itsallgrandlike

I started a blog for my students. It was easy to maintain and look after. Maybe I'll give this another go.

Had the first weekend away, which signals that summer is nearly here, that my workload is going to change along with my perception of (my) life. Will I be able to chronicle this change?

This time work was in spa town of Aidipsos. I was sort of dreading going because I'd be working with J. When we first started working together, he set my gaydar off so I casually, in conversation, come out to him. He did not respond in kind. The following year, we were going home from work with a colleague by train. I realised that I wouldn't see these people for a year and didn't want to waste any time with them not talking. Picking up on all his "we"s of that morning, I asked him if he was now in a relationship. He starting hysterically waving his arms in the air saying how great it was to be off the market and before I knew it, he was getting off the train. I turned to my female colleague, puzzled. I asked her if I'd been indiscrete but she assured me that far from, she had wished I had delved further. He'd been the talk of the organisation for years and I had gotten more information out of him than anyone else who had attempted. I was horrified at myself for not realising that I had inadvertently exposed him in such a way. So, for our upcoming weekend, all I really wanted to knowabout  was the relationship he was in, and it was the thing I could never allow myself to ask.

Then I did my back in about an hour before i was due to leave, but that is another story.

We got there and went for a swim under a hot waterfall. In our conversations. He confirmed some suspicions I have about my career and consequently he probably has set in motion my course of action over the next few years. After work the following day, I went for a walk up the windy mountains amongst dead snakes and olive groves, which brought back memories of twenty years back, and even further. I realised that all the decisions I have made in my life, I had made when I was fifteen.

Sitting in the beautiful Wellness centre amongst all the bejeweled women, I mentioned this to him, even saying that when I was fifteen, I always had this sneaking suspicion that I'd get old alone. He responded by telling me that being in a relationship is not all that it is cracked up to be. I got the impression that he wanted me to delve in further, but I wouldn't.

I think we ended our collaboaration understanding each other without having said anything. That's not how I do things so I admire my strength to restrain my urges, but it was nice.

That said, now that we are back in our home bases, he's more than likely relieved he never really said anything to me. Kind of sad in a way, but I respect his viewpoint

I haven't logged into this for so long I even forgot my own name.

:(

The noise around and in my flat has been really getting to me, largely because I have no control over it. I tried talking to the neighbours about it but they claimed that they cannot hear the humming sound that is emitting from their abode into mine. Because I am a foreigner, they also suggested I bring a Greek into my flat to see if they could hear it. Not another person, but another Greek. THerby suggesting, I suppose, that only if another Greek hears the noise would it be a problem.

So, the next day, going to a lesson, I was getting more and more frustrated, to the point where I was talking and gesturing to some imaginary person in front of me.

Then I hear a MEEEAAAAAOOOOOOwwwwwwwwwwww

There in front of me was a bald, fat lady sitting on her window sill and MEaowing at me.

Two days ago, she was decorating a christmas tree and gave me another as I passed by. I'm not sure if it's reserved for me but it's like she's meaowing "You're as crazy as I am."

Am thinking of changing my route, but I reckon it's good to be reminded of things. Now that I'm thinking of it, Perhaps I should respond with a SQUEAK SQUEAK the next time, just to whet her appetite.

The thump thump of the neighbour’s music two floors down woke me up once again that morning. The music was still blaring when I got home that evening and started going on until well into the small hours. It wasn’t as if this were the first time and I had complained before but the injustice of it all was getting to me. It wasn’t fair. Someone else was controlling the times when I could relax or sleep in the home that I had bought for myself. It’s not like I can pick up my stuff and leave.

After hours of pacing, I went down stairs and banged on the door. The music stopped, there was all hush and silence and mention was made that it was the police coming again. The door opened and I could see that a party was going on in a flat with cheap beer and cheap furniture. They were Albanian. I had to thread softly.

They apologised but said they just wanted to have a party. As it wasn’t my first time having to do this and now I was in having to keep my rage in check, I started shouting at the times this week I had been disturbed by the music. Two men started approaching me, getting ready for a fight. I don’t think I’ve ever hit anyone in my life, but I was out for blood and ready for what was to ensue.

Suddenly, a reveler on good spirits got to the door before them, told them he would handle me and closed the door behind him.

