What would Mrs Wolfe do? (shocking)
Google analytics has indicated that I am not quite as dead as I thought since I connected it. I am still stuggling a bit with isolating the blog. It is a slightly different format to the rest of the site, but still, I have readers so yay!
Today I am going to tell you a story which shocked my closest friends. The are all male, which I suspect is why they were shocked by this, but I think given my degree of social isolation it is not a particularly surprising story.
Back when I first ‘met’ Wolfe – I use the term very loosely since we merely exchanged a few words on a website – I was being hounded by my family because they wanted to take my mother’s money. they did not like that I had done well in any of my careers, they did not like us remaining in our beloved home, and they wanted ‘their’ money.
Fortunately, my father had warned me before his own period of dementia that they would do something along these lines. Evidently he was aware what a grasping and selfish bunch of no-hopers he had brought into the world with my mother. He was very clear – it is her money – do not let them take it from her.
So, as I was restoring our house, I stuck to the programme. My siblings are too stupid to know how much of ‘their’ money they would have lost had I chosen to walk away at any time. As a result of their lack of help, my life has not been my own since 2003, when my father was brought downstairs due to his illness. Explaining this to them is pointless, as they simply reject the information.
Anyway, I got through the worst period of my life without telling anybody anything, thanks to Wolfe. The shame of having these people as relatives has meant that I do not want to bring anybody new into this situation, my friends have dropped by at times and helped, otherwise I have at times been awake for several weeks ensuring that my mother is well looked after. My imaginary friend has been very helpful, although in person he actually just briefly messed about, realised he was out of his depth and ran ten miles to get away from me.
The climax of this horrible state of affairs was seven years ago, during the time we actually communicated briefly. The social work department got involved, saw an opportunity to seize my mother and her property, and used my spiteful siblings to try to take everything, even as I was pulling the rubble out of the house and restoring it.
So, since I was shaking like a leaf 24 hours a day, vomiting and weeping constantly with stress, I had to take on social services and my family in battle to protect my mother from the same horrible death that was inflicted on my father in 2007. Within two days of being taken, my father was drugged and a testing team was brought in to tell us he could not eat. Having seen their actual reports, what they really said was that my father was not awake, and could not be tested. Hence, despite my fighting them, my father was starved to death for the sake of the convenience of the NHS. I tried to remove him, and was told that I could not.
Back to seven years ago, and I wiped the floor with both my family and social services. How did I do this, despite the trauma and the horror of what my family had grown into?
I asked myself “What would Mrs Wolfe do?”
Now, for the shocked males – this is a normal part of the female psyche – within hours of dating or even noticing you, we are looking at our clothing and deciding what you would rather we wear. It is very annoying, and a part of our female selves that we do not like or even acknowledge very much, but for somebody like me, who is habitually scruffy, it is very noticeable and rather annoying.. It is a basic part of nesting instinct – we want to make the theoretical nest as pleasant as possible. At least women do not do things like rubbing their vaginal fluid on the furniture any more (yes, this was a thing many decades ago)
Mrs Wolfe is quite assertive, compared to me. She doesn’t take any shit from anybody, she sees through problems in much the same way I do, and she presents a rational and forceful presence, particularly when she is being attacked. She dresses better, walks straighter, and elbows some room for herself when she needs to. In short, she is a much improved version of me. I am inclined to sit and watch the drama before bulldozing it. Mrs Wolfe does not wait for the drama before telling you exactly what is going to happen and then implementing it.
Being in love – and I do mean in love, as opposed to being a fan – Wolfe would have been very well aware at that time that I was not a fan – with/of a famous person is not fun. You question everything. Since I have never entertained poster boys in the past, it was particularly odd for me. There are many, many things that I do not like about the history of Wolfe, just to make things even more confusing. As I walked the hundreds of kilometres to regain my health, I pondered this, and many other things, including the probability of my actually doing anything with my useless emotion. To make things worse, Wolfe swithers between over-intense interest in you and blocking you, which means you are also in love with someone who blows hot and cold even more than you do, if you happen to be me. The first thing you do is stop looking or listening to them, because you fear madness.
So, in putting my heart in the unlikeliest safe place in the world, I was beautifully distracted from the horror of discovering that my superficially respectable family were actually the worst people I had ever met in my life. I have frequently had cause to laugh at what Wolfe himself would actually do to them in the event he was presented with a similar situation. It is the weirdest version of saying ‘My hero’ ever.
Anyway, having taken a step back from all this and looked at it again over the years. I am now at a suitable distance from it to say it was the healthiest flight of fancy ever. Rather than have a breakdown, run away from my family and see my mother die at the hands of the NHS and social work department, and rather than seeing my own health destroyed, I survived thanks to delusion.
The problem was in the years following, when I wondered how I could let go of the idea that I really should be more like Mrs Wolfe. Mr Wolfe does not like or want to talk to me, and so letting go is something I should have done a long time ago. I hate crowds, I hate the whole idea of the USA, and I don’t particularly relish travelling as much as I used to. Wolfe, in short, is the worst candidate for a partner ever.
And yet, here we are seven years later, and I am still thinking of Wolfe. Perhaps it is an internal rebellion to a situation that I am stuck in. My siblings are all retired now. There is still no question of them giving up so much as a night out for my mother, and I have not only spent a great deal on maintaining her ailing health, but my youth and life are pretty much finished doing it.
Having said this, given that trying not to be in love with Wolfe seems to make me ill, perhaps I should just stay in this safe but pointless bubble. There are worse delusions than finding the person that completes you, however unlikely he happens to be.