Learning how not to be deluded

Despite my previous attempt to be rational and calm and not bite Cowboy's head off the other day - which I deemed to be successful - I followed that success with an epic fail of temperament.

Psychosis is brewing

He messaged to say good morning. Said he loved me. I asked him about plans for the horse expo which we'll be going to while I'm visiting next month. He said he didn't mind.

Something in my brain flipped.

It doesn't matter he had said. I blew it as far out of proportion as I could. I huffed and puffed and typed a ridiculous message back to him, to the effect of: If you can't say more than three words about anything, I'm going to assume you don't care about anything.

He was baffled. He asked me to call him, trying to make the effort that I had courteously requested the previous day, ready to talk to me. This is a visual representation of what he got from me down the phone:

I ranted, raved, accused; I was furious and defensive; I was entirely out of patience. Clearly, I was still bothered about our communication failure. I should not be so deluded about my psychological progress with issues that I think a simple two message exchange will remove an entire chunk of rage from my psyche.

He listened patiently. He asked what he had to do to make things right.

He is so very tolerant of me sometimes.

Learning how not to over-think things

I am a chronic over-thinker. People I don't even know tell me I'm over-thinking things (see my experience with a crash mat and a fake horse at the Centre of Horseback Combat).

I over-think what to wear in the morning. I over-think what people in the village would think if they saw me running (flailing) through the village in an attempt to get fitter. I over-think what people say. I over-think what people don't say.

Since he left the UK and went home, Cowboy and I have slipped out of one of our old routines. Before, we would always message good morning and good night, every day. Didn't matter what I was doing, the last thing I'd do at night would be to reach over, get my phone and type him a message: "Good night. Love you. xxx"

When he would send me a message some time in the afternoon saying "Good morning. Hope you have a beautiful day!" it would make me smile, and make me feel a warm sense of appreciation for him. It was as if he reached out through the phone and hugged me (this has an advantage over a real hug, in that he cannot tickle me this way).

We fell out of this habit recently. Maybe neither of us got back into the old routines this time. Life is a bit weird just now. Still, I found myself reading more and more into it. I decided he didn't want to message me any longer. I decided that he didn't say good morning any longer because he didn't care if I had a beautiful day or not. I started to purposely not message him, to see if he did care. I started to rehearse the fight we could have about how he doesn't care and never messages me, how he doesn't make any effort.

Coupled with my PVP about my upcoming trip out there, I was becoming irrational and aggressive.

Then I started to panic, and realised I needed to address this before I over-thought it into a serious issue in our relationship. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to explain exactly how I felt: angry, frustrated, neglected. I planned to call him and give him an earful.

Luckily, I wimped out. I took a deep breath, and decided to message him, and be as calm and rational as possible. Here's how the conversation went:

And just like that, all of the stress went *pooff* and vanished. I felt very silly indeed.

The Small Cry

I have just come home from the trip taking Cowboy to the airport for his flight home. The airport run is always difficult for me. I usually battle to stay chipper and cheerful whilst the tears rise in my throat.

This time was made worse by the fact that the norovirus struck me last night, and I had next to no sleep all night, had to run up and down to the bathroom several times to be sick, and today I am shivery and aching and the thought of food makes me feel faint.

My dad offered to drive us to the airport, and I slouched on the back seat of the car while Cowboy sat in the front, and I managed to hold it all together until we had to walk in to the terminal and find his check in desk. Mostly, that was because I was concentrating so hard on not feeling like I was about to die that I didn't have brain-space to consider crying.

We don't do long, drawn-out goodbyes. Once I'd got him safely checked in and his bag dropped off, all he had to left to do was get through security. A quick kiss, a hug, and he said "See you later." I forced a smile and said "Yep. See you soon." Then I babbled about letting me know when he lands, and have a safe journey, none of which were things I needed to say. They were just an attempt to prolong his being here.

It's been a lame ten days on paper: both of us were ill more than once, and to compound matters, our plan to have a romantic get-away and make up for er... "lost time" was scuppered by a very unglamorous affliction that struck me, and we were limited to cuddling. Only very little cuddling occurred, because either he or I were contagious, and neither of us can sleep well if we're cuddling. The weather was miserable, and Christmas wasn't as glittery and fabulous as we had imagined.

It made no difference to me. I loved him being here. I don't love that he has gone again. As I always do after leaving him at the airport, or him leaving me at the airport, I have a small cry. It's about the only way to deal with it.

