Handyman

While having a chat with a fellow broken heart (And a lovely fellow he is too. Yes, apparently some men have the capacity for empathy too. Some. Not all.) he pointed out that us broken people are clogging up society with our misery. I for one am certainly clogging up my blog.

Now I don't know if I am bonkers or if these ups and downs are just normal under the circumstances but having reviewed what I wrote earlier today I am beginning to think the former. What on earth was I thinking, blethering on like a poor quality novelist through my tears, snot and nausea (of which lovely fellow, who put it so succinctly, assures me I have plenty more to come. Thanks for that.)

This blog is meant to be a positive thing - Project:Life Changing not Project:Hand Wringing. Now I finally got myself out of bed and thought a good dose of housework might sort me out. Dinging wrong again. It made me cry. The washing machine is broken, the hoover started smelling of burning rubber and the bin bag split and spilled over the hallway floor as I was wrestling it out to the wheelie bin.

It all felt very overwhelming, or so I thought. I wailed for a bit, wishing Him Formerly Known as Bear was here to help ... and then my sanity returned. He didn't help. Now this isn't a man hating episode, just a reality check. Him Formerly Known as Bear was quite practical, granted, and the washing machine and burning rubber wouldn't faze him. And even when crying I can still scoop up a split bin-bag. Between us all practical things would be taken care of. But me in tears. Me angry, upset or just frustrated. No help. N.O.N.E. Because that would mean he would have to find some empathy or sympathy, both of which he has only limited supplies of and is usually reserved for dogs. (Which is a statement I politely refuse to expand on.)

So who am I kidding. I don't need him. I need a handyman. H has one of those in her phone book.

Yours in hope and fear, AJ x