Lydia (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} watchergrrl) wrote,@ 1997-10-20 17:15:00 |
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wish me luck
Dear Pamela,
It was so good to see you this weekend; I can't tell you. I'm feeling so much better than I was, for having seen you and spent the weekend with you and Mother, sleeping in my old room and being pampered and fussed over. She is blooming, isn't she! I didn't ask what, if anything, was going on with the vicar (who came round both days, dinner on Saturday and tea after church on Sunday), but whatever is happening their association seems to suit her down to the ground.
In fact I I almost wonder why she wants to try to restore father. I suppose she feels a sense of responsibility, and perhaps the mere fact that - for whatever reason - she is happy makes her feel guilty. How can she feel so contented with her life when poor father is living in a burrow in the back garden? And this sense perhaps overrides her better judgment. Since from what Rudi says, and I have tried to pass on, there is really no chance that the ritual will succeed, and in fact father will almost certainly be worse off than he was before.
She was, I must say, touchingly and fiercely protective of me. She asked immediately why Rudi hadn't come, and when I admitted that there had been some recent strains she immediately assumed that any problems must be entirely his fault - a relief since I have been assuming, of course, that whatever's wrong must be something I've done! She alternated between offering to go straight up to London to straighten him out, and assuring me that any man lucky enough to attract my attention should thank his stars daily for his good fortune, and if Rudi caused me a moment's unease, there were plenty of other fish in the sea. She does seem to like Rudi (better than "that long drink of water" Cyril at least - I had no idea she didn't like him!) But not if he upsets her daughter.
I dimly remember her vigorously defending my prose style to a primary school teacher, years ago, but it's been a long time since I've seen this side of her. I suppose it's been years since I have really told her, or anyone, how I felt about anything. Whatever happens with Rudi I should thank him for making it easier for me to talk about emotional matters.
In any event I am much fortified by her ferocious defense and by your practical advice. You must be right, that the change in Rudi's behaviour has three possible triggers - my visit to Prague; his visit to Birmingham; or his offer to marry me. Or some fourth thing that I can't guess.
I forgot to tell you how he reacted when he found I was going out to Shropshire for a visit this weekend and hadn't invited him. I told him I felt that I needed a couple of days away, to relax. He was rather taken aback - perhaps the more so in that I begged off going back to his flat after the film on the grounds that I needed to pack. Really, of course, it was because I don't want to make love to him again until I know where we stand - it would be a pretense of an intimacy that at the moment I don't feel we have.
He is not insensitive and I am sure he knew there was more to it than I had said, and in fact he asked if there was anything we should talk about. I steeled myself - he had the look of the old Rudi about him suddenly, and I wanted to cast myself into his arms and tell him how miserable I'd been - but I knew I needed to think things through first and be sure I knew what I wanted to say. I have been so unhappy the last month that I haven't been able to think clearly at all. So I said yes, there probably was, because I had had the impression that he hadn't been entirely happy lately, and that I knew I wasn't entirely happy myself, so when I got back we should make some time to talk.
His response was encouraging. At least I hope it was. He looked at me for a moment with the expression I remember, and tucked my hair behind my ear and said "do whatever you need to do, Lydia. Please call me when you get back." And then he kissed me, and it was hard not to fall into his arms and follow him home after all. But I think we do need to talk first. So I promised him I would phone when I got in on Sunday.
I did so - to my relief he sounded very pleased to hear from me - and asked him to come to dinner at my apartment this evening. Which he hasn't set foot in since he got back from Birmingham, I've just realised. Everything has been on neutral ground - theatres, restaurants, the Academy - or his flat; never in my territory. I think that needs to change.
So I have done as you suggested, and made a list of the questions I want to ask him, in the hope of prompting conversation, and of the things I need to say. I need to know what's going on. Even if it's just that he no longer feels the same way, I need to know, and better now than after agonizing and walking on eggshells for months. It's like pulling a tooth; better to do it at once.
I suppose that's not the most optimistic way to look at it. Perhaps there's really nothing wrong with the tooth. Perhaps it won't need to be pulled.
I put chili in the slow cooker before I left for the library this morning, your old recipe from university, do you remember? And I bought rolls and a salad at Sainsbury's on my way home this afternoon. I have no appetite at all myself. But I can push things around on my plate a little.
He'll be here in three quarters of an hour, time for me to tidy a little and fuss. I feel as if I'm taking entirely too much trouble for someone who may be about to drop me. But if he is at least this will be the last night I have to suffer this uncertainty.
Right. Time for me to change into a clean shirt and take down my hair and put it up again two or three times while I try to decide which image I wish to present. Cool and in control? Warm and welcoming? Cool and welcoming? Warm and in control? How many pins would it take to convey "warm, but in control"? That would be my best bet. No spectacles, definitely.
More later. Please wish me luck.
love, Lydia
p.s. forgot - you asked me to send you my questions (to make sure I actually did write them down?) I had a whole flock of them but they all seemed too leading, so I have boiled it down to one:
1. What's wrong?
Perhaps I should get some wine into him first.
