Empty Flats and Dangerous Games

Our own security.
We all devise our own ways of keeping ourselves safe.
We create existences for ourselves in which we feel comfortable.

We all need people, I think, but how we need them varies.

The last week has seen my life alter in a way that has knocked me for six. I knew the day was coming, but I wasn't able to adequetely prepare for it, due to other worries.
My flatmate has finally gone, gone to make her own life with the child she is expecting.

She comes round regularly to check I've not destroyed the flat by leaving the oven on, that I'm still alive. She's only been gone a week.
And I'm not handling it well. It doesn't feel right.

I really can't take the feeling of being alone in the flat. I could always deal with it for an hour or two before getting edgy, now I'm supposed to come in and spend my evening in an empty flat.

I've not managed an evening yet. I'm out the door by half seven for a quick pint, coming back and posting, then heading out again.

The paradox.
My flatmate is irreplacable. I'm kind of looking for a new flatmate, because the alternative is a drop of my income in real terms by three hundred quid a month. That's a lot of money.
I could afford it, if I got the promotion I'm hoping for, but that's a long shot.
And it doesn't solve the problem of being alone in the flat.

But get a flatmate I don't know?
The whole point of home is, you can let your guard down. It's YOURS. YOUR territory.
That means it can only be shared with someone you trust implicitly. Someone who can live by your rules. Someone who does not interfere in your way of life. They are there to talk to when you want to talk, but they do not intrude.

I can't see a solution to the problem.

I'm suddenly feeling helpless and vulnerable, nervous about being in my own home.
It was the perfect set up, living with a friend, in a flat that was in my name.

It doesn't get more perfect.

But of course, it couldn't last forever. And one day I must surely get used to living alone, because one day I'll have no choice. Maybe it's best I start now.

I suppose most of my life is built on two premises;
1. Maintain a large social circle.
2. Don't let anyone get too close.

I do that relatively successfully, I think. I have different people for different things. There is an inner circle that I trust reasonably extensively. There is you, the readers of this blog, who I tell things to that I don't tell people in Real Life for the simple reason that you don't actually know me, so it doesn't matter. You all know a lot more about me than I'd ever feel comfortable talking to, say, my parents about. In fact, my parents know next to nothing about me, and it is important to my own sense of well being that they don't.

I like the fact that I have a large social circle, that people enjoy going out with me, or having me at parties. It's important to me. It's all part of my overall support network. Ultimately, it keeps me secure, because I don't depend on any one individual. I remain completely independent (well, interdependent if one is honest), no one can claim they can see inside my mind, I can stand alone, and ultimately I will stand alone.



And here we come to my most recent conundrum.

In RL, I am a compulsive flirt. I flirt with pretty much anything. I call most women 'honey'. It means nothing, really, though obviously if it has the desired effect, I follow it through, if I think it is safe.
There is an exception. It is highly significant the ones I DON'T flirt with.

The bottom line is, I need to ensure my life is safe, that everything in it is safe. I need to be sure that nothing in it is threatened.
Sex is dangerous. You have to make sure you don't go falling for people. That threatens everything. If you think there is a possibility you might fall for someone, don't let anything happen in the first place.

And the last week I've felt I'm trapped in a dangerous game. I think I'm playing a very dangerous adversary indeed.

She is our new HR girl.

She is stunning, absolutely stunning. Lookswise, she is my dream. She is intelligent, mature beyond her years, outstandingly self confident.
I'm trying REAL hard to be a total bastard to her.

I've made a point of having discussions with people within her range of hearing emphasising the fact that currently my ABSOLUTE lower age limit is 23. I've gone out of my way to reinforce the message that she's not my type, having fairly masculine banter with her, telling her candid details about various aspects of my life, all in an effort to convey total disinterest.
I'm actually quite rude to her.

But I think she knows. I think she sees right through me, and I think I'm being played. Or we're both stalking round eachother.

She's certainly playing games, I think. She wants me to let slip that I find her attractive. She knows it's out of character for me to be so cold towards a member of the opposite sex, especially knowing that she ticks all the right boxes for me, aside from being under the age threshold (my preference for women of colour is well known). She's talked to the other female staff, especially Dizzy Bizzie, who has undoubtably told her her own theories regarding me.

It's power she wants over me, of that I'm sure. If I let her, she'd waltz all over my spine in sharp stillettoes.



Maybe she doesn't see through me. Maybe I'm being paranoid. I just have this sense she smells my fear.

But- and here's the point- the paranoia is entirely the result of the fact that I'm bloody scared of how attractive I find her.

It's 2008 and everything is crashing down.

I feel like I'm losing control of everything, my perfect little life that it took me twenty nine years to finally find, has slipped out of my control.

I feel like I'm defending everything of value to me, and losing.

I have a sense of foreboding.

I'm not even sure what I'm hoping for any more.

A couple of pints of bitter before I go to bed.
That's a start.