|Oh God. Seriously. God. Could You allow me to dress like|
this. To look like this. If only for a moment. If only in private.
God? I know. Your will, not mine.
Nothing has changed, of course, we still haven't really touched or had anything approaching romance. I have bought flowers and made all the right noises but, ultimately, nothing has changed. She has had a headache, gone on the blob, been too drunk to be awake or just plain not been in the mood. Lie ins, cooking and so on and so forth. My father has been over to see us, after Christmas we played host to him, his wife and my brother's family. Tilly and I spoke at length about the perils of having my family over - and it turned out that I took these worries to heart more than either of us suspected. Having had an energy drink in order to stay awake I was very much on edge and it did not take much - my father warning me that sending Christmas gifts via my grandfather to his mother was a stupid idea and should not be done (we sent them via my mother actually) - to send me over it and into madness territory. I stormed out, drove around for a bit, then came back and let it all out about how much I hate the family politics of Christmas, especially my family. After all, it turned out that my grandmother was, as usual, exaggeration and making shit up. She's just less good at it than she used to be.
The odd thing about the above video and music is just how much I enjoy it. If the nineties have recently been rediscovered then this must be the sound of my eighties and I was completely unaware of the fact. Now that I have heard it I do not know how it could have been otherwise but for many years I did not know. It is a good version. I like the interplay of the voices and the way that the two songs are intertwined so that it becomes almost impossible to separate them. Also, it occurs to me that both artists are utterly gay and that I had a thing for Marc Almond's version of The Days of Pearly Spencer. My father did too.
|Not quite, of course, not quite.|
On the way back we stopped off at my father's. This was significantly less stressed than his visit to us, but he was very much treading on eggshells - the altercation on the previous meeting still weighed heavily on his mind. Though he was complimentary, he was still my father. He was happy that I am finding work much better than before but warned me against fucking it up again - as if the last three years were all my fault. Thing is, it is hard to fault my father's logic on this matter, and of course I have internalised his thoughts on the matter long since. When we spoke after me storming out of my own home I confided in him that my work had been awful because they had voiced my own private fears, I don't know that this had the weight with him as it did with me. I also spoke about how the choices that Tilly and I have made with raising our children are such as to make all those who view us put what we do under greater scrutiny. Behaviour from them that would elicit little regard were we mainstream seems to pile up and suggest that the choices we have made are erroneous. My father denied the greater scrutiny, of course, but he inadvertently lied, we have taken a path that brings less in terms of acceptance than it does challenge.
It is known that all the dragons are dead. And winter is coming.