It's a mystery

It's probably no secret now that in the last year or so I've lost what was left of any scaffolding holding my life up, and any reflection of that here was inevitable. I can't apologise either for shit that happened to me or the fact I reported it here, and the mark of a good writer (not that I'm labelling myself) is whatever the subject they make it interesting. So whether I'm as high as a kite or falling to bits I do try and present it in a readable way. So those are my excuses out of the way, now more business.

The mystery is what is ahead? I have made the biggest step I had to on the path back to civilisation, a simple trip to the doctors, and hopefully any benefits I have from that will mean whatever's going on no longer has the same effects it did before. So, I remain in the same position where because of broken promises and lack of funds, my kitchen hasn't been replaced by new units and the cutlery drawer just collapsed leaving about 100 knives, forks and whatever else was in it on the floor, needing to be washed and nowhere to put it once it is. Living alone means whatever happens is down to me, besides the cleaner every two weeks. I was told I could foster children which would fix my financial problems, but not when a two person job would be all mine, and I'd have to be on duty 24/7 whatever happened. I'd quite like to otherwise.
I have no idea what's ahead now, but I hope I'm more ready for it whatever it is. I will add the latest disappointment as it was referred to in passing, yet another woman appears to have looked the other way, about number three this year. This was admittedly out of my league by about four divisions, but it's not my doing who I happen to meet at random and she did it for me though I never expected it would work the other way. It does remind me of the good old times, when though I couldn't keep them very long, I usually ended up with exactly who I wanted when I went to one of my regular discos. Whatever it was I did wrong must have happened later on, meaning also it couldn't have been my height or appearance which clearly was adequate to catch them in the first place. Besides a fair percentage of my hair, everything else is much the same, as it would be. And I would have thought any manners I was lacking at 16 or 18 should be dealt with by now. OK, I don't really play hard to get, which I know women prefer, but I would feel like having to come down to such a dire level that unless I may postpone a call by a day or two, I don't piss around like that except to try not to show that much interest until 'after the event' as I know that's the killer of any potential relationship.

Funnily enough it's when I do nothing and make no effort, usually when I didn't particularly like someone but they were 'just there' that I couldn't get rid of them. So I couldn't pretend not to be interested as I really wasn't. Why are some women set up for that fatal formula to work so perfectly? I even showed a couple of times when I went on or off the same women (unlike me, but happens) they reversed in response. How the hell can anyone ever get married with such a formula in operation? Anyway, that remains a mystery as I checked everything I thought put women off about me but they didn't make any difference in practice. Really I'm the same person and they either like me as I am or not, just like watching a film. The only difference is when the rare one comes along who I feel so right with it brings out the best in me. This was the case with failure #3/2005. A rare and definite quality once discovered, and though I know I'm at my best with them, they want someone else's worst rather than my best a lot of the time, or recently (a new one) "Don't want anyone at all".
Are they putting something in the water now?

Otherwise the various business projects I set in motion over the last few months will carry on on their own until each either succeeds or dies. If I have time this week I'm starting my next picture which will be a pen drawing. Unfortunately the new nib my original pen needs is three times the price of a new pen (bloody Germans this time, though they probably copied the British attitude). Mind you, what on earth can I buy nowadays that is made in Britain, now I think about it? I tried one shop yesterday that pointed me to the wrong shelf as they didn't actually have what I wanted. I have no idea where else I can buy one near me so may have to order such a simple item online. And in between chores and projects, my mind wanders as it always did of crazy ideas that may attract attention, but sadly only that of medical personnel.
As I write, I think of the women I know who either read my blog or have the address, and will end with a form of insanity based on various radio phone in shows I've heard over the years where a right corblimey bloke (usually) proposed to his girlfriend over the radio, and she usually called back and said yes. Ah, how nauseatingly corny and romantic. So I'll update it to the women reading with an open proposal they are welcome to copy, fill in the blanks, and return. Acceptance will probably be on a first come first served basis.

Open proposal form

I, David from Kingsbury propose marriage to ----------------------------------------- (insert name here), the first woman to arrive on this page and accept my open invitation to share the rest of your life in Kingsbury with myself, and whichever cat is also present.
Duties will be no more than the minimum requirements of 'Being here' and 'Bedroom duties'. Anything else is completely optional, as the local Co-op has a plentiful supply of ready meals that's sustained me adequately for the last ten years.

Candidates must be available at short notice, without the need for a visa or work permit, as I've been there before and it's usually more trouble than it's worth. In return the successful applicant will have a life interest in a house in Kingsbury, or any following habitation, a constant partner to share her ups and downs, sex on tap any time day or night (includes my being woken up for it whenever required), an extended family that could rival any in a Woody Allen film, every technical innovation except broadband internet as this is but a pocket of medieval England where telephone lines and electricity have to be imported from Hertfordshire.
Major maintenance has recently been carried out on the house and car, meaning besides surprise disasters, such as today's kitchen incident, every area is in fairly good condition. I would like to be able to say this about myself as well but I couldn't be as certain.

The winner will inherit an overall package including a degree, diploma, and professional qualification. No current income but love ought to fill the gaps which money can't. There is also a library of reference books rarely rivalled outside public institutions, including those of the mental variety. The television also provides so many channels meaning only some periods of the day provide no quality worth watching, in which case the internet can be used instead. As with any property this package contains both some prize assets and some which require maintenance or replacement, though the opportunities for major surgery are negligible, especially in the case of inherited personality disorders, though willingness is offered for therapy if any qualities should grate too much after a while.

This proposal lasts and operates until the property, known as 'David from Kingsbury' no longer remains unoccupied and unfulfilled, but, should that situation cease to last, will be reposted ad infinitum. Accidents, ommissions and idiotic jokes excepted.

Romantic, eh?