Wednesday 25 February 2015

Emergency brightside.

Never want my hand cut off
Never want a hacking cough
Never need a cliffside push
Never turn my brain to mush

Always give me what I lack
Always take the best parts back
Always recognize your fate
Always just a moment late

Left is where I always turn
Left is how I'm forced to learn
Left the route my walking takes
Left alone with my mistakes

Up against a person who
Up 'til now I never knew
Up from hell the answer blew
Up and down it's up to you
My brain is swimming through the Phish catalogue today, drowning, resurrecting, doing the backstroke when it feels tired. I'm forcing contentment at all costs. I'm counting my blessings. I'm practicing gratitude. I swear I'm not rolling my eyes at Sam's orders. Nope, not at all.

Sam is spoiled these days. Matt's an easy lover. Up for anything. Leaves at eight, home at five. Loves Sam to within an inch of his life or perhaps beyond. He's incredibly open, level-headed and seemingly baggage-free.

I point this out and ask Sam if he really knows this guy, that everyone has magnificent heavy baggage, especially at our ages and how the hell did Matt emerge unscathed?

He had the broken engagement, remember?

Child's play. I've had ten of those. 

And as many husbands. Some people don't leap, they wait for safe passage. 

What if he's a spy? Or in the Witness Protection Program?

How do you think I should go about finding out?

Check his shoes for mileage! 

Anything else?

Check his skin to see if he's sanded off any old tattoos. So he can't be identified, right?

Okay. Is that it?

Ask him? Maybe hiding in plain sight is how it's done now and you win a prize if you connect the dots. 

What would the prize be?

A husband! Gosh, you're not very good at this game, Sam!