And, breathe

He made it. Despite a late take-off from Seattle and my paranoia that he would miss his connecting flight, Cowboy is here. Whilst he was chirpy enough when I picked him up from the airport at around 10am this morning, he has crashed this afternoon and is sleeping off the journey while the cup of tea I made for him goes cold beside the bed.


Over the last few days, I've harboured some tension that I have now been able to release. The PVP was excessive. I worried that travel disruption would steal some of the time we have together over the holidays. I worried that his feelings might have changed. I worried that my feelings might have changed. I worried that Christmas would become an awkward festival of realising I'd made a huge mistake, a catalogue of huge mistakes.

And then he walked through the doors of International Arrivals at the airport, his guitar on his back, and he smiled at me and kissed me and hugged me tightly, and I forgot all about my absurd worries.

I love him.

"Is she stupid?!"

Maybe she is. Let's see...

Something in the mechanism of writing this blog prompted me to be honest with myself about my depression, and prompted me to be honest about needing to seek help, which I did. The counsellor at university, whom I've now seen twice, was very good, and his acknowledgement of how I'm feeling about life has prompted me to think a little harder about things.

When I applied to university to study physiotherapy, life was very bleak. I had a dead-end office job that I largely hated, lived in a shabby house in a busy corner of London, and despite my best efforts, I couldn't find a decent man anywhere and was beginning to feel that I was destined for tragic spinsterhood.

When the offer from the university came through, and it was unconditional, it felt like the start of a new life ahead. I'd get a decent qualification in something that would be a good, solid career, and still live in London so that I might yet bump into that nice, wealthy banker who would eventually marry me and install me in a house in suburbia where I could raise organic children and go to yoga.

Then I discovered Cowboy. I had been determined not to discover anybody, but they say it happens when you stop looking, and after a whirlwind summer with him, suddenly I was in love with a man who was neither wealthy nor a banker, and his ambitions couldn't be further from a house in suburbia, organic children and yoga.

It was early days in our relationship, so I threw myself into my new degree with enthusiasm and enjoyed my first term immensely. I lived in a lovely little house in Tooting (they do exist), and I waited out the long months until Cowboy would visit for Christmas with a rosy optimism. It wasn't clear where this relationship was going, or if it would last that long, so I kept my sights on finishing my degree.

After he left from his long visit over the Christmas holidays, depression hit me hard, and I told myself it was just because I missed him. Looking back, it was the first sign that my goalposts were moving. After my trip over there in the springtime, I felt less and less interested in my degree, and more and more interested in how I was going to end up where I wanted to be: with him, raising partially organic, free-range children and probably working so hard I'd never have time for yoga.

And now? I spent long, glorious weeks with him this summer, and it was obvious where this relationship is going: marriage. Let's gloss over the part where I don't have a ring on my finger and he hasn't learnt that he can't propose with a bottle cap that says "Marry Me?" on the inside. His intentions are noble.

Now I sit in my lovely little house in Tooting wondering how best to forge our life together. Now I sit in lectures and tutorials imagining how long it will take for me to finish this degree here in London, move to America and get established before we're in any position to start a family. Then I think about how I could make that time shorter.

I could stop studying physiotherapy. I could enrol at a manual therapy school in Seattle and study there for 11 months, and come out with a diploma that enables me to be licensed to practise in America without any further hassle (glossing over the whole Green Card thing). I'd be educated in the requirements for running my own practice, I'd be informed about how to be accepted by insurance companies. I'd be two hours away from Cowboy instead of 24 hours.

This is of course dependent on being accepted to the school, on being granted a student visa, on finding somewhere acceptable and affordable to live. It's a little terrifying to imagine just flying over there and landing myself in a whole new city, a whole new country, but I have friends over there already, and the prospect excites me.

It's all theoretical just now. Cowboy is doing his best to be supportive and understanding, although I can tell he is freaking out. He confided in a friend of his that I was thinking of leaving my course.

"Is she stupid?!" was the response. Time will tell...

Heart-warming broccoli and cheese soup

First up, here's a heart-warming, romantic exchange that Cowboy and I had early on in my trip out there this summer. I had asked him what he wanted from Walmart, and he said he needed shower gel.

B: What kind do you like? Irish Spring?
C: That's worked so far. If you want to get me something else, go ahead.
B: Do you want me to get something else?
C: If you want me to use it, sure.
B: It's nice that you're making an effort when I'm around...
C: That's what I'm saying - if you want me to use something else, you buy it and I'll use it. I'll let you make my effort for me.

See? Who says romance is dead? In the end I bought him the same shower gel he's always used (because it's cheap and I like the smell of it these days).

