Loyalty. It means so many things, especially to anal-retentives like me.
One of them is to remain mummified in promises made and broken aeons ago, for fear of toppling beliefs and ideas that form the rock of ones foundation and consequently exposing oneself for a frivolous, unserious cad [cad-equivalent of woman in this case]. It is that over-burdening sense of self-censure that becomes, when stretched beyond the periphery of reason, one’s nemesis.
So I am stuck. With my anus-faced* nemesis.
And I’m twiddling my thumbs waiting for it to pass. But this time, it seems to be a particularly virulent bout that my daft, inept brain is battling with. The idiot. It keeps rising out of the molasses every now and can’t-recall-when with much working-upon, much coaxing and cajoling, and then, like a ludicrously lazy lumply glucose-deprived whale it just splotches right back at the slightest hint of inattention, raising volcanoes of shit that must be cleaned and scrubbed off the walls, just to rise and splotch back again. Disgusting, lumbering slow wit.
Sometimes I wish I could fly – in my head, would be a good start.
Just like everybody else.
Such a shimmering oasis, isn’t it? To be like everybody else. Just even somebody, as long as it’s else and not self.
How do they do it, this nebulous pack of otherhood?
How do they stay so unbound?
Unbound, frivolous and free.
Now I’m being a sicko.
See, that’s the three hundred and thirty third fallout of loyalty, my style. Perversely anal-retentive.
*which is such the cleverest pun on janus-face. Sometimes I impress myself. Deeply. To a distraction, even.