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Happily Ever After.
By Nicholas Avenell 23/02/2001
There is no such thing as a happy ending.
There are no endings, only beginnings. The end of a story is the start of a new story. Therefore to get a happy ending, you must stop the story before completion, because completion in the “And then they were married and they had children and lived happily ever after” sense fails to take in the final and ultimate deaths of both Snow White and the Prattsome Hince.
And the dwarfs, slowly drowning to death in the dust that Snow White used to tidy.
Or the Queen, who is an evil bitch, and appears to remain that way. Doesn’t she get a chance to be good?
No. Because the story ends there. Finito.
By the rambling above, you may gather that Claire and I have split up. A week ago you may have ended the story with us walking, hand in hand into the sunset. Or riding up on the big-wheel, or the kiss at the top, seeing the whole village spread out below us like a map. Not that either of us noticed at the time, being -as we were – Otherwise Engaged.
Either of those would have been a perfect ending to the movie. The Perfect Couple. Living Happily Ever After. The End.
It was an amicable departure. By which I mean that I didn’t say much, and she told me that we can remain ‘Just Friends’. I suppose I could keep track of my ‘Just’ friends, of both the “I love you as a…” and the “Can we remain..” variety.
But I won’t.
And it was amicable. She is moving away. Long Distance Relationships Don’t Work (LDR’s, in fact, do work. They just suck mightily. So I’m told. Oh, and both parties have to *want* them to work. Which screwed that idea) and… and…
…and she wants a new life, and I’m not in it.
Helped Claire pack, and watched the car pull out and away. She has my address, she has my number.
I’m not going to hold my breath waiting for contact though.
Throwing myself into work. DVD reviews are in, Cinema tomorrow to catch the last release, Films are cowards, I know. They never come singually, but gang up and pounce at you five at a time. Last two tomorrow evening.
Oh, I have my new writer, BTW. Name of “George”, apparently. Poor sod. I expect he has some nom de’plume he’ll want to use instead. The question is, will the big magazines take any notice of anyone who doesn’t use their real name?
Read the flick-pages. Still nothing. I keep sending them the magazine. For Christ sake, I leave this god-forsaken dump in *Five Months*. I *Have* to get a job by then or it’s another year at the Fuckit & Run, serving lager to overweight football addicts who wouldn’t recognise a real soccer-ball if it bounced against their stomach. Most would probably not even fucking notice.
Anyway, George is apparently showing his face in the office tomorrow. Meanwhile I need to find someone to take to the screening.
31 Jan. 9am
(From office, emailed home)
George showed up. George is, in fact, Georgina. Bet Central had a mightily loud giggle at that one. Bastards. Writing style is flowing, slightly academic, and just a touch too serious for the stuff we normally put out. Better get to work.
George & I went out to the screening, and then out for a meal to talk the films over. Nothing fancy, just a Maccy-D. Inteligent. Film-buff. Occasional (she says) weekness for romantic comic-dies. That might be a problem.
What she should have said is: “My critical senses go into overload”, She ripped the fucking thing into confetti! The page of this magazine should be placed in a steel box lest the thing contaminate the very earth.
Fucking *hell* the girl is good.
Flick with G, For fun rather than for the mag. Proper meal this time, restaurant recommended by the foodies.
Went up to the river. Didn’t even notice the trash :).
Sat by moonlight discussing the film.
Then we stopped discussing the film.
No, In case this is found, nothing happened.
Not sex, anyway. Just talk, sleep. Friends. Lovers in all but the physical act.
I still can’t bring myself to write out that full date, not after last year.
Letter from Claire – and a card – saying how much she enjoys her new place. New boyfriend. That makes me feel better, I suppose. It isn’t really *that* long since we split.
G. comes back from her family today. Not much chance of a movie, what with the date, anything not a R-C will have been shunted for something that is.
I’ve been reading this diary again.
There are no happily ever afters.
That doesn’t mean that the happiness cannot last for a fairly long time.
Tomorrow she might have to move away, or I might catch her with the entire football team (Happy Valentines Day *sigh*) or she might do a Gemma and just dump me in the public eye (Front page of the /fucking/ magazine. Bitch).
But for now. For this moment, and for this day, I am in love, and she loves me.
And the only we need is the Happily Ever Now.