Sometimes I find myself like a cat wishing to spit. I have never seen a cat spit. So can only take anyone’s word for it.
My spitting taking the form of a parallel conversation (in my head, and on paper). Oh, dear Sweethearts. If you could see the vault of what I really think you and many others would shoot me into outer orbit.
I am no photographer but know, or rather have learnt, all about perspective. Perspective to either keep your mouth shut, amuse yourself with thoughts never to see the limelight, meanwhile chiselling one’s responses as not to bruise tender egos.
Yes, the tender ego. Luckily my upbringing was such that egos were encouraged. Tender? No. Definitely not. Bruising? Most definitely not. Limp if you must. But don’t let on. Keep your mind’s hatchet in its shield.
The shocking fall out of the above: I live a double life. Not in a deceitful way. If you are my friend you are my friend. Even if you are not my friend I won’t ignore you. But fact is: When I put pen to paper, finger to keyboard I sure do have to curb myself.
In about thirty, fourty years’ time (faculties permitting) I shall open that treasure trove of mine. I can already predict who will be amused and who won’t.
Hugs and hisses,