I Am Not Dead…
March 13, 2013 § 206 Comments
…though you would be forgiven for wondering.
My column seems to come out in the Times only sporadically and the rest of the time I feel as though I have said in this blog an awful lot of what I have got to say. Oh, I suppose, in fact, my blabbering on can carry on without end. Perhaps it’s just that I have become lazy, in which case I am a bollocks and sorry. The happy pills seem to have, well, not worn off, but the energy isn’t quite as it was when they first kicked in. I feel my normal self, which I suppose was their point but at the same time this feels something of a swizz. I thought things might look brighter, and they don’t. Marriages atrophying all about me and Still No (realistic, available) Men for a seasoned plankton such as myself. Plus ca(cedilla, ou?) change. There again, bit of bad news? I feel it, but I guess if I wasn’t on prozac I might feel it all the more.
I haven’t seen the SYT for a couple of weeks and I miss him, or at least the idea of him. As for the up-all-night-fellow-vodka-drinking fellow: we went out on the razzle at Groucho’s a few nights ago and are seeing quite a bit of each other, but in the purely pure sense. He’s in love with an Impossible. I still fancy, though am not in love with (have had the wit to stop myself), my own SYImpossibleT.
Any other twinkles? Yesterday afternoon, in deep country, I met a possible one but he would be a RQALOT (Really Quite A Lot Older Twinkle), and the disparity with SYT might be too large a gap for me giddyingly to bridge.
So, no, same old fucking story. Or, rather, ahem, same old story.