There’s a leak, a trickle of drips. I try to calculate the time between each, wondering idly if there is rhythm to their falling. But it is erratic; sometimes a staccato of drips, then a plop of drops, or a slow slithery splat. Suddenly the curtain of approaching rain reaches my house, drumming on the iron roof it sounds like I imagine gravel in a blender does. Just as quickly the spring squall passes, and I focus again on the leak. My child has a cold, I find them a clean hanky.
There always seem to be those unexpected, unwanted, visitors that just drop in on you. They never let you know they are coming, so you are not prepared for their arrival. It doesn’t matter if your house is spotless, and you’re wearing your best clothes, their unannounced descent upon your home causes everything to look shabby, dismal, bleak and untidy. Next time, Mel an’ Collie, I’m slamming the door in your faces.
Da and Ma always said they felt the whole world had an opinion about their life, but they didn’t let it bother them too much. They had a sense of humour, and they used it to gently poke back at those people and their opinions, but sometimes it’s hard for me to appreciate their humour when they made my name their poking stick. Yep, I’m Exploi Ted, the child of Da Ted and Ma Ted, Reality TV stars!
Waiting on the bed in an unfamiliar room, clothes draped on the chair, I thought again about the decision that had brought me here. It was so unlike me (or the me of recent years) to do this, had I made a mistake? Did I give in too easily to the suggestion? Perhaps I should have waited longer, tried to find another way to ease the hurt. Could a strangers hands really give me release from this pain I carried with me? Well, I had paid for an hour, no sense in wasting the money without sampling the goods. Their touch is part pleasure, part pain, but I endure it because sometimes you just have to resort to a remedial massage to fix your neck!
I carefully lifted it out of the box and gazed in awe at the perfect yellow gold band . I held it between my fingers and marveled at it’s texture. I thought of my hopes and dreams as I slipped it on my finger. I admired it’s perfect fit as I held my hand out before me. Quickly, before I could regret it, I popped it in my mouth and swallowed – I just can’t resist a Cheezel!
Ever since I heard, there’s been this impending sense of DOOM. Stupid really, as it’s only a minuscule thing now and I won’t be able to notice anything for a good while yet. But I know! It is coming, there is no escape from it and it must be faced. I’m trying to be positive, but it’s hard as I imagine time getting shorter each day. How could we possibly be past the longest day already!
I cannot sit where you sat, there is still too much you left behind. I saw you there everyday, basking in the sun, warm with contentment. I envied you and jealously wished I had the same opportunity to sit, quiet and still and relaxed. Now your seat is empty, and it beckons me, calls to me, but the consequences would be too much, teary eyes and runny nose. So, I shall not sit in your seat, your space will not be taken – cat fur does not agree with me.
Your support is really suppression and constriction, and while you hold me up you also hold me back. When you are close for too long you chafe me, yet each morning I embrace the way you mold me. By days end I revel in my liberation as I discard your confining ways, and yet I know that tomorrow I will allow myself to be enslaved once more. Bra, how I despair of thee, let me count the ways!
The Hobb-lin Fumb-lin Monks follow the path of Fro Zen. Fro Zen teaches that meditating naked in a blizzard, on a bare mountain peak, will guide you to Enlightenment.
Which it does! because after the local surgeon Mr N’Ligh Tenment removes your frostbitten fingers and toes, the radiant shine of enlightenment teaches you that it is really, really, really stupid to sit naked in a blizzard.
The path of Fro Zen believes in double reinforcement when searching for enlightenment.
(Also they own shares in a company that makes extra small shoes and fingerless gloves.)
My success rate varies, hearts can be very hard to win. Patience is the name of the game, and I have plenty of experience with that. My evenings are spent practising skills and developing strategies, all aimed at making the ladies fall for me: the slow approach, the fancy flourish, the delicate manoeuvring, the calculated risk and finally the display of reckless abandon. Despite what you may think I am no cad, as in the end I always lay my cards on the table and admit that Solitaire is my Mistress.