Between A Rock and A Hard Place
November 27, 2011 § 39 Comments
We plankton plumply (in my case – well, I feel it today, as I ate too much tiramisu last night) reside between a rock and a hard place. We are damned if we do, we are damned if we don’t. I am sure I can think of any number of other cliches (I still haven’t got to grips with that bloody accent on my gorgeous Mac, despite all your kind and helpful instructions some weeks back; apologies) which basically say we are fucked.
If we ring a man we like, he invariably runs a bloody marathon of miles into the ether; if we don’t, we never hear Jack Shit from him, because he is either too weighed down with baggage, or too chicken or too dysfunctional or too lazy or too uninterested or too indifferent to take the initiative himself. It can be more than bleeding depressing.
List-maker that I am, I have somewhere a piece of green paper charting the not entirely modest number of notches I have clocked up on the proverbial bed post over the years (I wrote about this in some early post, I forget which). I compiled the aide-memoir, obviously, because I didn’t want to forget any of them. Well, that’s not entirely true: some of them were eminently forgettable and others don’t deserve to be remembered, but it is a sport of sorts to look back upon the somewhat, um, variable list, and give a wry nod to nostalgia. Anyway, I now have a new piece of paper with a slightly different agenda. It has a list comprising all the men, post-divorce, who have hoved (is that the word?) into view in one form or another – and all buggered off out of view again, for one reason or another. This whole blog in a nutshell, and in no particular order and doubtless omitting one or two, is contained below and speaks not volumes but megabytes:-
Striped Shirt Married Man
(Who knows how many more will be added to this redundant list over the next few months, if I am lucky enough to meet any other men, in order just to be toyed with, overlooked, or rejected by them?)
I started this blog saying There Are No Men, a statement which the above list might seem to belie. But of course, it doesn’t, and I still stand by original statement, with knobs on. This current list is a perfect reflection of the fact that TANM, because not one of the above has come up trumps so as far happy outcomes and myself are concerned, so in some ways they might as well not have ever existed for me. They have spelled nothing but dashed hopes and disappointment. As I said at the outset, back in July, any men that are, apparently, “available” are indeed married (Stripey shirt); still in love with their late or ex-wives (Flowery-shirt, Circus, Snowman, Lacrymose); SFAR (Emailing; Kidnap N; Smidgen; and, though I hesitate to say it, perhaps LS?); or an unfortunate combination of the above.
The ones who have fancied me have been no good because, although they have contacted me and made sweet declarations, (Striped shirt; PS; KN; and the odd other) or might fancy me and have gone in for mixed messages (Smidgen), I have either not fancied them or have not been sure they fancy me, or in Stripey’s case were not available in my book in the first place. I am not in the business of only fancying men who clearly don’t fancy me, I promise, (though I do know that that is some women’s thing; I have more than my fair share of traits but that doesn’t happen to be one of them). Yet of the ones whom I have fancied and, blow me down, have shown signs of fancying me (Snowman, Smidgen, Circus, Lacrymose, Flowery shirt, Emailing and, even, dare I say it though presumably tempting Fate to do so, despite the fact She has been doing quite nothing for me on the romantic front of late: Long Shot), I have had a spate of bad luck which would seem beyond unjust. These men have asked for my contact details, indeed been in touch, to great internal fanfare on my part… and then… fuck all. I mean, what the fuck is that about? When I know I have behaved impeccably and responded with just the right amount of friendliness yet not too much etc etc etc. In some cases, I haven’t even had the chance to respond well or badly, pushily or coolly, rightly or wrongly, because they’ve asked for my number/email, then never followed it up (Lacrymose, Circus, LS). Don’t fuck with the heads of vulnerable plankton if you don’t intend to follow up on your kind attentions, that’s what I say.
Anyway, the rock is that I cannot contact them overtly because I am old fashioned and that will just make matters worse and they’ll say, “Who?” or “Thanks but no thanks” or “What? YOU? Are you on drugs to think that I would be interested in you?”, and the humiliation will be worse than simple neglect, it will be nuclear. And the hard place is that not giving a little prompt here or nudge there, means I never hear from them again and will be consigned to the plankton scrapheap till the pointlessly beating heart finally says fuck it once and for all and gives up the cobwebby ghost for ever.
Having said all this, there is nothing to stop me having conversations with Janey and BF to discuss the relative merits of them giving LS a little prompt here or there, which they will surely do, if we all think it is right, because they along with imaginative Charlotte and supportive Mrs Standard Bearer, are the greatest Plankton champions any plankton has the right to have.
There again, from where I am sitting, it does slightly feel as though I am one of those stand-alone penguins in Frozen Planet who has had the misfortune to become parted from the rest of the flock all huddling together in a rock concert crowd against the 130mph freezing winds, and who is alone, exposed, between the hostile snow-tossed mountain and the contemptuous iceberg. The difference is, and I don’t know what’s worse, I am so inedible, obv, I don’t even fucking have a polar predator coming after me.