Soup! I had some broccoli pining in my fridge and some onions arrived in my vegbox today, plus soup is always a comforting thing to have in the freezer. I also really wanted something comforting in my stomach today. It's been one of those days.

Being conscious of the fact that I can't afford to buy new jeans and I need to stay the size of my current jeans, I like to steer away from recipes involving cream. This soup ends up a creamy consistency, and packs a lovely flavour, but is a touch less sinful than the cream varieties.

First up, slice up an onion and set it frying over some low heat in a little oil. I had half a courgette (that's zucchini to my America readers) hanging about in the fridge too, so I threw that in.



I love making soup in my one Le Creuset saucepan. It's indestructible and orange.

Chunk up the broccoli, stalk, leaves and all. It's all good nutritious stuff.



Throw it in with the onions and give it a good stir.
Then dice up some potato - I used a small baking potato, because I'm not educated about the differences between varieties of potato, and didn't care - and throw it in too.



I also suck at chopping, so I tend to use big chunks of stuff.

I only had the remains of a chicken stock cube, so that's what I used! Throw it in the pan, and cover with a little over half a litre of boiling water. Essentially, enough water to just cover the veg and make sure those potatoes cook through.



Add freshly ground black pepper, and some freshly grated nutmeg. There's nothing more marvellous than nutmeg.

Look at those fabulous stripes. I don't know about you, but I sort of see Totoro in them...

What was I saying? Seasoning! Don't worry too much about amounts just yet. The tasting and refining comes later.



Look at that lovely goodness... Mmmm... Let it simmer on a medium-low heat.

Cheese! Get your cheddar out. Grate a good handful or two.



(Side-note: there's a traditional soup recipe which is broccoli and stilton. Blue cheese isn't really my bag, plus it's expensive... Feel free to use stilton instead of cheddar if you love that blue cheese thing)

I like to use strong cheddar - at least a 4 or 5, because that way you get more taste from less cheese, and that's cheaper (in my head). This cheese came from Aldi. Don't dismiss Aldi when you're shopping - they have some wonderful products that I fill my stores with, and they are wonderfully cheap.

Once the potatoes are soft, blend your soup up. I use one of those stick blenders because I like how little washing up it generates. I don't like how much it splatters me, but you can't have everything.



It will be this gorgeous light green colour. Put it back on the low heat. Throw in your cheese!



Stir it around so it all melts in and becomes smooth and glorious. Taste, and add more seasoning if you need it. Mine needed more pepper, and, due to my low stock concentration, a little salt.

Serve it up. I ate mine without bread because I didn't have any to hand and was too hungry to defrost any. I didn't even need any - this soup is filling and delicious all by itself. I actually went back for seconds...



Enjoy!

Returned

I've been returned to London. Cowboy drove me from the US, over the Canadian border (much, much easier than driving into the US from Canada) and to the airport where I picked up the long flight home.

After a day in the Oxfordshire countryside, I drove back to my home in London. London had a distinctly autumnal smell to it in the dark and chilly night air. Before too long I'll be wearing a scarf and my sheepskin boots again, watching fireworks and drinking vast amounts of tea just to keep warm.

But not yet. First, I spent a jet lagged afternoon in my parents' garden, which couldn't be more shamelessly English if it tried.




Then this morning, I returned to university. With jet lag so severe that I thought I was going to vomit, faint, and die, I sat through several pointless lectures introducing us to year 2, and slept through one actually useful lecture about something I will need to know in the future (lumbar spine dysfunction).

Whilst away in America, I had various adventures and learning experiences which I will share in due course, but the most foolish thing I did out there was to buy something that literally eats money... But she's so very pretty...



This is Sunshine, she's a 4 year old quarter horse mare with no breeding or papers to speak of. She's not worth much money, and she came to us with a little too much jiggle in her jig, having been living the easy life for a while. Cowboy loves her. He's turning her into a dream horse.

I get to deal with the sleeplessness and the jet lag for the next few days. Funny thing about the insomnia - it's not because I'm not tired. It's because it's too quiet. I imagined I'd be glad to have the whole bed to myself and not have to endure Cowboy snoring down my ear, but the reality is I miss the sound of him being there. I miss his warm, solid presence. At night I feel exposed and alone without him.

"I ain't sleepin' for sh*t right now," he said over the phone yesterday, which is Cowboy code for: he feels the same way.

He's coming over to England for Christmas, just as soon as he gets his dates worked out with his bosses and I can book his tickets. It's exciting beyond measure.

