I’d much rather feel angry than sad.
But now it seems like I’ve expended all this anger on my book, and I’ve used up all the spiky energy it gave me. Doing the work required to get it published in the next few days feels like wading through treacle in a fog.
What’s left in the aftermath of all that rage is a profound sadness that I’m struggling to shake.
The sadness feels more personal than the anger. It is more personal. Anger rages outwards, sadness looks inward.
I have some valid reasons to be sad, but the weariness of it feels wide and unfocussed.
One of the valid reasons is that I lost my champagne boy.
I’ve mentioned him on twitter, but have not talked about him here because I was waiting for it to grow into something worth talking about and I know how these things go. He’s a lovely American man I’ve been talking to for quite a while now. A newbie, tall (you know I love that), professionally successful, smart, interesting. I was pushing him to get his life-work balance in order before we met because he genuinely did not have time for a relationship, much less the time to invest in a long-distance one. I encouraged him to seek out a counsellor for balancing strategies, got him back into exercise (ex-triathlete), and personally we were learning each other, and he was getting a feel for what his submission might look like with me. He was doing a lot of work for me, to get to where we both wanted him to be.
And in there somewhere, he bought me champagne as a sweetness, as a ‘thank you’ for my help and attention, as an appreciation for how his life was getting back on track, and also because he liked me (of course!). A bottle or two levelled up to a case, to my surprise and delight. Then it became ‘a thing’ for us. It carried a lovely frisson to tell him ‘the last bottle is in the fridge, so my champagne boy better get onto that’, and have him run off to organise for a new case to arrive at my door. I started referring to him as ‘my champagne boy’, though he was more than just that.
A month or two ago I said ‘let’s make this meeting happen before the end of the year’, and he was enthusiastic until the excuses came and it slipped away. I don’t force people to meet me: Either they are ridiculously enthusiastic and will make it happen or they aren’t and they won’t. He wasn’t.
He told me last week that he is trying again with his (vanilla) ex. I think perhaps I was more serious about meeting than he was: I think for him it was a kind of far-off dreamy unreality.
I’m not angry or even upset about it, and I appreciate his honesty. There was no commitment to anything in our exchange and we were a serious long shot. Really long. I know better than to emotionally invest in something so tenuous, so I’m not really hurt. I wished him well, sincerely and without regret.
But I’m still sad about losing the potential of a ‘maybe’, about losing someone I enjoyed, about losing someone chatted with pretty much every day, about losing my champagne boy.
Not least because I can’t face the daunting task of talking to new submissives, I’m scared of scratching the surface of unknown men out there and finding ugliness underneath. There’s only so much of that that I can bear. As long as I don’t do any scratching, I can almost believe it’s uncommon.
The rest of my sadness is nebulous, some weight whose origin is unclear, and upon which some fluttery nothings land solely to make it heavier. Thoughts and feelings that would normally be fleeting sit stubbornly on me, even though I know they shouldn’t. The knowing doesn’t make any difference.
It will pass, I know this.
But all things considered, I prefer the anger, thanks.
Also, I have an opening for a champagne boy. You know where I am.
38 comments
“I don’t think all writers are sad, she said. I think it’s the other way around – all sad people write.” Lang Leav. Somehow, your saddest writing always touches me most deeply. Sending champaign thoughts and white sand dreams.
Thank you.
I’ve long thought that for personal content, photos are for happiness and writing is for sadness.
Of course there are many exceptions, but in general I think there is some truth there.
Ferns
I can possibly be your gin soaked old lady? Does that help?
Coug
Yes, yes it does :).
Ferns
Oh Ferns, I know that feeling of suddenly having empty space where there was someone who used to make you smile, everyday.
I think it’s a good sign, in a way, that one is open to connection and that one is lucky enough to have felt a fleeting spark. Isn’t it amazing how we can find people across the world, even if there only meant to be in our lives for a moment?
It is exactly that: An empty space.
And yes, I 100% agree: All potential is good. Even if it doesn’t pan out. Just having a glimpse of possibility is a good thing.
Ferns
I am in a similar place for similar reasons. Disappointed hope: it hurts in the heart. Take care.
I’m sorry you’re experiencing similar :(.
You take care also.
Ferns
Sending big hugs!
Thank you, for you also.
Ferns
It’s a bit of a sad and retreating time just now, lovely Ferns. The treacle-obstructions to getting our things done makes this harder to bare. Grateful for you x
You know, there are some of us in the US who would have no problem slapping him for you.
I can see it now, “Puppy we’re going on a road trip. I’ve got a man to smack!”
I’m so sorry.
For what it’s worth, I’m the other part of this equation right now and I know in my case, I go through periods of time off genuinely wanting to go. Really. It would be good to see him again. But there’s no…. there for me at this point. Too much water under the bridge, too many discussions of how I needed this or that which he really did try to meet but just having to articulate it made me slightly less interested since it’s typically things other successful interactions have picked up on. And of course, changing something seemingly fundamental about himself just to please me will likely leave him exhausted and sad in the long term.
After numerous false starts I’m accepting I’ll probably never buy that ticket. It’s not him. It’s not me. It’s us, together, that doesn’t fit well enough for me to get on that plane.
If I could send you my version of a champagne boy, I would. However, I think you’d find he’s just as far away and even less emotionally accessible than most that you meet :)
If I find any Australian lovelies though I’ll surely point them your way!
Sending hugs. He sounds kinda special.
(Hmmm I am remembering one boy who bought you champagne and then even showed up from far away. And didn’t leave you broken hearted! ;) Long ago but still a very fond memory! Ate Tim Tams the other day and thought of that great visit!)
Thank you for the hugs :).
Hey I remember him, he was lovely <3.
I'm beyond pleased that Tim Tams makes you think of me :).
Ferns
Hi Ferns,
Thanks for your vulnerability. It is chancy to open up and let someone in and when they choose no, it takes time to recover. It is more his loss than yours.
Mwah,
Angel
Beware the Champaign Siren.
Ulysses had to be lashed to the mast to survive the encounter. His men didn’t even get to be blueballed and denied – they just stuffed their ears with filthy wax.
The beautiful lie steals time from all of us – even the people who sell it.
Yours,
I read a history once.
Feel better ferns! You’ve been an inspiration for me, so I’m always rooting for you :)
Thanks Nova :).
Ferns