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Freud.ianslip.com - INSIDE The Feminine Subconscious

 
The DAILY DRAMA and UNVEILINGS of the female subsconscious.

Freud.ianslip.com - August 2006

So it was a dark, cold rainy, claustrophobic night.

I came home exhausted. She was going back out into said unpleasantness to survey prospective houses. Naturally I was obliged to accompany her, no matter how much I wanted to just fall into bed. Maybe with coffee, if I could manage to fall without spilling anything.

But love, compromise.

We quarrelled first over my pedantic need to check times and directions. We quarrelled again when we actually did get lost in a dark alley somewhere in Enmore and the rain set in in earnest. Huh. I guess stopping to ask for directions would have been useful then! Yes, I too can be petty.


The houses were pretty dreadful. We both pasted on brilliant smiles and I traipsed around after her fuming, both in an angry sense and an unpleasant steam rising of damp clothing sense.

And then we came home. To fight. I didn’t really see the point in drying off when everything was about to be saturated in tears anyway. I escaped into the shower, and came back to an empty room and a note reading that she had gone for a walk to clear her head- not to worry. Even in the gloomy dark.

And I didn’t.
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Intimacy Looms

August 14th 2006 13:18
Three days, two nights. Taffy was coming to visit.

It wasn’t just that it was a long time to be spending together at a stretch. She was here for a purpose. To find a non-Newcastle place to live, a place much much closer, from whence she could just pop in any moment of the day or night.

I should have been happy at this development, but I’ll admit to being quite freaked. This was a person uprooting their entire life, to be close to me. At a time when I was getting cold feet.

Intimacy.

It’s fun in small, controlled doses. In bed, in public, behind the couch. But I like the control and I like my space.


And things seemed to be falling apart really rapidly.
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And Don't Cry For Me

August 8th 2006 13:37
The tears began as a trickle and ended as a flood until everything was sodden with them, and tidemarks of crystallised salt were left in rings all over my pillows.

The discomfort of the whole situation was almost funny, in a surreal sharp-edged way, but it was also becoming a serious problem. A helpful person recently defined heartbreak for me.

[ Click here to read more ]
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Don't Cry Over Spilt Milk

August 7th 2006 13:40
I slept over with Mr. X. And I didn’t tell Taffy. Not that there was sex, necessarily. But there was shared intimacy, and I didn’t want to tell her. Because if I did, we would fight. And if we fought, she would cry. Either way I would end up feeling incredibly guilty.

Are tears emotional expression or emotional blackmail?

[ Click here to read more ]
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Oh Knight Bus, Where Art Thou?

August 4th 2006 13:43
I really hate going home. You know, the end of the evening, when mascara has smudged everywhere (well some of you know), your feet hurt, the excitement is over and it’s freezing outside!
Yes, it’s depressing. But I think there is an especial kind of depression to trying to catch the bus at 3 am. Usually it’s just not there. (Timetables! They lie!) And if it is there, it’s completely packed to the roof with people and whizzes cheerfully right past you as you shiver and clutch your elbows in an attempt to stay upright.
And if it does stop, there is vomit. Everywhere. Wet or semi-dry, leaving lingering stains and all-pervasive odour.

[ Click here to read more ]
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Alls Well That Ends

August 2nd 2006 13:20
Well what would you do!? We calmly decided not to bother waiting for a bus and fled like frightened rabbits in glittering shoes.

The up-shot of this minor excitement was some getting lost on dark sign-less streets and an encounter with some bearded guys who wanted to show us the way. But with an inbuilt magic homing beacon we found ourselves at last basking in the friendly footlights of Oxford St.

[ Click here to read more ]
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The Night Was For Hunting

August 1st 2006 13:56
There’s something about being out at night, alone, vulnerable and not in a car that’s just inexpressibly different. But I’ll try to express it.

A car is very much like a bubble. It is a shield, and you can tint the windows, and you can hide, and you can drive away really fast and unless you stop at traffic lights with your door unlocked or drive out into the woods and pick up backpackers, you’re probably going to be ok. Well, no, driving is very dangerous. But it’s a totally different danger to walking down the street.

[ Click here to read more ]
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72 Posts dating from March 2006
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