Long Shot Prospects

The funny thing on Friday was, my mum had dropped in for a cup of coffee and was asking me if I’d heard from Long Shot and I said, “Nah, and am not going to and, anyway, this is a man who has no responsibilities and no sense of time and, lovely though he is, I do have a real sense of responsibility and of time, and being with someone who has none might prove to be a form of slow road to psychosis.”  She agreed and then left, and I closed the front door behind her and checked my Blackberry which had been orgasming happily to itself several times during her visit, and blow me down, there was his latest email.  I shouted down the street to her, “Mum, you’re not going to believe this…!”

My mum has always wisely advised me to be with someone who is employed or passionate about their work or at least occupied for heaven’s sake.  It almost doesn’t matter at what.  I had a friend who worked like a leaf-bearing ant but her husband never got up till two.  The marriage didn’t last.  Certainly, the three great Significants in my life – maybe I’ve said this before? I am becoming more senior by the day –  were all artists of sorts but their work ethic and discipline was extraordinary, even the novelist’s whilst nourished almost exclusively, it seemed, on weed.  I think a lot of people think “arty” (puke to that word) types are all airy-fairy and bohemian and busy sitting on their arsey arses striking self-important poses in a starving garret somewhere.  But the ones who actually produce anything and get anywhere, in fact work extremely hard.  (The painter did have a garret above a pub in the East End and we had sex a few times amongst the paint pots and blobs strewn Lucian-like across the floorboards; rather thrilling though darstardly uncomfortable).  These men are not only occupied but preoccupied.  Whilst it doesn’t make their personal relationships a piss in the wind exactly, nor are personal relationships with bankers and accountants a barrel of laughs, I imagine, and it certainly makes the artists, if rather poorer, more imaginatively energetic and hugely interesting.  Oh, and punctual, oddly enough.

Now, LS is a man who is not just late, he is three weeks late.  The spirit of a place or person captures him and he goes with the flow.  I kind of admire this way-the-wind-blows take on life, but it is not real life, or at least not as bourgeois, narrow-minded me myself I knows it ie. one which embraces children and work and emails and supper on the table and toothbrush chargers and commitments of all sorts.  He is, more, like a nineteenth century fellow of the world.

Listen, I am not imagining myself with him.  I am merely speculating what it might be like to be with someone so diagonally the opposite to me in this respect.  In some ways, because I relish my automony (now there’s a surprise admission, coming from the Original Plank) and feel fiercely protective of my solitude (some of the time), he could be the perfect person for me and, indeed me for him! I am not needy (once I am in a relationship, even if the very existence of this blog would seem to contradict that statement whilst I am out of one).  I would be quite happy for him to fuck off for weeks at a time doing his la-di-da will-o’-the-wispy thing.  Now, not many women could say that and mean it, but the OP has had practice, and would quite value the chance of a few in-between times.  My thrust is that it is nice to have someone, even if he’s not there all that often.  So a date is worth a shot, why not?  Does that make sense?

I’m bollocksing on; stop me.

It will be interesting to see if he gets back to me about the date he mooted for sometime in the next few days.  Or if I shall still be waiting still, in the spring of 2018.

Sod it, I don’t really care.