Dear Pamela,
It was so good to see you this weekend; I can't tell you. I'm feeling so much better than I was, for having seen you and spent the weekend with you and Mother, sleeping in my old room and being pampered and fussed over. She is blooming, isn't she! I didn't ask what, if anything, was going on with the vicar (who came round both days, dinner on Saturday and tea after church on Sunday), but whatever is happening their association seems to suit her down to the ground.
In fact I I almost wonder why she wants to try to restore father. I suppose she feels a sense of responsibility, and perhaps the mere fact that - for whatever reason - she is happy makes her feel guilty. How can she feel so contented with her life when poor father is living in a burrow in the back garden? And this sense perhaps overrides her better judgment. Since from what Rudi says, and I have tried to pass on, there is really no chance that the ritual will succeed, and in fact father will almost certainly be worse off than he was before.
She was, I must say, touchingly and fiercely protective of me. She asked immediately why Rudi hadn't come, and when I admitted that there had been some recent strains she immediately assumed that any problems must be entirely his fault - a relief since I have been assuming, of course, that whatever's wrong must be something I've done! She alternated between offering to go straight up to London to straighten him out, and assuring me that any man lucky enough to attract my attention should thank his stars daily for his good fortune, and if Rudi caused me a moment's unease, there were plenty of other fish in the sea. She does seem to like Rudi (better than "that long drink of water" Cyril at least - I had no idea she didn't like him!) But not if he upsets her daughter.
I dimly remember her vigorously defending my prose style to a primary school teacher, years ago, but it's been a long time since I've seen this side of her. I suppose it's been years since I have really told her, or anyone, how I felt about anything. Whatever happens with Rudi I should thank him for making it easier for me to talk about emotional matters.
In any event I am much fortified by her ferocious defense and by your practical advice. You must be right, that the change in Rudi's behaviour has three possible triggers - my visit to Prague; his visit to Birmingham; or his offer to marry me. Or some fourth thing that I can't guess.
I forgot to tell you how he reacted when he found I was going out to Shropshire for a visit this weekend and hadn't invited him. I told him I felt that I needed a couple of days away, to relax. He was rather taken aback - perhaps the more so in that I begged off going back to his flat after the film on the grounds that I needed to pack. Really, of course, it was because I don't want to make love to him again until I know where we stand - it would be a pretense of an intimacy that at the moment I don't feel we have.
He is not insensitive and I am sure he knew there was more to it than I had said, and in fact he asked if there was anything we should talk about. I steeled myself - he had the look of the old Rudi about him suddenly, and I wanted to cast myself into his arms and tell him how miserable I'd been - but I knew I needed to think things through first and be sure I knew what I wanted to say. I have been so unhappy the last month that I haven't been able to think clearly at all. So I said yes, there probably was, because I had had the impression that he hadn't been entirely happy lately, and that I knew I wasn't entirely happy myself, so when I got back we should make some time to talk.
His response was encouraging. At least I hope it was. He looked at me for a moment with the expression I remember, and tucked my hair behind my ear and said "do whatever you need to do, Lydia. Please call me when you get back." And then he kissed me, and it was hard not to fall into his arms and follow him home after all. But I think we do need to talk first. So I promised him I would phone when I got in on Sunday.
I did so - to my relief he sounded very pleased to hear from me - and asked him to come to dinner at my apartment this evening. Which he hasn't set foot in since he got back from Birmingham, I've just realised. Everything has been on neutral ground - theatres, restaurants, the Academy - or his flat; never in my territory. I think that needs to change.
So I have done as you suggested, and made a list of the questions I want to ask him, in the hope of prompting conversation, and of the things I need to say. I need to know what's going on. Even if it's just that he no longer feels the same way, I need to know, and better now than after agonizing and walking on eggshells for months. It's like pulling a tooth; better to do it at once.
I suppose that's not the most optimistic way to look at it. Perhaps there's really nothing wrong with the tooth. Perhaps it won't need to be pulled.
I put chili in the slow cooker before I left for the library this morning, your old recipe from university, do you remember? And I bought rolls and a salad at Sainsbury's on my way home this afternoon. I have no appetite at all myself. But I can push things around on my plate a little.
He'll be here in three quarters of an hour, time for me to tidy a little and fuss. I feel as if I'm taking entirely too much trouble for someone who may be about to drop me. But if he is at least this will be the last night I have to suffer this uncertainty.
Right. Time for me to change into a clean shirt and take down my hair and put it up again two or three times while I try to decide which image I wish to present. Cool and in control? Warm and welcoming? Cool and welcoming? Warm and in control? How many pins would it take to convey "warm, but in control"? That would be my best bet. No spectacles, definitely.
More later. Please wish me luck.
love, Lydia
p.s. forgot - you asked me to send you my questions (to make sure I actually did write them down?) I had a whole flock of them but they all seemed too leading, so I have boiled it down to one:
1. What's wrong?
Perhaps I should get some wine into him first.
