Gay acquaintance of gay friend (son has had with me and my grief over gay friend big time – he refuses to enter that discussion) is given to doing ‘vignettes’ on his blog. This is what gays do after they have tiedied the place, cooked you dinner, wiped your brow and fallen asleep over their freshly shaken Martini (one olive): Write vignettes. Usually on a Friday which is convenient for me since it reminds me of the Consortium.
Vignettes are stylish. And gay guys – on the whole – are stylish. I had to delete some of what I just wrote after my last sentence. Gays are sensitive. As an aside: It’s awful – considering state of my hand – how much I write and then delete. Such a waste. Anyway I can do vignettes too even when my credentials are not gay. Oddly, and I reflect on this rarely, Lesbians never make a pass at me. Maybe I frighten them. Maybe they think I was a MAN in a previous life. Or maybe they are just kind and recognize that a Lesbian making a pass at me would startle me.
Odder, and this might be of interest to Jean and Ramana, I had my cards (Tarrot) read in the foolish days before concentrating on being a mother. On recommendation of whacky friend (what do you expect of someone called Fiona working in financial services BEFORE the whole pension disaster blew up) I visited this woman. She was old then. Probably dead now. According to her I was a MAN in my previous life. English. Living in London. Spending my nights writing. Working in some dour job during the day (that’s Kafka), but enjoying ballet and the arts in general. (I guess I did not have a housekeeper).
The woman was amazing. She knew things about me no one could have known. She had me right there and then when she named the YEAR my grandmother (most important woman in my life) had died. No one knows when my grandmother died (other than me and her children). So, yes, spooky. No matter. I am not sceptical. I trust. Life comes in my stride. And if someone knows when my grandmother died I will take them by their word. But, and some of you who have pondered on the subject of REINCARNATION, what is it to me that I was once a man (for all I know with a starving cat) spending his spare cash on the theatre and going to see the ballet?
Nothing. Because I can’t remember.