The Insoluable Problem

Let's face it, you don't really know what to do.
It kind of seems to fit one kind of plan, but not what you had planned, and it doesn't quite make sense.

And you don't quite know how to handle it.

Slightly off the radar.

But you're going to go have a shave, Style your hair, emphasise those kiss curls, moisturise, get on the train to Coventry, Bel will pick you up from the station, you'll go back to CS's, ask Mrs CS loads of questions about Angela, have a smoke with CS, go to the pub, CS will witter on about saving the canals, you'll look lovingly into Bel's eyes, and ask caring questions about how she's handling life. It will distract you.

Not Bel you're thinking of. But by syphoning off a fair bit of your emotions into pretending to see Bel as a viable option, whilst having sordid thoughts about Mrs CS's hot black friends, you will distract yourself, albeit temporarily, from the woman you're actually thinking about.

You may fool yourself for the weekend.

Except you know what the first thing you'll do when you get home is.

And that's the problem.

You like the you you will be tonight. That's you. That's how you see yourself. That's the you like being, the you you have always been.
A you you enjoy being.

A you people know you as.
It's you.

It's quite cool being different in a fascinating way. Being a prima donna. Being a laconic yet excitable Dorian Gray figure who can flit from one woman to another, never really investing much time or emotions yet somehow getting what they want out of life.



It's good. Hard to maintain, but worth the effort.
People look after you, they look out for you.

Life's good to you on the whole.
You got it sussed, a good way to live.

You put a lot in, you get a lot out, both in sheer intensity of experience, but in the huge disparity in the heights of thrill and the lows of suffering you put yourself through in your sheer desire to seize life and experience to the full.

But now you're pretty fucking scared, really.

Because you can try whichever of your clever strategic self conditioning plans to direct yourself to a sliproad towards hardening yourself and putting yourself through the equivalent of an emotional rubber band being twanged in your face, and you can live indefinitely on this emotional line.

But you think you can do that. Just hang there and ride that emotional line. That line's pretty cool really. Seems to be motivating me back in to a good frame of mind, so that's all well and good.

You'll probably be at your best tonight, you will steal the show again tonight. And that, to you, is when you're happiest.

Stealing the show.
You live for that really.

You want to die the rebel without a cause, but be able to come back for your own funeral.

That's you.

And it's hard life to live, when that really is how you feel, but that's what attracts people to you, you live on that ambiance you create. But that's you, and its what either fascinates people by you, or downright repulses them, either way it tends to shock them, but that really is you, and your life consists entirely of that buzz.

You told her, she knows.
And she makes no comment.

And that really is best.
There are some things in life best just left as they are.



Because if she said more than that, whatever it was, YOU WOULD NOT BE ABLE TO DEAL WITH IT.
You would not be able to deal with anything more than 'I know'.

You like telling her. You like it she says nothing at all back.
It just makes life easier.

Because it means you can carry on living in your dream world, but never have to worry about the dream coming true.

You fear the dream coming true as much as you fear having your dreams shattered.

The dream appears to be enough.

All resemblances in this story to persons living or dead are purely co-incidental.