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Jetlag is real. Crossing multiple time zones leaves your mind and body behind. Especially if you the type of person that cannot sleep on flights. The physical tiredness is soon overcome by sleeping and adjusting bedtimes. Psychological exhaustion, which seems unlikely but is also a factor, takes longer to fade. Conversations and relationships can become stressed because of it, mainly due to the jet-lagged person being irritable, overly sensitive or having little control over what they are saying. It took me a few days, and the wise advice of a friend, to realise how bad a state I was in.
And now there is Anna.
Kind, beautiful, intelligent, funny, indescribable . All adjectives that might describe her are superlatives.
Cynicism and doubtfulness were constants in my life. To now fall in love for what feels like the clichťd first time, is exciting and scary. I understand the happiness of which romantics speak. I understand that there is not only me. It feels like I am communicating with another person on multiple levels.
No matter where this is going, and with the knowledge that she can leave at any time, I am so glad that she has come into my life.
It's difficult to write unbiased and accurate words whilst being emotionally engaged. I shall attempt to avoid slanting the truth in any way other than it being my own, non-revisionist version.
Ordinarily, I would have thought her
too young. But she looked so beautiful. It's all about eyes and smiles for me, with a certain amount of leanness of body. When I see her (tense!), I catch myself not breathing, which causes me to gasp.
I wrote something silly, she replied with humour. We chatted for a day or two then her self-imposed dating site time limit was up.
The girl was about to disappear. I asked for an alternative method of contact then sent her my number so as to speed things along. She said, thank you, then disappeared. I hoped to hear from her but thought that the odds were slim. A month or two later, I saw her pictures again. And so wrote to her. She hadn't called, of course but I thought we'd at least be able to continue the good vibe chatting. We got back into it without any difficulty just as her limit was reached and she disappeared from my life once again.
She's not making it easy for herself, I thought, and if she was at all interested, she'd make it easier for me too. This was a girl who I actually wanted to meet, this based on relatively pure thinking. No point in getting hung up on the idea of her so I tried putting it out of my mind. There were many other women, of course, but none as immediately captivating or as engaging as she was.
She had become the yardstick against which all women were measured. Even if she was unobtainably elsewhere, my standards had been woefully raised.
A one word quested came to my phone a couple of weeks later. I told the sender, I hope that you are Anna. She replied and said, Yes, it is. Then a new message saying, Yes, I am.
So, it began. This wonderful, beautiful, brave woman entered my life. We talked of the universe providing what is needed, which often sounds like horse shit, but felt true for me this time.
We talked freely and easily. At a bar, she mentioned being cold. I reached out to feel her hand and she took hold of mine for half a second.
Other people's romances, though justifiably used as a basis for a great deal of literature and film, are often not at all interesting. I am very aware of this but cannot help myself from telling pretty much anyone about her. I bore myself with my overexcited ramblings. Thinking back on what I have said, it seems coherent and true, which makes me sure that I have in fact bored others as well. Being in love is obviously a subjective reality. It's my reality and I am loving being in love with her. Now she is not here, I miss her.
The good people from before had grown older.
but were still the same.
I liked them still.
It was good to see them.
We spoke of what had come to pass since we had last seen each other. They asked after my mother and I made a list of recently dead people to avoid speaking of. Sometimes, it's hard to remember that people are no longer around, anywhere. They talked of young children that we knew who now existed as grown men neighbours and people even older people than they were that travelled to exotic places.
Apart from the period when McDonald's in London sold root beer, Coca-Cola had been my soft drink of choice. After being diagnosed as diabetic, this was replaced by first Diet Coke then Coca-Cola Zero. I have always held the opinion that Pepsi actually tastes better, but trademarks, when they are so strong as that of Coca-Cola, actually work.
Since I heard Lana del Rae sing, My pussy tastes like Pepsi Cola, however, my allegiance switched. The lyric made me think. Mainly about Lana, her pussy, and how it came to taste of Pepsi, but also about marketing.
Sex sells, baby.
The smoothness of her skin was surprising. He had seen and felt hairless cunts before. Hers was exceptionally beautiful, to the extent where he remembered nothing of previous occurrences. There was only her and nothing from memory. It was not her cunt that transfixed him so, but the sleekness of her thighs, her stomach, the lustrous sheen of her back and, her ass. Just her. She used olive oil to moisturise her entire body. As well as making her skin soft and shining. It made her taste good.
