I hope there is a later in life with Miss Kibble. I sometimes panic that I’ve become one of those people who enjoys projecting their anxieties onto every situation they face so much, that they stop trying to address them and spend the rest of their lives in a permanent state of scenario completion syndrome. I’ve caught myself thinking along such lines only this week, with regards to impossible to know, ridiculous to even try what-ifs about (duh duh daaaa) the future!
Whatever the heck happens, I pray that Joseph Smith watches over me, so I can become a God too. Mu hu hoo ha ha haaaa – then Lucy will HAVE to love me forever!! Or something.
No but seriously. Those of you who, like Lucy, have been kind (or certifiable) enough to stick with me and read this occasionally bleak, usually erratic and usually just plain shite little blog of mine, for the past fuck-knows how long, will be pleased to hear that I am finally in a good head space. It might appear quite schizophrenic of me to the passive occasionally dip-in reader, to be harping on about yet another relationship that is THE ONE (the first person to mention the American gets a punch in the clunge) – but I think everyone bar me knew that last one was doomed to fail from the start.
Lucy, on the other hand, is the brightest, funniest, sexiest, maddest, quietest, noisiest, considerate and many other superlatives girl in the world. In fact I feel really quite sorry for the whole of the rest of the men-folk that she’s taken – because they’ll have to just sort of make do, while I get to be with her for as long as she’ll have me; which I suspect is based upon how long I can carry on just being myself. Yet another of her many aspects that almost audibly spell out the word perfect, in my head, letter by letter, every time I see her smiley little face.
I Love you babe Xx