Journal 7th October

7th October

Hospital admission letter came. It's real. It's happening.
What would Ripley do?

She'd wish she hadn't taken a vow to stop eating G&Bs cherry chocolate - as has been bought over by some globalised swine company or other.

Doubt the boycott will last long, but it's important to take a political stand on serious issues like this. Even if self-sacrifice is involved.
Some would say, especially so.

Another letter. Something to divert my anger to. Lying pensioners and bastard insurance companies.
Excuse my French, but I need this like a hole in the head.
Love?
Compassion?
Try jealousy and rage.

Just when you think you know it all, She sends you a test. Jingle jingle.
It's not okay with Her to be selective you see.
In the Universe,
You're a tree or not a tree.
You love or don't love.

Your choice.
Now deal.

German FB can shag them all, I release them and her from my orbit.

And I tell my insurance company, Joe to be precise, just pay it. I don't need the hassle. It's all their fault. Pensioner, Insurers. He drove into me. My insurance company are crap and didn't do anything since June, after telling "Don't worry about a thing, leave it with us.
Am naïve.
So the letter saying pay us £300 to get the lying git's motor repaired yourself or we'll take you to court and destroy your financial record for life, well, it took me by surprise to say the least.

I phone her first. She loves her job. Obnoxious snap-happy bitch. The Kraken. She starts shouting almost immediately. I feel sorry for her. I do, but I make her tell me clearly what she'll do in 14 days if this isn't paid.
She wants my ass.
And not in a good way.

So I phone my insurers, who are also at fault, and say pay it. I don't care, pay it. He says he'll phone her, I warn him, she's a horror.
He phones me back, you were right, thanks for the warning and we laugh. He says we'd like to investigate it. As the laws of physics clearly state my car is unable to do 'The Time Warp', and take the required jump to the left, the damage sustained to lying pensioners car sustained.
I say I don't care. You're too late, you did nothing, you're out of time. That bitch loves her job and she'll carry on with this regardless. He says you're right she wouldn't give me any information and I'm sure she won't post the invoice to me in time for the 14 day period before she starts court proceedings.
I have a copy, I'll fax it through.

What do you want me to do?
Pay it, just pay it.
The karma will come back on him.
And on her.

Let's put some energy behind that thought and release it to Lady Universe.

It's the only way to peace of mind.

Right now, it truly doesn't matter how other people choose to live. I choose to tell the truth and live authentically. And save my credit rating. I plan big changes in the Spring and I want to be squeaky clean and debt free.
Pay the liar.
Let the Kraken have the only source of satisfaction in her sad and angry life. I hope she gets a bonus. But I know, she'll be mad she can't fuck up my credit rating. Getting bills paid isn't how she gets her kicks.

My cup runneth over.
I don't need a battle with the miserably unhappy who lie and blame others and are full of mistrust and a fight that doesn't exist.
Not today.

Not ever again.

But I say a wee binding spell to her energy, just for good measure.
And will phone Joe and her daily until he confirms, paid.

Jingle jingle.

Another email from green eyes. Joy of it. It thrills me to hear from him.
He's an email behind he says. Like there are rules. He's a librarian, order from chaos is his job. He didn't tell me for four emails.
Dark sweet green eyes doesn't think he's enough.
He says, the second most boring job after accountant, that it doesn't say what he's like, more what he's not like.
I tell him the truth. I find librarians sexy. Still waters, heavy silences. I tell him with his dark looks and green eyes, he'll be a hit in a very busy library indeed.

Wish I'd written a book so he could catalogue me in his library.

Today he thinks I'm a 'damned fine writer'.
He's adorable.
Bit guarded.
But adorable.
I see the passion in him.
The temptation to call him Mr Darcy is overwhelming.
Been done in another diary though.
Can't have that.

Anyway, if I've learned anything from this communication it's that seeing the real man is the true joy. No Mr Rochester, no dark Darcy, no Heathcliff. Just a man, another human being, struggling with his feelings, so drawn, yet struggling not to bolt.
Like I am.

He did look unbelievably sexy leaning against that mantelpiece though. Woof.