In the hall, I was shaking with fury but I was struck by a glint he had in his eye and stood there glaring at him. Next thing I knew he had his arms around me in an embrace, his head somehow under my armpit, and lifting me up. Hard as I tried, I couldn’t be angry with him and, in bursts of laughter, ordered him to let me down.

The door opened and he let me go, pleading with the others to let it be, he was in control.

I took this opportunity to escape and made my way up the stairs. He followed me full of enthusiasm of his new-found pacifying skills. I kind of looked at him wondering could it be anything more but deciding not to push it. Sternly, I told him to go back to his party, have a good night but keep the music down.

I got back to my room, bemused at my change in mood. Then the music pumped up again. Half an hour later, I had to call the police. They never turned up and it all ended at sunrise -= when I had to get ready for work.

The first had a beautiryl beardline,
The moustache full, the sides light
He couldn't take his eyes off the old women.

The second I never saw
Just the side of his face as he sat beside me.
All I wanted was to place my head between
the nook of his head and shoulder,
smell him and rest awhile.

The third was dressed in Mod, 
with eyes for the women;
straight as straight can be.
At this stage, I was engrossed in the memory of the other two
Just when I came out of it, our eyes locked and we both knew.
Then I got off.

A typical train ride a month ago, and yet one that flashes in my mind's eye
now and again.

Spent Clean Monday not wanting to think.
I'd watch TV, I'd browse the internet;
anything but clean and live the moment.
Didn't want to think about not being loved. 

I watched an anti-creationist video.
Instead of thinking about how we are going to spend 
eternity with or without God
it said
we should enjoy every moment until the end of what we have.

Then L rang. D is in a chronic state.

Then I scraped yesterday's eggs off the floor
washed the dishes and made tofu dinner,
flossed and showered and didn't shave

And now I'm here, listening to a respirator,
that somehow rattles a window,
and the whirring of some clock or other.

I'll never find the love I seek

And what of it?

 

An. has left. I met him through gardar. The first time we hung out together, he spent a long time talking about his mother and I completely lost interest in him. But he rang the following week and before we knew it, we had become fast friends.

 

Despite being content here, he felt he wasn’t living to his full potential. He left. It’s not every day you meet people who try to live their dreams. I’m sending him a lot of positive energy tonight. He has made the effort. With a bit of luck things will go his way.

 

On our last night together, he talked of the slow death of his father and the unease it brings him to be still living in the same house. Earlier that day, I had been to a friend’s house. Out of nowhere, I began to remember and miss her mother who had lived and died there; so, I could relate.

 

I woke up the next morning with the mother of all hangovers. I had small glasses (why in English, the word glass means so many things?) and so I thought I was drinking small amounts of gin and tonic (my happy, I-don’t-think-I-can-carry-this-party-off drink). In my mind, I know when to toe the line when it comes to drinking. On my forty-first year on this planet, I learnt that I haven’t a fucking clue.

The first thing I uttered was “Sweet Jesus. Please tell me I didn’t send him my phone number”. Yes, dear reader, to the first man to show interest in me on gaydar for a long time and to show me his penis to boot, I, in my inebriated state you understand, sent him my phone number.

People who make passes at drunk men in glasses will get telephone numbers.

Fortunately, the guy seems to be a respectable human being, but that story is boring.

Then I got up and checked what I had written. I was very surprised at the number of times it mentioned loneliness and thought that was interesting.

Write entries when you are plastered.

That evening, bolstered by being able to witness my party via the internet, my brother bought himself a webcam and microphone and the two of us spent a while on SKYPE chatting and playing chess. During our conversation, his wife came in and read him the riot act about wasting time. She roared and screamed. I switched off my microphone. I would never stand to be treated by anyone like that.

Which reminded me of my entry on loneliness.

Sometimes, loneliness ain’t half bad.

Thanks to REBOOT, A TRICK MIND, BRAIN DUMP and BRICKS ON THE RED (the latter two are on blogspot). I’ve lost interest in diaries as such, but I usually pop into your sites every fortnight or so to catch up on what you are doing. As long as you people write, I’ll always be curious to know what you are up to. People I miss are REALLYTRULY (who I try to meet up with every time I’m in London) and the grand daddy of us all QUEERSCRIBE.

I am so drunk! Perhaps it’s better you don’t bother read this.

Today, I hit the big FOUR ONE, I’m forty one years on this planet. By and large, I think I’ve made a mess of it. I’ve slept too much and I spend too much time worrying about things.

