There are three alien type dudes on my television set attempting to run on oranges.
I am telling you this because as I opened my laptop with a deep and shaky sigh, having finally plucked up the courage once again to write, after 3 weeks of being barely able to glance in the direction of the beautiful escape, willing me to share with it my inner most thoughts and feelings, from the ignored shelf in the corner of the room, I just happened to glance upwards, in an attempt to distract myself from the misery, to see what the Irish soul in the house was choosing to do with his time, and this caught my attention.
(What is it with men and god-awful television? I swear if it isn’t football in this house, it is bloody aliens. Whatever happened to the romantic comedy’s we used to watch together ey? And I’m not being funny but really? Aliens and football? After a ‘hard’ day at work, you want to come home and relax with Aliens and Football? Whatever happened to romance? I cant even remember what the remote control looks like its been that long since I have laid hands on it. But one day soon… one day soon…I will put Dog Whisperer on. You just wait. You’ll see. I bloody will… And then what will you do ey? Anyway.)
They, (back to the aliens) with their superhuman strength, mechanical unrelenting steadfast repetitive actions and impeccable comedy timing, are of course, failing miserably to stay upright.
(Much like many of the footballers I am subjected to on a daily basis and once again I am not being funny, but I am about to write a strongly worded letter of complaint to the FA, that, in fact as I am at it, goes a little something like this;
I don’t know what FA stands for, but I assume it stands for Fuck All, as that is the amount of pleasure I draw from watching your repetitive boring matches day in day out on the 50-inch flat screen I was forced in to buying for this very reason.
I will also sarcastically thank you for displaying your matches in HD as now, due to this miraculous advancement in high definition technology, I usually have to endure at the very least, a good ten minutes of him flicking between ‘normal’ and ‘HD’ viewing in sheer amazement, before Every. Damn. Game.
‘Look Lexy, Look how amazing it is! You can see every blade of grass when it is in HD! Every. Individual. Blade of grass! But now look when I change it back, Look! Look! You aren’t looking!’
‘Yes I am.’
Sigh. It’s Fecking grass! You can go outside and look at it!!! You can even touch it if you want!!
‘Look! Can you see the difference? Now the grass is just a blur! Now it is just a blur! But when I change it back….’ He pauses releasing a deeply satisfied Irish sigh ‘It is beautiful.’
But anyway FA, it has been made quite clear to me, on quite a few occasions, that you have a lot of power over football related stuff, including but not limited to according to the Irish one who shouts about you on occasion; dodgy referees, idiotic managers, flimsy ethics and Micheal Carrick who apparently can’t kick a ball for the life of him and should never have been in the line up in the first place because… sorry I just fell asleep.
So could you do me a favour please? At the very least, could you get these men (and I use the term men loosely – jaysus the dramatics of some of these boys, do you send them to RADA for a term before they start training?) could you please get them playing shirtless and in hot pants? I would appreciate it. At least then I would have something to look at in HD. (And while he is busy flicking maybe then I could do some flicking of my own… ahem…too far? OK. I apologise.)
Anyway FA, I thank you from the bottom of my heart and would appreciate a hasty reply as I am bored and it would give me something to read. Thanks. )
It strikes me as quite apt, (back to the aliens trying to run on oranges) in the circumstances, as I sit here plugged in to the world I adore, the world that belongs only to me, a world I have been unable to connect with for the last few weeks due to the war ravaging at my spirit, that sometimes, no matter what, no matter how hard you try, and evidently, even if you are in fact superhuman, some things are just not possible.
Some things are out of our control.
(Like the remote, but seriously one day he will come home to Ceaser Milan and his softly spoken, almost mesmerizing tone of voice. Now that is a man that could be leader of my pack any day…and I will be sat there brandishing the damn thing (the remote) like the Olympic torch. ‘It is mine!’ I will shout loud and clear ‘And you can’t have it!’ …Wow that will be such a great day.)
Some things can’t be achieved no matter how hard we try and no matter how desperate we are to achieve them.
And with that in mind;
‘I have learnt that you cannot make someone love you.
All you can do is be someone who can be loved.
The rest is up to them.
I have learnt that no matter how much I care, some people just don’t care back.
And it is not the end of the world.
It is out of my control.’
From now on, I will focus on those activities that bring me great pleasure and those people whom I love and who love me back.
It is time to stop trying to run on oranges.
(Can you watch Dog whisperer on the Internet? I think you can.)