During the last few months while my mojo has been curled-up into the fetal position and I have attempted (on some level) to deal with a cornucopia of emotional shit to which I am in not willing to succumb (denial hard at work) – I have come to a conclusion. Well, several actually. However to sum it up…
I am really damaged goods.
My acute case of literary laryngitis stems from my inability to follow any text-book rules of bereavement, guilt, and an epic identity crisis that has thus paralysed me from transcending anything remotely coherent or moderately witty from my grey matter to the keys of my black rectangle in order to grace my coveted ‘Pasta for One.’ Gone is ‘Oliver Twist with Furniture and Diamonds,’ dating hell, virtual poverty, and my former obsession with scouring my pockets in search of bus fare.
What have I become?
Life should be peaches and cream, right?
I no longer live in a misogynist country where almost nothing functions, or serial date Italian MacDaddy creeps à la Roberto who follow me in their crappy blue Fiats and enjoy masturbating near my dining table. I am in a proper ‘relationship.’ I have a decent, sweet and respectable English boyfriend with a magnificent penis, who was surely educated at the Emily Post School of sexual etiquette as he never uses the ‘F-word.’ (However, not that I mind its use when he has me in a ‘compromised’ position.)
I rent a small problem-free dwelling with great water pressure, from a stand-up landlord and according to ‘The Sunday Times’ newspaper – I happen to be located in ‘The Best Place to Live in Britain.’
So should I change my name to ‘Scones Windermere’ and re-name my blog ‘Tea for Two’ while I muse over the fact I have no prospects (nothing new there), watch far too many BBC documentaries on WWII, and at times feel like a ginormous creatively void hack/waste-of-space? Or perhaps revel in my own jadedness and document my attempts to act like a ‘functional’ member of the human race while trying not to alienate a certain individual that claims to have genuine feelings for me?
Am I not happy unless I am unhappy?
Last week Sir English, observing my frustration, startled me with: “Maybe Stamford isn’t edgy enough for you.” Is he right? Do I need edgy? Is earthy-tone tweed and old English vibe, raining on my creative parade?
Perhaps I need perspective and a pick-me-up in the form of my most adored peeps, a bit of winter sunshine and the best comfort foods in the world?
YES! It’s going to be one week back in the Italian hood from January 31st!
I can do that because ‘Oliver Twist with Furniture and Diamonds’ is no longer ‘in the house’…