The Cathartic Experience of Getting Dirty !

Never under estimate the cathartic experience of getting dirty!

There I was the other morning, hadn’t slept particularly well, kept thinking all manor of things relating to Matt and that whole situation, which prevented slumbers sweet escape from washing over me. It’s funny how strange sometimes silly things bring back memories of happier times, for example, even now, in my head I still play the ’Punch Herbie/Slug Bug’ game each time I see a VW Beetle! I giggle to myself and sometimes aloud.

A friend asked me what the hardest part has been about the whole ‘USA Drama Thing’ as he called it, and after thinking for good long while, I have to say that it probably is the lack of communication. OK so the lack of relationship is a pretty big gap in life, but, the lack of communication from him, before, during and after has been the most hurtful and most difficult to cope with. He dumped my by email by the way!! The whole non communication thing, well It raises far more questions than answers, prevents any further dialog between us.

It also leaves me unable to scratch that itch that is wondering how he is. It may sound a little odd given the circumstances, but I still do care for him. He may have fallen out of love with me and dumped me, but I didn’t fall out of love with him and love is not something I can just turn off like a tap, or faucet if you’re American, which means I am constantly wondering about where he is, what he’s doing, and more importantly if he’s OK.

I could listen to the gossip from his friends, and believe that he’s going down hill, and down hill fast, that he is drinking and smoking and doing drugs, that he’s starting to be really dirty and having sex in public restrooms again. These things and more well up in my mind, and it’s all to do with the lack of contact, the cessation of all communications.

I can’t recall any other relationship where contact was withdrawn like this, perhaps that’s because up until now I’ve always been the one to bring things to their conclusions, to their natural or unnatural end.

Well with the exception of Ed, with whom I’d lived for a number of years, and whom ended our cohabitation and life together with the rather clinical “We have come to the end of the road of our relationship” It may have been clinical perhaps a little cold, but it was accurate, succint, to the point. But that didn’t stop us from being in contact with each other, indeed, a few times after reaching that particular cull de sac on life’s highway we’d meet up and well get passionate. In fact, don’t tell anyone, but I have to say that during one such meeting we had some of the most rewarding and passionate sexual experiences of my life, for which I will always thank Ed the ex for, albeit silently and on the pages of this here blog – it’s OK he doesn’t read it! (At least I hope he’s not an avid reader of Best Gay Blogs or The Seafront Diaries – if he is he’s either gonna swing for me with a baseball bat, get a big head or send his boyfie round to batter me with a rolling pin and telephone directory!)

Anyway what I’m saying is that all my other passed relationships have come to an end on my terms, at a time of my choosing and doing, but one thing I have done, one thing I made sure of is that, I remained on at least speaking terms with all of them that wanted it.

Just to end all forms of communication would be extremely cruel, calloused and hateful, not something I think I have the ability or desire to be. Does it sound like I’m having a dig at Matt through this blog? Probably, maybe I am a little, but it’s just a by product of telling the story, how it is, warts and all. And hey, remember, I was giving up everything for him and he dumped me via an email!!! What can be worse than getting dumped by an email? Huh? I’m asking you – ok being dumped by a Post It note, that would be worse, but hey who gets dumped by Post It?

It was with these thoughts raging in my head and long with other more practicalities, such as taking the photos off the wall, packing away the silly cuddly plushy toys and other keep sakes and memorabilia that laid me low the other morning. I needed to clear my head, cleanse my body and something that would not take either money or too much brain power.

I decided the bike would be the way to go, I needed a ride, I’ve started to pile on a few pounds since coming back from America again, something to do with the eating of American chocolate – which is, was and always will be my favorite, which by the way my American friends, I am running rather a tad low on. It’s really hard to get Hershey Kisses over here, same as Pixi Stix! (Just a little hint for Santa !!)

I’m not sure if I was on auto pilot, or the sounds of Death Cab For a Cutie, The Postal Service and Bright Eyes on the iPod was distracting me, but I found myself on the bridge over the river Adur, forward was the relatively dry roads around Shoreham Airport, behind me, the relatively dry road from which I’d just come. To the left of me, the dryish footpath leading the main road and cycle route along Shoreham Beach, and finally to my right, the Downs link Way, which is a rather well used path way, but mainly on unsealed ground!

Guess which way I chose?

At first it was easy going, I built up a little speed, the damp ground of the gravel kicking up under the tyres a little, not a soul to see, just me, the freedom, the air. I cycled a bit faster, indeed top gear and as fast as my little legs could force the peddles round. Then the nice dry gravel gave way to mud, forcing me to navigate large pot holes filled with water, sloppy mud sides and heavy over hanging branches.

It would have been easy to avoid such puddles, pools and mud had I been flying, or chosen a different route, but, I wasn’t and I didn’t. I was belting along trying my best to steer round the biggest and deepest baby lakes of dirty muddy water, then I thought what the hell, and cycled straight through the next one. Well come on, there’s no point going off road cycling in the damp, in the winter if you don’t wanna get wet, nor dirty for that matter.

Suddenly, for the first time in months I felt alive as the coldness of the water soaked through the trakkie bottoms I was wearing. My body tingled as the mud splattered up from the rapidly turning wheels all over my back, front side and head.

I got to Bramber, not a mammoth distance I’ll readily admit, but a great half way point, from which I could have cycled back along the road way, but nope, call me Queen Silly of the Silly people if you wish, but there was only one way back for me. Yep back along the muddy track, that is the Downs Link.

I’ve never been so wet, so muddy and dirty, even in my surprisingly well kempt youth, as I was then, a couple of days ago. Brown chunks of mud clung to my face, my jacket was now three colours, white, blue and mud and my trakkie bottoms, well lets just say they have since dried to be a solid lump of earth with a waist band!