I now know at least two people who keep bleating (not at me, just generally): “Whatever works for you”. It’s a sort of swiping at a pesky fly type statement. Which has set me thinking about curiosity. I know it kills cats. Eventually. Humans won’t admit to it. I am the type of person who does not snoop. Not because I am a saint but because I have my pride. And there are levels I will not stoop to. My son leaves his various journals and notebooks flying around the place in the safe knowledge that I wouldn’t dream looking at anything he doesn’t show me voluntarily. Has there ever been paid a greater compliment? No. My poor father still remembers (had no idea until he told me recently) that it shook him to the core how incensed I was when he opened a telegram addressed to me. I was in my early twenties – briefly staying with my parents. My mother did the same once with a letter from my sister addressed to me. Her feeble (and she is a lovely woman) excuse that the letter was addressed to her (we both have the same first name and – at the time – shared the same surname). So fair do.
Where was I? Curiosity. As you know: Once upon a time I was wooed by a gay man. Not in a sexual way since – what do you know – I am not a man, but in a romantic way. God didn’t we love each other. Him being the front loader. Myself slightly mystified in the beginning but – and with most my friends being male – eventually falling hook line and sinker for him. Three years later he called it off. Just like that. Took me another three years to get over it. Yes, I know I am slow. Or maybe not used to be shown the door. Mind you, there must have been something in the water in 1961 because one of my sisters is the same: UNFORGIVING. It’s quite fantastic HOW UNforgiving some people are. They are incapable – as we say in the mother lingo – to jump across their own shadow. They rather chew on their vomit.
I am now pumping up volume since I have been reliably informed that blogs (like mine) shorter than 1500 words are not worth reading. Bloody hell. I have only just arrived at 387. Who in their right mind, and unless they are Lorna, Charles, John or Tom (links on request), thinks they can hold a passing flyby their blog with essay lengths of sometimes stupefying content? Not that I don’t admire EGOs the size of ostrich eggs. What I don’t like if an Ostrich tells my Quail I should lay large eggs to justify my existence.
Yes, back to GG and curiosity. Since I do not wish to become a stalker through the back door I have not visited his blog for I don’t know, say, a year. Do you actually know how much will power it takes to stifle a primal (as the Angel would call it) instinct? Obviously not a lot in my case. Sure, I am dying to know how he is but I know masochism when I see it. Not my game. I suppose I could phone his mother. Don’t worry. I won’t. There comes a time when we need to know when to let it rest. I am not good at resting. But learning.
Word count 571. Please don’t bother (see above). Unlike the L’Oreal advert I am not worth it. So please do go and waste your time on something far longer and proof read. Not this shit spur of the moment stuff (without visual content).
Water cooler hugs and kisses,