It's all relative, unfortunately

It always fascinates me that the expectation is that relatives are the ones that support you no matter what, whilst friends come and go.

It is a strange expectation since the reality is that friends generally support you no matter what and relatives generally, annoy the hell out of you.

The last couple of weeks has seen an upward rise in my level of sheer exhaustion. For some reason life has been a tad relentless and not even the weekend provided for a later start. From teenage pick ups to Sunday morning Rugby - as much as I hankered for a little loafing under goose down, it wasn't going to happen.

It's when really tired that I find it hardest to switch off and so, with no common sense whatsoever - I embark on insane de-cluttering. Within 4 days I had removed 4 packing boxes full of 'stuff' and deposited them across Wiltshire's charity shops. My huge jar for make up, one for nails, one for hair - an entire Georgian cupboard full of body lotion and boob tape, a medicine cabinet reminiscent of a pharmacy and a store cupboard worthy of a nuclear shelter. Everything was halved.

Including my energy levels. Monday morning felt like a Friday, starting a little chaotically when I realised I had neglected to buy food. The week deteriotes. Everyday at work alongside trying to sling in 2 parents consultations, one 3 hour meeting with the visual impairment team, the EA IT specialist, Head of year and Head of SEN to try and trash out a solution to the multitude of problems for one of the offspring. Tuesday sees a home visit from VI lady and the mobility specialist. By the time they left, I had 8 minutes to get to a business pitch. By the time that finished, I had 26 minutes to finish some work that was sure to take longer. And so the week has gone on.

Then there are the minor things, like keeping up with the washing and mess created by four other people sharing your space, the 45 emotional melt down, the big argument with one child, the homework, the general chaos and having to find time for a bath every morning.

Last week was little better and at one weak moment, commented to a member of the family that I was in fact, utterly exhausted. Following a typically relative reply about how they had done their time working, I pointed out that they had never had the added bonus of being a single parent to four children.

'Well" they said "It was your choice"

"I beg your pardon" I reply in my most incredulous voice (IIIII BEG your parduuun?)

When (not unreasonably, I thought) point out that no one in their right mind would have 4 children by themselves through choice and in fact, not only had the ex husband been really very controlling, he had been doing things he ought not with a woman with a preference for married men and Polyester. Clearly if anyone was making a choice, it was him (And thank god he did) Given the circumstances, I think choice was a most irritating view.

"Well" they say "You could have forgiven him"

Thank god for friends.

Two sides of the same coin

To a man I was in a relationship with, "Everytime we hurt someone, we make it a little harder for that person to love the next"

Since he nodded his head vehemently, I took that to mean he understood the concept. He may well have done but on reflection, failedd to grasp the responsibility in the statemnet. It seems that for some, for whatever reason - there own issues overtake the need to make sure that those who have been close are not unnecessarily damaged in the process of knowing them.

So this is where I ponder the responsibility. I have realised of late that following the couple of relationsships that I have had, I am developing a deep sense of mistrust in others. If it was an overall scepticism, I could probably live with that but this is a full scale analytical panic if any man is nice to me. In my head runs the same script "Why are they being nice, what do they want, are they flirting, are they making a play, are they trying to screw with my head"?

It is a deeply disturbing experience. I want to believe in the good, I want to believe in authenticity, of kindness. Ireally, genuinly, wholeheartedly want to believe that people are genuine but if they have a penis, I have a million red flags flying.

I hate thinking like this. It seems I have gone from one end of the spectrum of trust to the other and it is not a pleasent experience. If a man is being nice, is being genuine - then he probably wants to have sex and he will undoubtedly try to screw with my mind at the same time.

In midst of full on panic that someone was about to mess with my mind, I phone a friend. A male friend. I snivel down the phone that I cannot bear not trusting people. He tells me never to trust any man. Great.

So now I have to question the responsibility issue. Is it someone else's responsibility to make sure that your trust in humans is not anhilated by their behaviour or actions, or is it mine for allowing the actions of others to have a negative impact on the way I view the world.

I am really not sure but I profoundly hope that any impact I have had on men I have ever been in arelationship - is not one that makes it harder for them to care about the next person.

Friends with benefits

"When I first met you, you were one of the most intelligent women I had ever met"

Pause.....

"And over time, you have just got progressively thicker"

It would be easy to take offense at such comment, butit is quite the most amusing thing anyone has ever said to me. More than that, there is clear truth in its content. Sometimes I say things that surprise me with unexpected astuteness and other times, I say things so spectacularly stupid they border on impressive.

Last week I had a text from a man who kindly told me that I light up the lives of others. In the same text he told me that I was erudite. I had to google the word.I now suspect that I light up the lives of others, primarily due to my moments of utter and complete denseness.

It was in this text I had to consider other areas of stupidity. Such as having an extensive collection of utterly gorgeous male friends. I love male friends. Male friends are straight in what they say, they have (on the whole) a sharper humour, less sides and are less interested in fluff. They also speak less than I do, which is pretty convenient, since I rarely pause for breath.

Married, in relationships or single, male friends are my bench mark for emotional security. They make me laugh, they roll their eyes in affection, they hug me if on rare occasion I cry and they are always, always kind. More than this, my male friends are safe because they are all emotionally stable and secure.

Which makes me wonder why none of the beautiful male friends I have in my life are men that I would ever date. This alone must indicate some spectacular level of dimness. I find them all attractive in their own way but not one of them has ever sparked chemistry. And that is because they are lovely. If I put them into a dating category they would only say nie things until they got what they wanted. Keep them in the friendship category and they always say nice things. I have long said that the idea of something is always better than the reality. One of my oldest sexiest male friends is a man I went out with in my 20's. I never slept with him and swear blind that this is why we are still friends. I recognise that I may have some control issues going on here!

One of my dearest friends is a man I met on a date. I adore him, he more than tolerates me. I love his children, he loves mine. We go out regularly together, we go on holiday together. Yet despite the fact that we get on so well, I feel no chemistry and as such,not even a kiss has passed between us. In between dating and in moments of boredom I will get random texts asking me for some sort of sexual favour, but we both know that once my mind is made up, nothing will change it.

And like all of my male friends; if he wasn't so nice, wasn't so stable, wasn't so dependable I would probably find him stimulating in a multitude of ways. Now that is stupidity.

Or is it? Any relationship that starts with chemistry will surely develop into a calmer state in which friendship, respect, tolerance and most of all - acceptance will become primary features. And yet it is this state of acceptance, perhaps contentment that causes the likes of people like me to break out in a cold sweat.

Which makes me wonder - what in gods name is contentment? Is it a compromise, a word with negative association - of old couples that want nothing and totter about in anticipation of Coronation Street being aired. When I was married I accepted my lot but I never felt contented, I spent most of it wondering what life would be like if you met your soulmate.

So in fact, if contended is not wanting for more but being contended with what you have then perhaps contended is better than acceptance. Then again, perhaps you only reach contented when you have reached acceptance of yourself and others. Acceptance is clearly about accepting the things youcannot change and sotrting out the crap in the things you can.

Perhaps it is all simply too confusing.