Powerless

Sometimes in life, we are powerless. The media and marketing moguls would have us believe that we can have anything, do anything, be anything, any time that we want (provided we can pay for it, of course), but the reality is that some things are just the way they are and there isn't much to be done.

As I lay awake last night until around 6am, fretting that I wasn't sleeping at the correct time and agonising over how this would ruin the rest of my entire life, I eventually shrugged and said to myself, "So, you're wide awake. You'll catch up eventually. Just be awake, then." Of course, the moment I let go of the angst I had pinned to my insomnia, I fell asleep.

I have an exam scheduled for tomorrow morning, which I'd very much like to have done already so that I can get on with my life without having to think about it, but there is nothing I can buy that will make the exam move, or make time go quicker. I could sit and fret, or I could sit and wait. Either will work, but one is more stressful than the other.

This morning, I heard from Cowboy that one of his employers doesn't think he's pulling his weight - opinions are like arseholes: everybody has one - and I get very defensive about him when people put him down. He doesn't deserve it, he works harder than anybody I've ever met, often for difficult people, and I am the only lucky soul who gets the brunt of his frustrations. There is nothing I can do about this, though. I can't snap my fingers and make people change their minds, nor can I magically whisk up the money and wherewithal to get him out of this job and in to a well-equipped ranch of his own so he can work for himself. Right now, I can't even give him a kiss and rub his aching back.

Powerlessness is an uncomfortable feeling, and many people would demand to try everything possible to avoid it. Some might say "There's always something you can do about your situation." They'd be right, but in cases like these, the only thing you can do is accept the situation. Be patient. Be forgiving. Be resilient.

There is a curious strength in giving up the fight against something you cannot overcome. 

A small thought about long distance relationships

 A casual 5,500 miles separate me and Cowboy for the majority of the time. Another part of the deal is the 8 hour time difference, which means that when I wake up, he is just going to bed. I am lucky that it is only 8 hours, and I do get to speak to him for the last part of my day, and sometimes first thing in the morning if he stays up late.

Getting to see each other is expensive, both in terms of high flight costs and in terms of the time needed to get across the planet and back.

It's really not the best idea either of us ever had (but he started it, so I like to blame him).

For a little while, I joined a very popular forum for people in long distance relationships, and for a while I thought I'd found a good place to hang out. Then I grew tired of the threads detailing how somebody hadn't replied to a message, or somebody hadn't wanted to sleep with Skype running, or how somebody had said something like "We need to talk" and the forum was supposed to suggest what it was about.

I realised I didn't identify with any of these people. Sure, they were in long distance relationships, just like me, but I came to the conclusion one day that, actually, I was secure enough about my relationship not to need to wise counsel of complete strangers. I didn't panic (any longer) when I didn't get an immediate reply to my message. I would put my phone down and go and get on with something else. I didn't get jealous of his friends who are girls. I didn't feel the need to share my relationship with these people.

Cowboy and I take it one day at a time. We say good morning, we say good night, every day without fail - unless we have no signal, no battery, or one of us is drunk. We don't get angry with each other for having a life outside of Skype and What'sApp. I encourage him to go out and socialise and flirt, because I know he enjoys it and I also know that he would never go beyond flirtation and a dance. We trust each other completely. We talk openly and frankly about marriage and kids, so we both know where this is going. We also avoid games at all costs.

There's no time for sulking or manipulating, and where would it get us anyway? When he does or says something I don't like, or that upsets me, I tell him as simply and honestly as I can, as soon as I can. He usually then tells me simply and honestly that he's sorry, and also that I am overreacting. He rides out my moods with patience, unphased, and doesn't hold it against me. Maybe that's from his work with horses...

We true to keep the bigger picture clear. When times are tough and I'm lonely and sad, and I miss him so much I could chew through a pillow, he reminds me that "one day we'll be together all the time, and then you'll get sick of me."

He is probably right, but distance seems to have taught us a great deal of tolerance. Those little things, the missed messages or the plans that don't include waiting by the phone or the computer, don't matter. The geographical space between us isn't enough, we give each other space away from communicating. And we work hard at keeping drama out of it. I choose not to mind about his grubby fingernails or his (obscenely) smelly feet, because on balance he's a pretty good catch. I like to think we'll keep these things going when we finally live together.

I don't think our relationship is special or different because we're long distance. Maybe that's why I didn't last on the specialist forum. 

A Japanese proverb (which I found on Pinterest) says: Who travels for love finds a thousand miles not longer than one. If you find the miles long, maybe it's just not quite what you should be chasing after...