was not the reason for my shit day – that Snowman (see trio of earlier posts called Snowman l, ll, lll), among all the other men I have heard about this week, is now also enjoying manifestly the benefits of being single, with women here, there and everywhere, to the point that he is shocking his children. This was not a personal blow because I don’t have feelings for him, haven’t seen him for months, but it does in some senses add to the general blow.
This week I have heard about several men for whom the single life is all about the merriment of betraying not one woman at a time but several. What larks! In fact the on dit is that men are at it to such an extent that if a woman wants to be with someone, then she has to lump it or leave it because that is just how it is and tough. We will just have to get real: this is the way of the world.
Perhaps because I was having such a shit and tearful day yesterday (don’t ask; it’s too tedious) and so far today is proving no less shitty, I am choosing to see the world only from one particular – exceeding depressing – angle. But it does seem to me extraordinarily true that the widowed/divorced men I know, or know of, are waking up to find themselves pigs in fields of clover and woman-infinite shit. Even the men like Snowman who was clobbered by bereavement or all the men I have met who have temporarily been rendered too raw by the experience of divorce to contemplate another relationship, are within a flash more “sorted” by more wonderful women than they could ever imagine they had coming to them.
One of my recently divorced girlfriends is the coolest woman in all Europe and when she found the man she was seeing was also seeing others, walked. But not so many women can find it in themselves to be so courageous. Many a plankton thinks, better a tiny slither of him, the rest of his slithers shared all about amongst half a dozen others, than no slither at all.
It’s true. It does feel like that sometimes. Wives clinging onto their dear husbands for dear life, knowing that if they lose them, however grim the marriage, what is out there – if anything at all – is a whole lot fucking worse.
My friends in Men With So Many Women (5th October) and the one who told me about Snowman, all safely married, seemed, in an inverted sympathetic sort of way, not to mind telling a plankton – for her own “protection”, you understand – about her need to wake up and smell the coffee, and to lower her already pretty paltry expectations. The hint is that we mustn’t get above ourselves and imagine that we are going to find a faithful man any time soon, and that is just the way it is when the erotic capital has gone the way of gravity.
Forgive me, I write today feeling bitter and twisted and with a bitter and twisted view of the world which doesn’t reflect all reality, of course.
Just get these days sometimes, when all seems bleak and depressing and hopeless and I feel insufferably and unforgivably full of sugary self-pity and the breadknife to the jugular seems like an attractive option.
More tomorrow about date with PS and pretext for seeing LS.
If I am still here.
No, shoot me down! I take that back. Of course I will still be here. Busy counting my fucking blessings.