BACK AGAIN
If I were Catholic, I suppose I'd have to start by saying that it's been three weeks since my last blog. Strangely, this has coincided with an even more intense period of inspirationitis and an attempt at giving up wanking. I wonder if the two are linked?
Whatever the answer, I haven't really missed blogging that much. Judging by the inundation of comments on this site, this is clearly a mutual feeling between cyberspace and me. But I shall continue regardless.
Right now, I'm just waiting. Waiting to hear about a job that would mean network TV every day, a pay-rise and a feeling of self-worth which has been sorely lacking ever since I returned to this frosty land (will Spring ever begin?). And waiting to hear from the foxy sister of a friend who teaches PE, rides horses and appears to have gone off the idea of going out before we've even had our first date.
I've been rather smitten with Karen ever since I first saw her freckle-face beaming out of a silver-framed photo at my friend's house. I was warned off her on religious grounds (she keeps nothing, exercises regularly and has a small arse i.e. she's not a very observant Jew). But I persisted and we finally met the other week at a party.
We hit it off straight away. It was relaxed and obvious to both of us that there was chemistry. She fed me polos, which she normally reserves for her equine friend. And when we measured up against each other, she took her shoes off, put her hand on my shoulder and leant on me. That felt good.
And now. Now it seems that neither she nor me can be arsed. It's pure laziness. Even I'm having my doubts now, and that's early on even for me. Is this what happens once you hit 30? Do you just stop making an effort unless it's someone with whom you feel instantly at one?
Which brings me to Lisa, my Balkan beauty. I e-mailed her the other week for the first time in months. What I wouldn't give to see her again. I fantasise about turning up at her workplace; taking her out and making love to her on our wedding night.
Most of the time this parallel life that I've created unfurls itself as a daydream; a distraction from work, a taxi-ride, or a walk to a friend's. The other day, for the first time, she came to me in a dream. We were sitting naked on my bed, just talking and holding each other. Nothing happened, that I can recall. But I remember waking up feeling like I'd lost her all over again. If only I could get inside her head; then I might at least have a fighting chance of getting into her knickers.
Back to reality, though. There's no point in worrying about such prosaic things. A job that doesn't fill me with dread every time I walk into the newsroom - that's what I need. To feel like I'm somebody again. Someone whose name people know; whose work people (especially me) recognise and respect. Somebody.
If I were Catholic, I suppose I'd have to start by saying that it's been three weeks since my last blog. Strangely, this has coincided with an even more intense period of inspirationitis and an attempt at giving up wanking. I wonder if the two are linked?
Whatever the answer, I haven't really missed blogging that much. Judging by the inundation of comments on this site, this is clearly a mutual feeling between cyberspace and me. But I shall continue regardless.
Right now, I'm just waiting. Waiting to hear about a job that would mean network TV every day, a pay-rise and a feeling of self-worth which has been sorely lacking ever since I returned to this frosty land (will Spring ever begin?). And waiting to hear from the foxy sister of a friend who teaches PE, rides horses and appears to have gone off the idea of going out before we've even had our first date.
I've been rather smitten with Karen ever since I first saw her freckle-face beaming out of a silver-framed photo at my friend's house. I was warned off her on religious grounds (she keeps nothing, exercises regularly and has a small arse i.e. she's not a very observant Jew). But I persisted and we finally met the other week at a party.
We hit it off straight away. It was relaxed and obvious to both of us that there was chemistry. She fed me polos, which she normally reserves for her equine friend. And when we measured up against each other, she took her shoes off, put her hand on my shoulder and leant on me. That felt good.
And now. Now it seems that neither she nor me can be arsed. It's pure laziness. Even I'm having my doubts now, and that's early on even for me. Is this what happens once you hit 30? Do you just stop making an effort unless it's someone with whom you feel instantly at one?
Which brings me to Lisa, my Balkan beauty. I e-mailed her the other week for the first time in months. What I wouldn't give to see her again. I fantasise about turning up at her workplace; taking her out and making love to her on our wedding night.
Most of the time this parallel life that I've created unfurls itself as a daydream; a distraction from work, a taxi-ride, or a walk to a friend's. The other day, for the first time, she came to me in a dream. We were sitting naked on my bed, just talking and holding each other. Nothing happened, that I can recall. But I remember waking up feeling like I'd lost her all over again. If only I could get inside her head; then I might at least have a fighting chance of getting into her knickers.
Back to reality, though. There's no point in worrying about such prosaic things. A job that doesn't fill me with dread every time I walk into the newsroom - that's what I need. To feel like I'm somebody again. Someone whose name people know; whose work people (especially me) recognise and respect. Somebody.
posted by David Cohen at 6:44 pm
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