There’s simply no other explanation: One is a complete blithering eejit!
Unable to sleep, yet again, One has been analysing One’s complete inability to ‘just let it go.’
For instance, upon receipt of nary an obscene telephone call from the RR, One was compelled to enquire, via email, ‘You haven’t blogged. Are you OK.’
A perfectly innocent enquiry, made out of concern for another, when One is in sanguine mood and positively flooded with all kinds of liquid joy.
NO NO NO. A character flaw in Lovely One.
‘One of many,’ One hears you collectively remark, Dear Reader.
When will One learn that One alone cannot cure the ills of the world? When will One’s lame canard collection be complete? When will One cease banging One’s beautifully coiffed head against a wall?
Who can say?
WELL ONE CAN SAY.
No more shall One continue in unsatisfactory situations.
‘Deliberate cruelty is not acceptable,’ (Blanche DuBoir, Streetcar)
One will no longer be hanging around like the last lemon in the bowl with a green, furry, mouldy bottom.
No. One will slice Oneself into fat chunks and dive into the Gin and Tonic of life long before that happens.
One has finally learned that we are all on our own paths through this life, and when those paths collide and merge, they will sooner or later part and go on their own singular journeys.
But then again…
‘Sometimes there is God,’ (Blanche DuBoir, Streetcar)
Sometimes One can say…
‘Would you like to come under my umbrella?’ and One can hope it NEVER, EVER stops raining.