Oh, wine… ze sings you do to me!

Drinking… not heavily but consistently.

I haven’t been obliterated by drink in ages, maybe I’m building up a tolerance. But I do seem to find myself popping a lot of corks, mulling a lot of wine, and listening to a lot of Jeff Buckley and moaning YES THIS SONG, YES, THIS IS WHY IT IS ALL WRONG OH GOD IM HIDEOUS, IM HIDEOUS AND FAT, WHO COULD LOVE ME?

And then I listen to something a bit more upbeat and I feel like I could do anything, or even just go to a supermarket and buy salad. But I must stay away from the supermarket because while in Ireland I was limited to how much wine I could take home by price, here I am only limited by arm strength and it’s not that far of a walk home.

I’ve been drinking a lot of wine. I’m not worried about my liver, my liver is something I will worry about when I am aware of it, or when it starts to complain. I’m worried about bloating, about getting that puffy alco- face.

I’m not getting drunk every night so I GUESS I won’t get puffy alco face, but I am drinking a lot, a lot a lot.

I want to drink less but all of the get me out of the apartment and socialising activities are drinks based and let’s be honest I don’t have any normal healthy people hobbies, so I drink.

I do love cooking but frankly fresh food ingredients are more expensive than wine, and also more detrimental to the physical presence too.

I have to find an apartment and a job and I am not having much luck with either, or any luck, and I’m sort of hopelessly in love but also very insecure about it all and my French is not improving as beautifully as i had hoped.

So I drink.

But when I find a job I will have purpose and clarity and the threat of a kick up the arse if I don’t sober up and act like a proper grown up so then I will limit myself to weekends like a normal person.

Oh why can’t they just make non alcoholic wine?

Cause it would suck, that’s why.

Anyway you don’t want to read about how emotional I am being and I don’t want to write it AGAIn and AGAIN  AND AGAIN until we all DIE

so I will cut this short, tell you that I am not doing as wonderfully as my initial wave of optimism implied I would do, and I’m still being nice and outgoing but my motivation-reward-motivation system needs the little reward kicker in between to maintain itself and right now I am feeling all out of reward.

Because of course i can’t just be go with the flow like I said I wanted to be and just enjoy the feeling of a man supposedly loving me and wanting me and being crazy about me like I am about him, because he hurt me so I don’t trust it, like he’s just going to shrug me off one of these days and it will be all my fault for lettng him back in.

So.

Tis a lull.

I did my homework though so that was more than I expected of today.

Fucking flat hunting. It’s not making me a happy little critter, it’s making me a sad sodden drooping thing with a wardrobe full of empty bottles.

Oh, wine.

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The taming of the smooth-ass MoFO

He cooked me steak and I set the little table like a restaurant with a candle and we drank wine and when the bottle was empty I drank him too.

I made him sushi another day and we cried wasabi to each other and made love for six hours.

We spent this weekend together sharing our music, sharing French wine and Italian wine and we went to a bar one night and a party another, and when he was low I pulled him out of himself and was all understanding and brightness.

I’ve had so much sex these past two weeks, more than ever in such a short period. It has been the best sex of my life. A friend, well maybe not a friend, but an aquaintance of his, asked me drunk, why don’t you come home with me instead? You’re hot… come home with me. We’d have a great time… He’s leaving in three weeks. Come with me instead… And I laughed and said why would I do that, I have him for three weeks and it’s the best sex I’ve ever had, and I told Antoine this and he said really, you didn’t say that… and I said yes, yes I did… and he beamed and that night he dreamt that I had sex with another man while he watched and he hated it.

He leaves in three weeks and I stay here.

Ireland has faded a little. It’s fun, I have people to see all the time, and I’m fun and I’m giddy.

But oh look what I found here, a French man… and he isn’t just a Frenchman, he’s a full person, he lets me know him and he shares himself so I share myself too. With wild abandon, of course. He’s like no one I ever met before, he’s sincere and he’s gorgeous and we bite each other hard while we orgasm together….

All the men I have spread my legs for, have been cheap substitutes, empty boxes with no dvd inside. Empty so I can’t steal from them, something precious they don’t want to surrender to a woman they hardly know.

Oh I want this… I don’t ever, ever, ever want to prop myself up at a bar again and force charm and interest onto men who don’t matter. I’ve always scoffed at lovemaking, preferring a good auld fuck… but this is incredible, there’s nothing frilly or slow or boring to this. I’ve been a very foolish girl. I feel like I’ve sat myself down at a piano for the first time and found that beautiful music came out. Why didn’t I try before, I think, and oh how this will be part of me now and for the rest of my life.

And you can’t look for it, can you?

I’ll miss him when he leaves, maybe I’ll pine and fall apart, but I don’t want him to stay either. I remembered something I said before, how you meet sorted people when you are sorted, and messes when you are messy, and when you are in a transition period and don’t know where to go or what to do with yourself, you meet people in a similar state. I’m in transition and so is he. So it’s not to last… it’s a lovely wonderful filler of a gap before we go do other things.

I don’t think I’ll stay in Ireland. I’ll save some money… hmm, maybe… I’ll try to save some money, yeah, I’ll try… really. And maybe I’ll go to Paris and learn French, and NOT to see Antoine, no, he doesn’t live in Paris. But I have fallen in love with something that is not a man, it is just man-shaped, and it’s partly French, so that’s a clue, I’ll sniff it and follow the source…. I want to go somewhere and be a lost person and learn to speak French because it’s beautiful and have no friends again for a while and meet passionate people and maybe write something.

I’m being very uncharacteristic here and in the last post too, I guess I just haven’t been clumsy and awkward lately, there’s nothing funny or embarassing to impart… or maybe all the usual blog-fodder has been eclipsed and I don’t even notice the faux pas I am making because I am having such gluttonous sex…

Oh I feel good when I’m with him. Relaxed. Happy.

He leaves in 2 and a half weeks and then we’ll see how I do…

I just hope I’m woman enough to walk the walk, to take the sweetness from this time and install it in my personality, and not just pine like a teenager who lost her spotty sweetheart.