Oscar Wilde found it harder and harder every day to live up to his blue china. I am finding it equally difficult to live up to my blog. It has been waiting for me to attend to its needs for some days now, silently berating my lack of diligence and application. In turn, I berate myself for the same. It has just taken me yet another while and a whole heap of distractions to work out why. It also took a little help from Mr TGTBT, which just reinforces the notion of his TGTBT'ness and makes me feel just a little bit uselessly, drippily, wutheringly overawed by it all. 'It' being the fact I am utterly hook, line and sinkered.
Me: (wuthering) I can't write my blog. I am all blogged out.
Mr TGTBT: (not wuthering) Why?
Me: (still wuthering) Because I can only write when I'm miserable.
Mr TGTBT: (still not wuthering) Well that's catharsis for you.
Me: (wuther diminishing) Why can't I write when I'm happy?
Mr TGTBT: (completely unwuthered) You can.
Me: (feeling the wuther return) No...I can't.
Mr TGTBT: (remaining wuther free) Why?
Me: (wuthering) Because I am worried that by writing about how good I feel now I somehow invalidate how bad I felt before. Even though I did feel that way then. Or that perhaps the bad stuff somehow makes a mockery of the good stuff now. I am worried people won't believe that my feelings can change and have changed. I'm not even sure I can believe it.
Mr TGTBT: (not wuthered in the least) Sounds like the perfect subject for a blog to me.
Me: (frozen in mid-wuther) Bugger. Why didn't I think of that?
Mr TGTBT:(wuthering doesn't come into it) Because you're too busy wuthering?
Now it was noted during a Bank Holiday night out that Mr TGTBT might have some competition on the buns front from one of his colleagues. (And said colleague does have very nice buns indeed.) However, on reflection it has to be said that I much prefer Mr TGTBT and his very appealing smart arse.
Yours in hope & fear, AJ x
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