Two years ago, I decided to change my life. I decided to commit my life to the one I live here in Greece; so I bought a flat in an area that is supposedly the second most densely populated area in the world – so I’ve been told.

I woke up this morning going “Hey today is your birthday. You should spend it on your own.” Then I started remembering my thirty-ninth, where I spent it on my own welcoming my fourth decade in life having bought a flat, where I hope to die in. I didn’t just buy any old flat. I didn’t buy a small one. I bought one that I (had) hoped I could share with someone and with enough space to be able to invite people over for dinner. In my fantasy, I am in a relationship and I have lots of friends.

So the first morning of my forty-first year, I spend watching an episode of “Brothers and sisters” (I’m so drunk WORD is correcting almost every word I write) thinking I’ll invite everyone to a bar and be done with it. But then I remembered myself two years ago telling myself why I had bought this big flat for one person. I had bought it to share it with others. So, at twelve noon I decided I would bake a quiche and if the quiche would be successful, I would invite all those close to me, and who lived near me, to a free drink at my flat.

The quiche worked out.

The ones who didn’t come had a genuine excuse (one had lost the feeling on her left side). The ones who came also (unexpectedly, surprisingly, what-the-fuckingly) brought their partners; meaning I had straight men in the corner of my sitting room trying to make conversation. with each other.

Getting too drunk now. But all I can say is thank everyone who came. I put a lot of effort into it and it RETURNED DIVIDENDS. I have 'abandoned' my family in Ireland (though now with the internet and my brother's noew-found wilingness to get a video camera amy alter that slightly)in return for the life I live. I am alone in life. I don’t like it, but it’s more than ok. I am more than grateful to everyone who came; it’s more than I could ever have hoped for and I wish I could believe in someone to thank them for it.

On a side note, I danced Irish jigs and reels, Greek (I don’t know from where – I think for Ipiros. I adore the music from Ipiros) and even I waltzed to Edith Piaf and to the ultimate song “Parlez mou l’amour” by Lucienne Boyer. To my mind, it is the most beautiful song on the planet (not that I’ve heard all genres) and it saddens me so much that she died in poverty. Life can be cruel ......... and blissful.

Usually, when I go to Ireland, I only hang out with my family. This year, however, I had to spend two weeks alone. My parents did come to visit me. My mother walked in the door on a Sunday evening and the first thing she said, with a guilty glint in her eye was “We have to leave on Tuesday morning.” It was quite a reversal of a parent-child dialogue. Fortunately, it helped to assuage the guilt I feel for living so far away from my parents to an extent.

I made a few good friends from work. One teacher came up to me one day and said she thought I’d be great crack on a night out. I offered myself to be test driven. What followed was one of the craziest nights I’ve ever had, but my reputation was sealed and now I can walk down my brother’s town greeting people by name.

Gaydar was also useful. The first guy I met through it asked me to be discreet when we’d meet. When I met him, I couldn’t stop myself not being so and he walked away after seven minutes. I finished my drink in a bar on my own – something I would normally hate doing – but I quite enjoyed my own company. Neither was I upset by his departure. This was something bad that happened. So, now something good would surely come my way.

The second guy I met was while I was taking my parent’s dog for a walk. They had abandoned him with me to keep me company – the bastards. Anyway, we got talking. He was looking after two dogs for a friend. Conversation was interesting. At one stage, while I was yawning, I flashed a belly button. Desire swept through his face and I learnt that to be objectified as a sex object can be very pleasant.

I went to his house a few days later for tea and sex. The latter was very relaxing and tender. Then we just lay there caressing each other, I musing on how nice it all was. Then there was the sound of a key turning in the door. He froze.
* I’LL BE OUT IN A MINUTE! You have to leave. It’s my friend and he doesn’t know about me.
* Your friend’s dogs’ names are Fanny and Beatrice. He doesn’t strike me as being all that straight either.
*Sorry. You have to go. You know how it is!
Fortunately, I don’t

The next guy I met was in a profile I had seen. It didn’t all that impress me but I didn’t think I had anything to lose by sending him my phone number. We met up a few times and really hit it off. In Greece, as I am always either speaking Greek or English to non-native speakers, I have to speak slowly. With this guy, we’d usually meet up at nine. At around eleven fifteen, aware that last orders would soon be taken, we’d speed up the conversation. We were always the last two to leave the bar. Over time, there was a wonderful connection between us.

