Redemption day

So on a (probably) cold January day in 1997 I moved into my first house and paid my first mortgage payment. Twenty-five years later I’ve just paid my last. It was an interest only mortgage that has been offset for years so has never cost me anything. The capitol has slowly been cut down as they still take the interest amount, so been acting like a small repayment mortgage. But today is the so called ‘Redemption day’, they give you a figure and you pay it and bye bye mortgage. That payment has now been made. Where did that twenty-five years go? The endowment came out last December. That’s it now, apart from the final balance (I think they owe me some), it’s over, the house is mine. Aged fifty. I supposed I should be happy, but one form of anxiety soon replaces the last one. I’ll now just be obsessed with pension pots and fund portfolios.

Then something strange happened

Phone pinged at 22:40 on the 6th. It was a message from the ex. it was an ‘opener’, or throw away comment if you like. But we then proceeded to have the longest conversation (albeit by text) that we’d had in about four years.

I even asked the question……and got the reply ‘I changed faith not positions’, which made me crack up. I said I’d take them both out to dinner when they get back from honeymoon, it will be nice to catch up, banter. The only things I can recall these days are all the great places we visited around the world and adventures we had. I’m sure there are arguments and bad times, but they’ve all but faded from memory.

Then I began to realise something. You can’t erase someone from your timeline. Trying to cover up twelve years of your life is like having those ‘missing six months’ in a CV. Whoever is looking at it will not worry about the other thirty years but will be digging to find out what happened then. He wouldn’t be where he is now if it wasn’t for me, if it wasn’t for those twelve years. The stars would not have aligned, I was part of that journey, and he will always be a part of mine.

I look forward to that dinner.

It’s all in a name

Yesterday my Ex. husband got married. They did look fantastic in their traditional Scottish kilts and tartan. Looks like they had a fantastic day, and I’m really pleased for them (no, I actually am!). I did send him a message the day before and said to ‘try not to repeat this every ten years’. As indeed we had a civil partnership is 2012, things started going to shit in 2017 and I think our civil partnership was dissolved in 2019. One thing that always kind of irritated me though…..he kept my name, surname that is. I know it’s a pain in the ass to change banks, passports etc. But I would have thought he would have changed it back to his ‘maiden’ name. But then of course there was the Sonic pun in there so I guess not. Well until today. His name has changed to that of his new husband. That’s kind of given me an odd bit of closure. It’s strange how something like that can hang over you.

I guess last night they would have found out they are both bottoms, after being good Christians of course they would have never slept with each other. I know the Ex. is technically versatile (I even put out a few times, I had less hemorrhoids then), but I think he’s certainly more of a bottom. If his new hubby is versatile then they are both in for a bloody good time. As I said, I wish them well. I’ll always remember the good times we had and maybe one day we’ll all have a beer together and do some reminiscing.

So he’s managed to form a new (and very successful) relationship over the past four years. Me? Well I had a couple of dates with a ‘lovey’ and was dumped on WhatsApp (not too fussed he had a very small dick). Had a date with another guy who had too many issues and dumped me on WhatsApp. Had a sixteen month relationship with a guy who I actually only met three times (thanks Covid). When he visited to stay for a night he brought five pairs of shoes and set up camp in the spare room. I decided that tectonic plates moved faster than this relationship, and sixteen months was a hell of a drought, so buggered off to Gran Canaria and ended that. Had probably close to a hundred random hookups in various countries. And now out of the blue, what was supposed to be a Grindr hookup ended up getting a bit pissed in the pub, followed by a nice evening in the hot tub (he didn’t like hot tubs, but does now) and movies with a Chinese. This weekend we’re having a BBQ. Is he a keeper? No idea yet. May just be a friend, he’s very local. So someone a similar age? Ah no, he’s actually a year younger than the Ex. Will I ever learn? Doubt it, plus I’m too bloody old to care now.

I often wonder if I met the Ex. now would it be different? Yes, there is no way we would have ever got together, nothing really in common other than a love of roller coasters. We did have some good times, but I think it was always a bit doomed to failure. I’m not really the ‘loving’ type, I show very little affection, I have virtually no empathy for people and I don’t have the wardrobe space to accommodate anyone else. So what am I looking for? Not sure, really don’t know, maybe just a friend to hang out with, maybe a bit more.

One things for certain, I won’t be measuring up for a kilt anytime soon and I look forward to that WhatsApp message.

Heartstopper – LGBTQ done right

Why is it done right? The casting is perfect. Joe Locke (Charlie) is openly gay, Kit Connor (Nick) hasn’t revealed his sexuality (and why the bloody hell should he), but if he doesn’t have a passing interest in boys there is no way that magic would have appeared on screen. And they are both seventeen at the time of filming playing a fourteen and fifteen year-old.

If you want to watch a very heart warming and non-cheesy bisexual encounter in a true love story you really do need to binge this Netflix series. It can be done in four hours, then reserve another four to watch the magic again. Plus Olivia Colman as Nick’s mum is magical and the bonus of Stephen Fry doing the sports day voice over. I really do hope there is a season two.

Amazon take note: Evan Hansen IS NOT thirty-five.

