I smiled, and then I laughed when I read the comment from a kind reader who observed that my somewhat twisted life is starting to read like a novel – or novella as they put it. And then I looked back at the preceding posts and realised that this observant reader was quite right.
How hadn’t I realised it?
This blog started out as a small exposé of a suburban adulterer, but as the weeks have progressed I’ve found myself describing incidents of my life, previous to marriage, because I believe that it is not just nature, but also our personal histories that generally decide how we behave in the rest of our lives.
If I’d stayed at home and gone directly to university, and not wondered the world and met Lou, would I have been a different person? Would I have been so easily sucked into a life, that even to me as I live it, is a fucked up twisted dream?
Are there some of you who have stumbled on these pages, gone away mumbling balderdash and drivel? Have I inadvertently, become lost in my own story, to the extent that I am creating what, even to my eyes, in retrospect is mildly fantastic?
It’s a little like standing at the bottom of a very, very long and high, vertical water slide and wondering if you really came down it, and survived. Exhilarating, scary, stupid, enticing, lets go back and do it again.
However, having analysed the content, I can confirm that I have, as yet, not concocted anything that is not as accurate as memory serves; names and specific details of the places being the exception.
It has also been pointed out that this window into my life does not give a chronological view. I plead guilty. I write as the fancy takes me, typing as spoken dialogue is recalled and images drift into view, sometimes skipping forward or back, as other scenes force their way through. I always write directly to the blog, never pre-concocting then editing; so I apologise if it reads like someone trying to put a complicated jigsaw puzzle together by connecting the wrong pieces.
This piece is not interesting at all. But I have written it. All that is left is for me to press send or delete…..send or delete….send or delete…..send…