Sandwiched between excitement and fear, selling one home and buying another, the judgements of some and my own instinct, abandonment issues and real life bailing out, I was an adrenaline-filled slab of meat between two doorsteps of rustic loaf!
And then? I jumped from between the smothering layers of bread and butter, shook off my sandwich and decided to brave it alone in my decisions, even if I did risk the metaphorical dog snapping me up and swallowing me down!
Thanks to a perceptive comment from one of my friends (along the Power-dream lines), a huge shift has taken place today.
The dream I recounted yesterday was essentially passive and externally-controlled, wasn’t it? I had no power in that dream scenario – or, at least, I operated as if I were a powerless being.
And then it hit me: I have been waiting for others in my life to make up their minds whether they still wanted, metaphorically, to play with me or not. In other words, I was handing the power of choice over to them.
How bloody daft!
I am single now – and very much my own woman (though I don’t always give myself credit for this). I could, if I so wished, go out on the town and start behaving outrageously; I could go a little bit wild for a time and go to unsuitable clubs, get pissed, get laid…
What I mean by the above comments is not that I am a irredeemable old trollop, but that I do not have to ask anyone’s permission, or seek anyone’s approval, before getting out there and living the next phase of my life to the full!
It is, actually, up to ME to choose who I want in my life! It always was. It’s just that I stupidly gave that choice away to others. In return for what? Fuck all of any worth, frankly!
I should never have had to think, even for one second, ‘Oh my God, am I good enough, pretty enough, sexy enough, kind enough, supportive enough, nice enough to merit this person’s attention and friendship?’
On the contrary, if I am having to ask those kinds of questions, I think it likely that my quarry (whether male or female) probably isn’t worth the proverbial chase anyway!
A much more pertinent question – whether getting to know potential best girlfriend or potential lover – is, or should be, ‘Will this person be good for me? Does he or she have characteristics which are positive and life-enhancing? Do we have things in common? Do our values meet somewhere in the middle?’
If anyone has to ask, ‘Am I good enough?’ it is almost certain that the object of this anxiety will NOT be good for them!
Yes, I am single once more. Alienora Browning once again. And with every passing day, more of my Miss Browning self is coming back. She was more than capable of being a stroppy and, at times, difficult, cow. She had one hell of a temper and, when roused, took scalps rather than prisoners. She was pretty, witty, passionate and desirable, though, unfortunately, back in the eighties, she chose a series of absolute tossers to go to bed with.
She thought nothing of walking three miles or more along an unlit Mid-Welsh country road in the middle of the night, alone – or dancing under a Full Moon by Cym Symlog’s forest lake. She was not a dame to be confined to a Saturday night fuck, with the lights out and the bedclothes pulled back neatly; no, no: She was, as previously detailed in an earlier blog, the Al Fresco Queen, more at home in forest pool, up against a tree, half way up a scenic mountain or diving into a handy shrub/out of a confining Mini, when it came to bonking!
She, this early twenties Alienora Browning, knew her worth! And, before the rot set in, she could pick a wrong-un at fifty paces and take evasive action!
This earlier me – who, in time-honoured wild-chick fashion,lost her virginity during a crashing, bashing, lightning-bright storm, in a decrepit old farmhouse heavy on atmosphere and light on window panes, toilets and sane landladies! – would have had severe words with her older, cowed self; she would have told the fifty-eight year-old Ali, ‘Get a fucking grip, will you? And stop being so wet, so craven, so pathetic! Get out there, dance crazily and kick serious ass!’
In recent years, I have become – shock! horror! – obedient, biddable, more a ‘Yes’ girl than a ‘Fuck off! I’m not in the mood!’ gal. And I am not talking sex here (at least not exclusively).
But why should I please everybody? Eh? Why should I try so hard to please ANYBODY? I mean, either people like and love me because I am ME, or they don’t – and, for the latter group, why should I grovel and flatter and all that bollocks just to get the flaccid vote from emotionally impotent individuals?
I am more than capable of terrifying hulking great knuckle-dragging sixteen-year-old school boys, yet still I wilt when exposed to the Disapproval Beam from someone nearer my own age.
I don’t have to do as I am told anymore, or obey rules which make no sense and change at a moment’s notice. I can be as rebellious as I like! As wild and loud as I used to be! I can wear strange clothes, bright DMs, drink too much (once in a while), play loud music, flirt a lot, have loud sex if I wish, eat what I want, when I want!
I am nobody’s plaything. I am nobody’s slave. I am nobody’s whipping-post or revenge upon an unsatisfactory partner. I am nobody’s supply! I am me! And I am FEISTY!
The earlier me would have gone to that dream party, dressed in Tart Mode/Punk Gear, and either been totally outrageous or would have waited outside till night fell and then haunted the place with eerie howls, sticks scraped across windows and mysterious moans, groans, thuds and rattles!
I am active once more, and in control of my own path – and those who stay in my life are those who rejoice, who want me no other way, who delight in this reclamation of my power!
I am Sekhmet…
…And I have slipped my chains!