Sunday, 14 February 2016
Django Unchained (5 Stars)
This is the film I decided to watch on Valentine's Day. What does it have to do with this special day of the year? Absolutely nothing. I've never cared much for Valentine's Day. When I was in school I always bought a card for whoever I happened to be dating on February 14th. None of my relationships lasted from one year to the next. In fact, while I was at school the longest relationship I had with a girl was two months, and most of the relationships were much shorter.
I can't remember how many girlfriends I had before I got married. There were so many of them. I didn't do one-night stands, that wasn't my thing, but none of my steady relationships lasted long. Looking back with the wisdom of my later life, I can understand why there were so many. In my teens and early twenties I had long blond hair, so I was a pretty boy. Because I had so many girlfriends the girls in the local schools were fascinated by me. They thought I must be experienced, something special, so as soon as I was single girls were queuing up to grab me. They were so wrong. The reason that I had so many girlfriends was because as soon as a girl was with me she discovered how unpleasant I was. In my younger years I was a difficult person, to say the least. I wasn't deliberately nasty, but I was so mixed up in my head that it wasn't easy for girls to put up with me. I didn't know what I wanted. It wasn't just a prolonged puberty, I was trying to suppress desires which I considered to be wrong. It wasn't until I was 22 that I learnt to accept myself as I was.
I'm single now. That isn't for the same reasons as in my youth. Since my mid-20's I've been married twice, and I've had one relationship that was marriage-like, i.e. we were living together for a few years. When I was young it was always the girl who left me, but I was the one who walked out of all three of my more recent serious relationships against the wishes of the woman. Both of my ex-wives would still take me back. In all three cases the woman I was living with was severely flawed.
Brigitte was outwardly cold and incapable of expressing emotion.
Leslie was a slut who wanted an open relationship involving other men.
Nicola was a crack addict who loved drugs more than me.
Of course, none of them were like that when I first met them. I dated Brigitte for almost two years before we got married, and she was very romantic. Things changed very soon afterwards. She seemed to have preconceived ideas about what a marriage should be like, based on what she saw in her parents' life. She wanted a routine and stability, not passion and romance. I wanted a woman I could hold hands with and kiss on the cheek, but Brigitte didn't consider that appropriate for a married couple.
When I first met Leslie she admitted that in the past she had had wild sex, both with individuals and groups of men, but she said it was over. Maybe the reason that it was over wasn't because she didn't want it, it was because she didn't have the opportunity. When we first moved together I was out of work for a long time, almost a year. That was terrible for me, but Leslie looked after me financially. When I finally found work she quit her job to get a college degree. She enrolled at a college, but could do most of her studying at home. It wasn't until much later that I realised she wasn't studying, she'd quit after a few months because it was too tough for her. During this time she started to see other men while I was at work. I found evidence on her computer that there were 30 men in the last eight months we were together, but I suspect there were others before then. In retrospect I can see the clues, but I was too naive at the time. For instance, she sometimes asked me if I wanted to do a threesome with her and another man, but I turned it down. When I finally found out about the 30 men, including three men she was still seeing, she said she loved me and begged me to stay with her. Slut.
Nicola didn't use drugs when I first met her. She smoked cigarettes, which should have been a warning sign for me, but nothing stronger. I hate smoking, but Brigitte had smoked when we first met and gave it up for me, so I expected the same from Nicola. The problems with hard drugs started when we had been married for two years. One of Nicola's friends, Sharon, was in between accommodation and stayed with us while she was waiting to move into her new apartment. It was only for one week, but it was fatal. Sharon's boyfriend, Alexis Thomas, sold drugs. Nicola decided to try a few things, including crack and heroin. "Just trying" became an addiction within a week. Over the next two years she tried repeatedly to give up crack, but she couldn't do it. I loved her and wanted to support her, but one incident showed me it was impossible. On one evening she wanted to buy crack from Alexis. I refused to let him come into the house. Nicola was unable to walk at the time, so she couldn't go out to him. (She had jumped out of a first floor window while she was high and broken her leg). Because of this she rang the police and told them I had assaulted her. The police came and found no evidence that I had hit her, but they took me to the police station to keep the peace, as they described it. When I returned home the next day Nicola showed no remorse. She said it was my own fault that I'd been arrested because I hadn't allowed her "friend" to visit her. I was scared that the next time she accused me of assault the police might believe her, so I made her leave as soon as I found her a place in a hostel.
Maybe there are good women out there. I don't really care. I'm not looking. After suffering so much, three times over, I'm not willing to take another risk. Of the three, it's probably Brigitte who hurt me the most. I still see her occasionally, but after all this time she still doesn't know why I left her. I've told her, again and again, but it's like she has a mental block. I've told her that I left her because she didn't love me, but she doesn't believe this was the reason, and she thinks it's an excuse for something else. During the 15 years we lived together she only said the simple words "I love you" twice, on December 31st 1982 and May 9th 1983. She doesn't see that as a problem and finds it ridiculous that I remember the dates. Those were special dates for me. I'll always remember them.