There is no Mr Allbright

I no longer look and dress like this but once I did and I still hold that memory in my eyes. Now a month and a half into blogging and the fog is clearing. No village in sight yet, though I do meet people on the road and we sometimes speak but not in quite  the same language. I’ve started reading other blogs and I haven’t so far been wildly drawn to any but the fashion ones. I resolve not to use this platform for self aggrandissement or ego polishing or ranting or trying to proselytize. But I did notice in my last trawl that a lot of blogs refer in cosy ways to partners.

There is no Mr Allbright. After the Giles adventure, I’m not too keen on going hunting and gathering for anything carnivorous. For a while anyway, I shall stay put and till my furrow quietly.

I sleep like a baby in the centre of my princess bed.  I write my journal and then I read my book. By 11 o’clock I am sleepy enough to put the light out. I like the fact that I sleep through until the call of nature and work on my own clock and not another’s. How disruptive are the calls of nature of others! And what about all that shared energy? Do not the dreams of the other seep across the sheets? The Boy and I never slept together, though we spent a lot of time on the bed. But I’ll not think of the Boy at this vulnerable time. I’ll think about why I like to be alone , while waiting for my journeyman.

I  like being one of  ‘the new older women’, We are feisty, nurturing and wise; we who were the first post war teenagers, learning even now how to do things we never knew had to be done, like blogging for example and shifting around the world wide net (created by one of our generation for the generations to come and given without charge to the world. How heroic is that?)

At this time, my life is an embarrassment of contradictions and paradoxes. Accommodating them keeps me fit and healthy. I find that being single is what I do best, now that I have shaken off expectations. Yet I love being with men and feeling that frisson that passes between the male and the female- the difference that  aims to unite. My aim in these years is to live with an open heart and mind and I’m not sure how far I’d get with that if I was lowering the toilet seat every hour or so. Single, I can live with the bemused detachment that feeds my curiosity. I am lucky enough to have the skills that are needed to keep me happy in these latter years: I am well-organised, dependable and pragmatic. I am also romantic in my paradoxical way, and so while enjoying being single, I am also still waiting the arrival of my journeyman, and like Edna O’Brien, hope I will do so until my dying day.  Yes, thoughts of death and dying are more and more my companions on the way, as is the sense of time speeding up. Who knows, maybe death IS my journeyman. Hey, that’s a thought!


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