If only you could video my dreams

So drank less than a bottle of wine last night as I was tired and just couldn’t be arsed. This of course meant that I didn’t sleep until about 4AM. But boy was I in for a wild ride after that. Started off squeezing the puss out of three boils, they were big ones and managed to get the sack out of two (too much Dr. Pimple Popper). Then I was on a coach, with a dog called Sam (I don’t have a dog called Sam, although my mother had one years ago). I got off the coach and the dog ran away, I tried chasing the dog, but to no avail. I then went back to where everyone else was gathered and couldn’t find the bag I’d left when I started chasing the dog. It was a white bag, not relevant at all, but it does pad out the post.

I then ended up at a roundabout and found a key to a caravan. Managed to find said caravan and no one was in. So promptly took a shower, had a shit and went to bed. Only then in the morning the girl owner of the caravan returned. She was not even the slightest annoyed that I stayed there because all I said I wanted was a shower and a shit. I said I hadn’t taken anything and even brought my own eggs (one of which I’d boiled). I tidied everything up and left. It was only then when I got back to the coach I realised that I had my glasses case but my glasses were missing.

I never did find the dog.

Serotonin strikes back

This morning was interesting. Had mad serotonin rush, beautiful chemical imbalance in the brain. Imagine going up the launch hill of ‘Oblivion’ and that feeling you get when it’s just holding at the drop point. Now imagine that feeling lasting the best part of the day. Today is actually a bank holiday, but the weather is pants, so did some Unreal work instead, as I can quite easily do that in a heightened state of euphoria. Not sure what’s setting the brain off at the moment. Maybe past comes to light, my ex. is getting married (yes not a civil partnership) on Thursday. I know it’s been a long time, five years almost now, since we split, but still somehow feels strange. I’d just like to be a fly on the wall and see who walks down the aisle, if the dog is carrying the rings and does everyone have to come dressed as their favorite Disney character? I wish them well.

Me on the other hand, who knows? My ex. (lots of ex.’s today) girlfriend said to me once that I should have ‘My way’ played at my funeral, as you’ve done everything ‘your way’. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, but maybe now and then ‘My way’ wasn’t necessarily the correct way.

Exit strategy

You know when you’re getting old when just after your birthday those lovely little pension envelopes appear and they contain an extra booklet. I can now apply for free advice… I’ve just put all my pensions into a calculator. Sadly it says I can’t retire immediately. What’s worse is I currently can’t retire when I actually want to. They may not be true, but with my current ‘burn rate’ it’s certainly not sustainable. But alas, I’ll reevaluate it for the next five years. It will become a regular feature like filling out my tax return on New Years Day.

Don’t think I’d want to retire at the moment anyway, or even in five years for that matter, I think I’d just become a bit bored. But the day will come when I get up and think I can no longer walk forty odd miles just powered off a chicken sandwich and a bottle of coke.

Managed to reach a half century

So the time came where I actually reached fifty. I’m as surprised as you are. I can officially no longer leave a good looking corpse, although I somehow seemed determined to leave one sooner rather than later.

So what now?

Some things are coming to an end, mortgage payments, life insurance, sanity. Stability is almost all but certain, I’m not planning on being a miserable ninety year old, where the only thing I have to look forward to is getting through the night without pissing myself. Do I want another relationship? No, I really don’t think so. Been there, done that, have the paperwork. I no longer have the spare wardrobe space to support it. I’m quite happy vanishing a couple of times a year to service various needs. You get to meet lots of new people and indeed some of them turn into friends. I do get the feeling though that I’ve hit some kind of rut that I need to break out of a bit. I’ve always had the gym and that gives me continuity, but there are other things that I feel I should change.

For the first time in a long time (probably twenty-five years), I went flat out at the local BMX track yesterday. I’ve been there for the last few months and during lock-down, but not really in anger as I didn’t have the safety equipment. Although I did manage to dislocate my shoulder a few weeks ago, one quick tug and all was back in order. I had a feeling at the top of that start hill, well even before then I was seriously apprehensive before I even set out. Can I still do this? Do I have the balls to jump from the start gate and pedal flat out to the first jump? There was only one way to find out. I soared through the air like an eagle wearing more padding than Elton John’s grand piano in the back of a Pickford’s lorry. I was free again, the fear was gone. I was there for a couple of hours and probably did about fifteen laps or so. Your heart rate rockets, it’s very tiring.

There’s some other things I need to get a handle on, but I think this could be part of the solution.

Here’s to the next thirty years, at least.

You can’t beat a good psychosis attack

So all was fine Monday, downed a bottle of wine during the evening, watched TV, nothing unusual. Went to bed….and then nothing happened. Just lied there. Tossing and turning, went for a pee a few times, still nothing. Then it started to happen. Things no longer appeared as they should, there was stuff in the room that shouldn’t have been there and also things were missing. Then I couldn’t move. Completely trapped by my own duvet. I was the being attacked by my own mind. I started screaming. If I kept my eyes open was I witnessing reality? If I closed them was I then entering a world that wasn’t real. What was the distinction. I relied on the fact that reality was probably when the dogs were pacing around the bed wondering what the fuck was going on and fantasy was when all was quiet. I watched the clock as two hours passed afraid to move, afraid to open my eyes, afraid to close them. It was a very scary experience, but sadly not the first one and certainly not the last. Caused by a serotonin imbalance. They do say that you are you own worst enemy.

Last night I popped 2mg of Zopiclone after that didn’t do much I had another 3mg. I don’t remember anything after that apart from waking up, so will chalk that up to a success.

Ordered more 5-HTP. That should put everything back in balance. I’m quite happy to be killed by most things, but currently my own mind isn’t one of them.