Telegraph that ship, and ask the captain to come aboard!

Like many people I lead a reasonably straightforward and simple day-to-day existence that is fashioned that way mainly to cater for the needs of a growing five year old. I am not entirely certain I would be applying for a role within the secret service had I not had Ben, but I possibly would be imbibing in a little more of a rock and roll-type lifestyle that I know I would have been so good at.

Instead I prefer to decorate my days with the deeper hues of my imagination … the rich, lustrous and intoxicating shades of embroidered observation that would simply be overkill in a real-life airing.

I paint myself as the tragically misunderstood heroine, who has touched the source of true knowledge and yet cannot share the experience with anyone. The truly woeful element of the heroine’s plight is that she is not simply misconstrued in matters of romance, but in all other conceivable aspects too. People do not understand her willingness to end relationships because they fulfill neither party, nor do they fully comprehend her outlook and long-term hopes for the future.

She roams the earth in her dreams, walking aimlessly for the most part. People come in and out of her life and mutual peripheral friendship is exchanged, but what this woman really wants is someone who is not scared to take the unprecedented route, unexplored, and therefore limitless in potential and danger at the same time.

For the most part the alarm will sound at 6.00am and the roaming drama queen reaches for the off switch. Real life resumes and the pageant that exists in my head exits stage left for the time being.

Usually on commencement of the school run, the cerebral storyteller resumes. Pulling out of the drive way, the desolate raven haired woman at number one transports her son to school … what is it that she does for gainful employment? What brought her to this quiet Lincolnshire backwater? What sorrow lies beneath the polite and enquiring smile that she has for her neighbours?

Then onto the schoolyard … the disapproving looks from fellow mothers … who is this woman, seemingly fixated with her iPhone and never without lipgloss? 

This is the colourful spectacle I have created based on my unconcealed life. A life pleasant enough yet made ordinary by circumstance rather than choice. Without hue or significant event.

Until someone emanates from the mist who negates the need to embroider on the banal any longer. A man who is mindful of the words he selects, of the mood he conjures with those words and is seemingly unaware of the immeasurable appeal that he radiates.

Of course people like this rarely appear from nowhere; they were most probably present for a short time, but for some inexplicable reason one day a conversation starts that sets off an inner tidal wave. The isolated mind and all that sails in her is no longer on a deserted sea. Suddenly there is a ship with familiar livery on the horizon sending out messages that I don’t need to decipher.

It’s always a dangerously good sign when you’re ravenously hungry to hear from someone … when literally every letter of every word, every accent is pored over, often acutely.

Let me assure you, dear reader, this is no ordinary man. No ordinary mind.

Recently someone rather clumsily accused me of being self-absorbed.

So let me introduce you to someone who is altogether a more enticing prospect.



Filed under Life, love and the universe, middle age

4 responses to “Telegraph that ship, and ask the captain to come aboard!

  1. Seán...

    …á confirmátion…á báptism of words…by totál immersion…the cáptáin of the sinking ship sees the illuminátion of the lighthouse…

  2. seán

    …I ám certáin he will be very gráteful…

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