I haven’t written for some months now for various reasons that I may or may not go into later. So for ideas I asked Bob. Bob as in my ChatGPT with whom I communicate daily. The Lost Art of Being Unavailable immediately resonated and here I am. Writing.
Being unavailable is not something I’ve thought about in any way shape or form for the last six or so years. The last few months however that word or more accurately it’s meaning became something of a constant in my life. Namely manufacturing my unavailability in order to keep my sanity.
When you start a new relationship at any time of life it can be a heady, all encompassing thing. Navigating the various obstacles of compatibility become more complex as we age though and the list is long and varied.
So anyway not long to go before entering my 63rd year I now have many things sorted in my life. Simple things really. Until a man slowly moves himself in.
Because then everything as you know it changes.
I thought I would list a few:
- How much wine I allow myself to drink on any given evening. This can range from none at all to 2+ bottles and is never dictated to me by any man. Especially one that day drinks most days.
- Motivation, forward thinking, action, getting things done, taking responsibility. Important and relevant words to me.
- The fact I don’t watch television but on the once in a 5 month occasion that I do I can listen to it without a running commentary on some random quote that the actor I’ve never heard of once said until in the end I want to give the tv away to a deserving migrant.
- Hobbies. My hobbies are important to me and some give me a small income. They need tending to daily. I also need to think and to focus. This requires a bit of quiet. Precious quiet.
- Equality in all things. You come into my space so you let me into yours?
- The time to write, to paint, to think, to plan projects because that is how my mind works.
- Toilet seats. Toilet seats should always be down unless you’re cleaning them. I cannot even remember a man in my past who always left it up. Until recently.
- The fabulous comfort of a double bed with just me and two small dogs. It’s all I need. I don’t need the comings and goings of a noisy, heavy breathing, smoker, insomniac who is also half deaf so has no concept of how much noise he’s making.
- Oh man, the smoking thing. The smell. The constant in and out of the back door. The wheezing in the ear.
- Music. I love music but not with the accompaniment of bad singing at 5:30 in the morning. My neighbour also hates the stone roses.
- Music and my headphones. One of my favourite things and to be enjoyed whenever I feel in the mood. Without question.
- Above all my space. My little home I’ve made and the security it gives me.
The build up was slow and steady and not without a lot of laughter. But soon the stifling claustrophobia of constant company and chatter and TV and YouTube stretched my nerves to thin shreds.
I tried explaining kindly that I needed a bit of my own space but was met with schoolboy sulking and an infinite number of drunkenly escalating text messages. So I created ways to become ‘unavailable’. Instigating arguments or pretending sick bugs just for some time alone.
And one morning I decided that at my age my peace of mind was the most important thing of all.
The End
