I love soft eating apricots. You know, the ones you get from Woolies? They are great and they have such a wonderful orange colour. Patrick Holford (the right eating guru of my universe) says they are a great source of iron as well as being rich in antioxidants. The only problem is that they are preserved with Sulphur dioxide and this closes my chest and gives me heart burn. But still I eat them. Sometimes I know I really shouldn’t do something but I do it anyway. Why is that? Another apricotlike or apricotesque problem I seem to be having is getting involved with men that keep me at arm’s length. Come on, we’ve all been there. You wait all day for your phone to ring or vibrate with a SMS. You keep checking to see that it hasn’t beeped in case you may not have heard it (despite your newly developed sonic hearing.) It’s pathetic, you know this, but you do it anyway. You meet a friend for tea but, you only half listen to anything they say because you’re thinking about him. Eventually your phone does ring your heart races your eyes ignite and it’s the bank trying to get you to take out a life policy that will ensure everyone in your family gets loaded but on condition that you die.
Amy Winehouse has a song on her Back to Black album called ‘Love is a losing hand.’ It seems so morbid but I can’t stop singing it. The only lyrics I know are, “...though you’re a gambling man, Love is a losing hand.” And this I repeat over and over as I fix my dinner or remove socks from the dryer. Not exactly the best mantra to adopt if I want a winning mutually beneficial intimate relationship. Maybe I should start singing Finally by Cece Peniston it goes: “Finally it’s happened to me right in front of my face and I just can’t describe it.” Or something more upbeat like “I’m walking on sunshine.”
Well, it is Love, or the lack thereof that inspires me to write and express my feelings so I guess I owe it to my current single circumstance that I can entertain you the reader (or person in the audience.) I wonder if you would enjoy my work as much or even more if I ever find it. I would like to hope that you would. Maybe Amy is wrong and Love is on the cards for me and maybe, just maybe, I’ve been dealt a royal flush.
Amy Winehouse has a song on her Back to Black album called ‘Love is a losing hand.’ It seems so morbid but I can’t stop singing it. The only lyrics I know are, “...though you’re a gambling man, Love is a losing hand.” And this I repeat over and over as I fix my dinner or remove socks from the dryer. Not exactly the best mantra to adopt if I want a winning mutually beneficial intimate relationship. Maybe I should start singing Finally by Cece Peniston it goes: “Finally it’s happened to me right in front of my face and I just can’t describe it.” Or something more upbeat like “I’m walking on sunshine.”
Well, it is Love, or the lack thereof that inspires me to write and express my feelings so I guess I owe it to my current single circumstance that I can entertain you the reader (or person in the audience.) I wonder if you would enjoy my work as much or even more if I ever find it. I would like to hope that you would. Maybe Amy is wrong and Love is on the cards for me and maybe, just maybe, I’ve been dealt a royal flush.
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