On what we thought would be our last evening together, he invited me over to watch a (gay) film at this house. During the film, I kept persuading myself that I found him ugly and I didn’t like his method of reasoning and that there could never be anything other that friends. Next thing I knew, he had his tongue down my throat. I was going to go home but I thought that I would never get laid again so I gave it a go, but not enthusiastically. When he took off his clothes, letting his belly wobble, and lay on the bed expectantly with his eyes closed and long piece of hair still sticking out of his nose, I wasn’t sure how I was going to get into the mood.

But the penis was willing and I had the second best sex I have ever had. He was wonderful and despite myself, I fell for him. Unfortunately, distance is not on our side so what-might-have-been had to end there.

The last guy I met was straight. We got talking while I was going for a walk and he for a run. He slowed down when he approached me so I took this as a sign he wanted to talk. Then I invited him for a drink. We went to a local, traditional pub where you walk in and, before you know it, you are part of everyone’s conversation. He was from Estonia and may as well have worked for its tourist board. I walked home with calendars and films from the region.

What I learnt from all these people is the realisation that my life here in Greece is difficult. It has taken me years to have the friends that I have here. I’m also too pale and skinny for the Greek market. Whereas in Ireland, it took no trouble at all to make friends and I found many men with a similar physique to mine, humour and attitude to life. Added to that, perhaps tired of seeing tanned people all the time, pale skin really gets me going.

My day for departure arrived. My dad offered to drive me the six hour journey to the airport. So as to spend more time with my parents, I accepted but on the way, as usual, there was nothing of dept being discussed.

There came a point on the route where the Gardai/Police were closing off the road. My dad made a dash for it and we were the last car allowed through. Traffic moved really slowly; it was strange to see the line of cars ahead of us and yet see no car behind us. We passed by a horrific car accident. As one does, I looked hoping not to see anyone I knew - not that I know many people in Ireland. We drove on, only to come across a second accident.

Not long afterwards, my aunt on my mother's side rang my father.

(Interesting side note. My parents have many brothers and sisters. However, I am the favourite of all the certifiably crazy ones)

She had sent me some money and my Dad told us she had wanted to make sure that I had got it. All was well until my uncle rang again soon after. What my dad told us the conversation was about didn't match what he had being saying on the phone. My sister, sick of our family trying to keep secrets from each other in the name of protection, was having none of it and demanded to know what was going on. My dad conceded that my mother's brother had been in a car accident along with his girlfriend and was in hospital. The plan was to get me to the airport and then they would go straight to the hospital.

It became apparent that congestion was such that it could happen that I'd miss the plane. My dad started asking me if there really was a need for me to go back to Athens; would I rather stay an extra week or two. While I was reflecting on this (hadn't he told me the day before not to change my flight?) I noticed my sister frantically writing a note. What could she possible want to say to me after having said practically nothing over the past month to me. "I think Paddy's dead".

Through my father's conniving, we arrived at the airport with only seconds to spare for me to check in. A glance from him would have told me not to board the plane, but my mother was watching us very closely. Before I knew it, I was grabbing her elbow taking her to the airline desk. It was closed so I asked her to wait there and that I'd run to the airline's office at the back. Unfortunately, with all the chaos of last year, I know the airport inside out. Safely away from my mother, I was able to ring my father who confirmed my sister's suspicion. On hearing that my uncle had died in a car crash, I initially felt a sense of euphoria. I was so grateful to my dad for contriving to not get me on the plane. Had I taken it, I wouldn't have had the money to come back.

I cheerily went back to my mother looking her in the eye and telling her how glad I was to miss the plane, that we'd be able to spend some extra time together. Then back to the car. My sister took my mother to the bathrooms. My dad and I made a contingency plan; we'd tell my mother at a hotel or somewhere along the way and then drive to my brother's place.

Along the way, I could feel tears welling up in my eyes and couldn't speak. My sister and father on the other hand, well versed in grief, managed to keep a conversation going until we came to a derelict car park. We got out to exercise the dog and then my dad said he was going to do it.

Around this time last year, I had to tell my parents that their daughter was crazy and now my mother had to be informed that the first sibling in her family to die had just done so. That's a pain I'll have to carry with me. Not being able to cope, I walked away balling my eyes out with my mother's deep cries of despair behind me.

