Monday, 22 August 2016

Metaphysical baby

Ever since I decided NO to anyone who didn’t feel like my metaphorical unicorn, I have received numerous messages from men seeking to reacquaint themselves. By numerous I mean five. That's five in two weeks. They arrived through the cracks, hitherto presumed lost in time. It is interesting perhaps - from a metaphysical perspective, assuming that I have a vaguely accurate understanding of metaphysical - that each of these men has chosen to message when I've decided I'm not open to them.  They, somehow, have picked up on this from across the cosmos.  My disinterest has made me more appealing.  The chase is on, except it isn’t because I’m not running about Benny Hill stylee saying chase me, chase me.  If anyone I’d ever spoken to was paying attention, I don’t play hard to get.  I’m either interested thus available or not interested thus unavailable.  I don’t have some grey in betweeny category.   

There is  only one man I’m interested in hearing from.  Unless we include famous people – then a WhatsApp from Benedict C might be quite nice but he is married and, incredibly, doesn’t have my number.  So within the realms of a Non-Benedict-reality, there is just one man. I believe this situation is known as sods law.    

If I’m anti-desire-manifesting then I’d like to stop doing that because it’s fucking stupid.  I’m only interested in a WhatsApp (or flowers – may as well push the tempo) from one man and he knows who he is.    


The RGF xx

PS. The blog post title is a play on Teenage Fanclub's Metal Baby. A favourite track from times past. The song is lyrically impaired but otherwise kinda perfect. You might even say that it has feet of clay. 

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