I was watching Some Like it Hot today. Sugar uses a great metaphor to summarise her atrocious luck with swarthy rogues.
'I always get the fuzzy end of the lollipop.'
I know how she feels. It would appear to be a statistical impossibility to get the fuzzy end of the lollipop EVERY TIME. Yet I seem to. It can't be an accident.
I came dangerously close to contacting my own particular swarthy rogue today. And I really don't know why. I kept thinking about Christmas day. Drinks in our local scuzzpit pub, pool, Christmas jumpers. I was so attracted to him that night, completely and overwhelmingly. I couldn't stop touching him. I've been struggling to accept that I won't see him again. . . . . ever. It seems so brutal. I wonder if he thinks about that too. I wanted so much to believe in a happy ending for us. I hate loss. I have experienced so much loss. I am drowning in it.