Later though, he would think back on the sweetness of her cunt.
Make-up can make a woman more beautiful.
A young receptionist, generally the first person I see at work, looks pale for the most part. Sometimes, she is remarkably transformed by just a little lipstick.
A little can certainly can make a girl more glamourous.
Too much though, has often a more shocking effect. It can distract from a woman's beauty or give the same unnatural feeling as when seeing a gull that has been caught in an oil spill.
Young girls often over-apply. It makes me wonder why a mother would allow her 10 year old to use that much.
The logical and the emotional do not always go together. Hardly ever, some might say. In love though there has to be a lot of both. The emotional is obviously to the fore but there is an undoubted need for the logical to sometimes step in to remind a person that the person they love is human and that they are struggling with their own lives. When you open yourself totally to love and be loved, you are vulnerable. Your fragile and overactive mind has no protection but the soothing words of your lover and the emollient rigidity of logic.
A trip to Paris with a new love seems like a fantastic thing to do. To walk in the still, late summer nights of the beautiful city to talk of everything and nothing, in Paris. The atmosphere of romance, created already by millions of lovers before, the writers, the artists, the aesthetes, the models. The people. How can you one not be affected by all that beauty and cool, loving time history? To taste the food, wine and suaveness of what feels like an eternal city.
One feels the draw and the longing for her, and the City of Light!
Having a dog in the house made everyone happier.
The dog liked to eat. The children liked to feed her. Rules were stated however, and the children understood the weight of these. Children are actually good at understanding. They take joy in other beings, especially if those beings are as loving as they are themselves.
The addition of routines: feeding, walking, being with, have been easily incorporated into our days. A big bang of love has been most noticeable. Where friction previously existed, there is the distraction of the dog, which in turn leads to the awareness of another's needs.
It's almost 52 years since my entry into the world. On the whole, it has neither noticed nor cared about my presence. There are individuals that have. I would largely say that I have been a minor force for the good.
A hot air balloon is gliding by my window as I write.
My life is akin to the balloon in as much as I have made a substantial contribution to a few people's lives, as the balloon has to the people in its basket. Many people appreciate the simple aerodynamics and beauty of a balloon.
Others just hate them.
There may be a man named Nat.
There certainly once was.
You can find his writings on 100 words.
He writes as well as most people who feel they have to write. In an early entry, Nat mentions being old, in 2006, even though he was a mere 76. I wondered if Nat had made it to 2017 and so had a look for his mail address, which revealed his name, on the internet. He may, of course have changed his address or lying in a hospice but, he may be dead.
I believe that he had a good life
I forget that my children are so young.
One gets used to them being around. I enjoy when they put forth arguments to support why they are justified in asking for what they need. I like that they know that this is the way to get what they need. There are days when I am tired, stressed, or grumpy when I donít listen as a parent should and end up being short or shouty with them. This is not good. In the grand scheme of things, itís better for me to care less about me and focus more on them.
Vasyl Lomachenko. I am too old to get caught up in fandom but the man is changing the game. The game is boxing. You may think, boxing holds no interest for me. Have a look at Vasylís few fights and try to understand the joy and skill of not being hit. Previously, I had become a reluctant fan of Floyd Mayweather Jr. for reasons of excellent defence. Most importantly though were the statistics from the Pacquiao fight, which revealed that though Floyd was seen to be running away, he connected almost twice as often and was hit half as often.
It's not looking good for Bill Cosby. I must admit that I'd assumed guilt as soon as the reports became known to me. The Cosby Show, I watch regularly as it was guaranteed quality with the sometimes thrill of Lisa Bonet. Now I wonder if she was ever drugged up and fingered. Where is the thrill of having a lover or a victim immobilised by quaaludes? Forgive the leap or lack of logic here but it must be the fact that they are immobilised that makes them a victim, but only to the extent of digital violation and physical manipulation?
June 6th. Happy National day, Sweden.
Itís only recently that this day has become a national holiday; recently being since 1996. The 6th of June for me has always been the date of D-day when the allied forces invaded France en masse with a substantial loss of life. Balancing these historical facts, D-day and my own respect for the date against the new knowledge of Swedish king, Gustav Vasa, deciding to retake some city from some other nation against the knowledge that Norway and Finland have their own independence days when they celebrate liberation from the yoke of Swedish power.