As I have learnt, she's a strong woman and it didn't last long. Then to my brother. He greeted me at the gate with an "Are you upset?" This confused me as I was sure he hadn't been told (he was referring to my missing my flight). So, probably in anger at me for not saying anything, my dad blurted it out. Seeing as it was so completely unexpected, my brother reacted as if my father had physically hot him over the head.

Then to the morgue. My first glimpse of him/it was quite a shock: he was indeed dead. All the colour had drained from his face. We stood around saying the rosary. Out of nowhere, a well of Thanks Yous kept blurting into my mind and I got really upset.

-Thank you for giving me great memories as a child (Fortunately, I managed to tell him once that I'd hope to be as good an uncle to my niece as he was to me. Typically, such a display of emotion freaked him out and he couldn't get away from me fast enough. I literally followed him to the car on that day and just wouldn't let him escape from his obvious discomfort.)

-Thank you for helping me sister. (Last year when it was clear that me and my siblings couldn't cope with our sister on our own, it was to him for first turned to for practical advice.)

- Thank you for helping my brother. (My brother would only ring him every time he was in trouble. This is partly my brother's fault - who is beating himself over the head over this - but mostly my uncle's fault as he wasn't the most approachable of people. My uncle was Mr Solution. After he returned from Switzerland with his girlfriend, my brother had a job in Dublin but couldn't find a place to stay. My uncle gave him a place for two months rent free. Every day, my (now) sister-in-law says, was like Christmas. There would always be some package waiting for them; be it a fridge or lamps or whatever.

-Thank you for being there for my mom and aunts. (every year, a tradition was beginning to form where the sane brothers and sisters would hang out for a week or two at his place. It was very nice, to such an extent that us outsiders (ie not directly a brother or sister, even my dad) felt we were intruding on them, if we visited.

Then we went to his house where he had left his socks soaking in the sink and clothes on his bed ready to be packed for the holiday he was to take in Portugal the next day. It seems that what had happened was that there was a lorry driver who fell asleep at the wheel and crashed his vehicle into the ditch on the side of the road. As misfortune would have it, my uncle had parked his car on the hard shoulder, perhaps to answer a phone call, and was in the way of the truck. Simple as that.

During the wake, I heard more and more stories from his school mates and work mates on how he was always helping them.

Then next day, his sisters got together to see the body. I watched them as they, all nurses, checked his body trying to decipher the cause of death, the death of their own brother; the ease with which they did this struck me.

The church was packed for the funeral. I had to say a prayer for the doctors who were attending his girlfriend (then she was on life support but officially died a week to the minute of the accident later). I had only ever met her once, at the wedding. I had given her a present. Just as I was to read the prayer, I suddenly relived the happiness I had experienced at first meeting her. I had had a present for my uncle but I had decided to give it to her. I held it out to her full of hope of getting to know her and that she would be a part of my uncle's life, as he had always been a loner. This reliving this feeling took me off guard, but I managed to say the prayer.

The last thing he ever said to me had to do with how unimportant this body we inhabit is.

Now the eerie bit. Paddy died aged 64. Had it not been for the accident, he would easily have lived another thirty years like his parents before him. Six weeks earlier, after having visited him for what turned out to be the last time I was to see him alive, I went to visit my aunt. She's the nutty one who had given me money. She was tiring everyone with me out, so they left her to take a walk in her garden. I stayed behind and let her rant and muse away. Out of nowhere came "Paddy's going to die soon. I've had a dream. He's wearing a red jacket and he's in the spirit world. He's very happy. I told him, but he won't listen to me."

Perhaps this entry should end here but it won't. At the funeral march to the graveyard, the same aunt was asked if she'd like to join her brothers and sisters at the head of the procession. "To hell I will. No one will tell me what to do." As no one else would go near her, I accompanied her. We talked of what she was going to do after the funeral - window shopping - and how cranky her brother/my dead uncle had been. The more we got talking, the more I took notice of her. She was wearing this off pink blouse and the brightest pink lipstick I have ever seen anyone wear. I found it difficult to take my eyes off her mouth. She began to complain of the cold. I offered to run back to her car and fetch something warm but she would have none of that; she could easily have brought a cardigan with her, she said, but she was unable to find a pink one.

Then it dawned on me. The woman who had been criticising us all for getting upset over something that we had no control over was honouring her brother. His nickname at work had been Lily the Pink.