maybe if i lived on a tropical island

I blame the crispy as fuck winter’s dusk last night. Not to mention the ‘my god my ovary just froze clean off’ winter’s dawn this morning. Ond one hellishly traumatic episode of Grey’s Anatomy:

Dear The Universe

Right, so I’m pretty darn happy with my life as it stands at the moment. I’m going to get straight to the point: I love the travelling (thank you), I love me job (thank you) I love and accept me (thank you), just sometimes in light of cold, dark winters where people hibernate and stuff, I sometimes get a burst of inconvenient loneliness. It’s far from dire, and I mean that in the most earnestly honest way. I know I’m being indulgent just thinking about this, because I certainly am not putting any ounce of effort out there.

Look, the saying goes that every pot has a lid, and in light of E2’s distant cousin (but insists not a blood relative), finding a partner of his own – and he has a mobile reptile farm, so sleeps in a caravan full of snakes, he flippen found someone, so I’m just saying it would be really nice if you could find me my pot, if I were say, a lid.

I’ve seen my mother’s Tupperware cupboard, and there are some lids without pots. Like how socks eventually only end up as one, it seems the pot/lid ratio isn’t always on even par either.

So if we’re taking a literal example of everyone having a The One, or an idealist perspective, I do realise not everybody is meant to find somebody and maybe this stuff is just meant to happen to other people. The odds are out there, and they’re not looking good.

But. I was just farking cold last night. Also a friend and I were chatting last night about taking risks versus the pain potential.
He reckons that pain isn't necessarily a bad thing, because it reminds us that we're still alive. And “if you don't risk the pain, there's not much point. Even if you get shredded emotionally.”

OK - so just for the sake of healthy debate - lets take this to level that hasn’t become a cliche. We need to disprove this, because 1) we are reminded we're alive all the time with shitty traffic, good chocolate and wanking. Which evokes just as much emotion. Why then do we need pain to realise we’re alive?
And 2) No risk=no pain. Therefore risk=pain. Therefore pain=pain. And pain is shit. Happiness (what I have now) is very nice.

So, it can actually be a bit of a bother, some of this relationship business.

So, I don’t hold an over-abundance of hope, for as the Sunscreen songs says, ‘Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t,’ whatever – I’m MERELY saying, if you do plan it to happen for me, please could it happen in fucking Winter.

Thanks in advance,
Peas On Toast

Dear My The One

If you’re out there, hi. From whence do you hail? Have you got a warm body? Cos it’s pretty cold in South Africa (here I am already presuming you’re European and godly – I do apologise if you’re not, I have Euro Fever right now, so maybe that’s why we’re not meeting)

Anyway. I don’t know what to really say, because according to the Grand Universal Plan For Humankind (outdated?) you’re meant to envisage me exactly as I am already, so, I’ll save for the time we might meet. If we don’t, have a great life and also what do you feel about millions of exclamation marks at the end of a sentence?
You know when a phrase just doesn’t cut it in the enthusiasm department, so millions of !!!!!!!! have to be added as compensation? And what cologne do you wear?

Not much news this side, working like a bitch and coordinating my closet into tights, leggings and miscellaneous-leg-wrapping thingies.

Settling into spinster life very nicely – embracing it, rather than pretending that it isn’t happening.
I’m enjoying [mostly] every moment I’m alone and am pretty much self-sufficient and happy enough to carry on for the rest of eternity really. So if we don’t meet, c’est la vie. What choice do us mere mortals have?

But hey, because you’re meant to be my pot, and I’m a lid, you’ll get me, I’ll get you and apparently you might even live where I live. I have a feeling though, that if we are meant to be together, it’s still a while to come.

So in the meantime, I’d like to know your thoughts on touch typing and reality TV and are you also, as my friend put it, a pessimistic romantic?

Peas On Toast

Dear The Woman With The Face

Yeah you. I pulled out of my office park yesterday, maybe a little too enthusiastically, and you roared passed, shooting me a look that made as if you’d just swallowed two tequilas and a lemon. And, on impact, morphed into a human prune.

Was that really necessary?

PS: And when you yelled ‘Are you tuning me attitude?’ through the passenger window, what I was trying to say back was this: Sorry, I don’t speak South.

Peas On Toast.