It all feels a little precarious.
When Sweden, with historical Swedish back references, chose June 6th as a national day, surely with full knowledge that this was the day when thousands of men died on beaches fighting Nazi expansionism, it must have been to create a sense of identity, pride and belonging for Swedish people. I get this, and that future celebrations of national identity might be necessary to create a sense of community and belonging might be a good thing as well as a bad Ė in as much as it might lead to the eventual establishing of extermination camps.
Sweden remained neutral throughout World War II. Though individual Swedes did join armies on both sides of the conflict, the country appeared to be pro-German, in the early years at least. This may have been due to the cultural influence of Germany at that time, because it was the winning side or because of massive income from the sale of industrial equipment.
Itís difficult to be a neutral country. Making June 6th the National Day though makes me wonder if there is still shame lurking and that it was fortuitous that Gustaf Vasa made his move on just that date.
Travelling backwards on a train, away from where I want to be and who I want to be with. My
are stable. My rational mind is involved. It's not just
any more. There's the possibility of a real and discussable future. She is gentle, beautiful and wise. She has lived and contributed to making the world a better place. A better world is what she wants, nearly all the time. Nobility does not usually rank highly as an attractive quality but when it's there, it certainly seasons a dish to perfection. Kindness pervades everything she does and says.
Loving someone who is not a family member is new for me. It feels new, at least. I have found myself being needy and attempting to tie her down with my thoughts. I tell her my thoughts as a way of releasing them. And fear that by doing so I am trying to wrap her up in a parcel of, a parcel of what? Not love certainly. Jealousy of that which lies in her future, perhaps ? Fear of losing her? Whatever it is, it is mine to deal with. She really is the sweetest, most beautiful and kind woman.
My words cannot capture just how wonderful she is or how wonderful I find her.
The two are distinct.
She is bright and free. Other men have wanted to own her and want to own her still. I cannot be another of these. She has to fly.
Her grace and understanding continue to amaze me. She considers what I say, no matter how insane or unreasonable, and responds with solid analysis or good advice. She talks to the me that I believe is
. Very few are able to do this, or are allowed in.
With her, I am growing.
She wore no make up at work and only simple black clothes. Any sign of attempting to make oneself more attractive might encourage impure thoughts amongst the inmates. Really though, being female was cause enough for some.
There had been a lot of progress with Mister G's sessions over the last eighteen months. Between them there now existed a professional relationship. It was sometimes difficult to define, or confine relationships to one thing or another.
And now here she was, walking alone through the high security wing, about to be served a three course lunch made by a decent man.
Relationships, they evolve in response to what is invested in them.
There are times when one party will put in far more than the other, or others. Their enthusiasm perhaps caused by the finding of some quality or security in others that they themselves are lacking.
Two people may find each other. Something, or some thing ignites then envelops them, and yet leaves them as fragile individuals. A wrong word, thought or act, and what might have developed can dissipate as easily as it was found.
It slips sadly away leaving only the slow-wilting ache of what might have been.
Patience is a virtue.
One has to bide one's time. Relax and let the universe provide. It will supply you with what you need. Whether what you need is what you want, is often not so. The conscious mind has to be all but absent. No feelings of joy or disappointment. Just be or do. Deal with what comes as it comes. Be present. Be kind. And love. These last two are the crux the matter existence, and also the most difficult to meaningfully apply. It's ok to just wait for the good to come.
Just be ready to recognise it.
Lighthouses had been important to her since she had been a child. She felt that they'd shown her a path.
Her early life had been spent on the coast. There was a period, after she had moved inland, when she had seen them less often in their full majesty but they often appeared on book covers, as ornaments or, on one occasion, on a postage stamp when sending an application to a university. Generally, their presence reassured her that what she was doing was right or beneficial to her well-being. There were never coincidences and they always lit the way.
She came into the bathroom, wriggled her underwear down to her ankles then sat prettily on the toilet as he was brushing his teeth. He looked at her quizzically. Her response was a polite little smile. Nothing amiss here, her look appeared to say. He took delight in the intimacy of the moment whilst feeling discomforted by its unusualness. She was truly beautiful but he had to look away as she tore off some toilet paper with which to wipe herself. It was then that he realised that he loved her.
She washed her hands as he hugged her firmly.
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