THURSDAY 22:55 (excerpt from WEEK)

Liam has a new girlfriend.

I am sitting here, at my kitchen table listening Penguin Café Orchestra with Matthew, my ex husband and father of my three children, Hannah, my studio mate and dearest friend and Martin, the Dundee-based, Polish-born cyclist Couchsurfer how is currently cooking us dinner; wine is flowing, conversation is good and all I can think about is how that bastard managed to get a girlfriend. He was there, at the cinema, with all his close-knit, incestuous friends from the Elgin-based computer wank station surrounding the entrance like a barricade. There he was prodding her bare hip with his fore finger like a needy child desperate for attention from his mother.

He is not allowed to be happy until I am.

It has been three months since I last spoke to him, three months is not long enough for him to have resolved the ethical dilemma he put in me. Three months is not long enough to absolve the guilt of the physical, emotional and mental turmoil I have suffered due to his error in judgement. Three months is not long enough. The day that I take a piss and look down at my knickers and find they are not stained with blood is the day he can move on. He is not allowed to be happy.

Rejection. It does not sting; it aches. Liam was not suitable for me. He was handsome, yes, however with the conversational skills of an autistic three-year-old and the overbearing self awareness which made every movement so entirely awkward, he could not be matched with my conversational fluency and apparent oestrogenic aura. So why did he reject me? The basis for his argument was that he very much so wants to have a family of his own and I have ‘already gone through that wonderful part of my life.’ His short-sightedness infuriates me. Does he mean it is an integral part of being a human or even an animal or even being alive? Everything reproduces, it’s not fucking special. Is it a sacred event which needs to be done with a specially chosen one? If his answer is yes then I would be forced to point out the very obvious error in his argument. Why did he think it was ok to put his penis inside me then? If reproduction is divine then why start reproduction to then reject the subsequent consequence? I understand that this was not what he was trying to achieve when we copulated, in fact the will to life is far stronger than even base ritual. And I should perhaps, under the will to life, take it as a compliment. Liam’s body believed I was a suitable genetic match even if his brain said not. The future proved this point as conception comes easy to me. Nature says my genes were meant to be spread; a male has to but ask if ‘I-come-here-often’ for me to have had a 12 week gestation. Whereupon it lands on my brain to decide if the genetic match that my body allows is viable in accordance with my social and intellectual terms. Upon discovery, I concluded that the match was not suitable, I do not want my high-quality Ubermensch DNA muddied by the substandard social skills and unintelligence of what was merely company to me. The reality of which is a painful procedure followed by months of hormonal-psychological torment as well as social guilt. A small price to pay for gene selection one would say, however, no matter how much you can rationalise the moment, one still feels the horror of watching a man who’s body once craved you, crave someone else. His brain concluded that this woman is more of a suitable match for his DNA than I was. WHICH IS PREPOSTERIOUS! Socially and physically I prove this wrong.

So perhaps what I am most angry at is his ignorance. How dare he not appreciate the momental beauty in spirit, physicality and intelligence that I am.

How dare he! How dare he! How dare he! How dare he! How dare he! How dare he!

The reason he does not is because of the veiled nature of the majority of men within The Society of The Spectacle which Guy DeBord pointed out to us. If one is stupid enough to concede to the reinforced yet impotent view of society; one is doomed to live an unsatisfied existence. If you can only find women attractive that the media has told you are attractive then you will find only a small proportion of society attractive and thusnshall never be happy. This vision is out of reach and will make us feel as we are unsuccessful even when we have actually achieved more than necessary. Since, all that is necessary, is to survive.

Therefore, why do I not start to think of myself as a high achiever instead of an absolute failure as I currently feel? The reason is thus: to think is an individual experience to feel is dictated by external influence. For all my reason and all my rationality, my heart is forced into submission by the general populace’s whim: perhaps not whim but their subconscious and conscious opinion. Descartes cliché, ‘I think therefore I am’ attempted to convince us that our thoughts are responsible for our being and that is perhaps true within that time and place. We do not now live in small, closeted communities. Our community is now global and as such opinions are directed by many varying cultures. My body, that of a celtic-bred female is short and stout. This is useful in windy climates and to ensure that I shall survive the long, cold hungry winters, which I do. Unfortunately, no one seeks an anthropologically sound mate now-a-days. My form is seen as ungainly and unwomanly against that of a Swedish woman or a Amazonian goddess or a Latina senorita. I am not physically made for these exotic climates. I am made for Scotland (and possibly Ireland so my ancestry informs me) However, I am judged beside these women and I don’t stand a chance. Although I would like to see them try to carry two children up three flights of stairs with a weeks worth of food shopping in one go. (strong legs: celt.)

I am in pain, seeing him opened old wounds and seeing him with someone else opened the wounds further. You may think of me as bitter and maybe I am. I am not able yet to allow happiness in someone who has cause a proportion of my current unhappiness. After around 5 mins of biting my nails, I motioned to Liam’s friend who was following him into the cinema,

‘Could you do me a favour? Say to Liam, Charis asks ‘How’s the sperm count?’

‘Erm… OK…’ His friend replied.

All I could hope for now is that he relays this sentence to Liam in the cinema in front of his new beau and she has a little bit of sense to notice that, that was not a comment which suggests a previously innocent past.

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