I can’t help myself.
I’ve spent most of my life being very, very sensible. And I feel like being a bit stupid for a change.
Even as a teenager, I had my head screwed on a little too tightly. Oh, I had my fair share of spews after drinking too much, but you’d basically describe me as a “good girl”.
Straighty-one-eighty, Operation Noah etc etc … That was me.
It was a surprise to many when I got together with Husband, because he was a bit naughty. That’s an understatement, he was VERY naughty. And hilarious. And outrageously unfiltered.
Over the years, I ironed most of the kinks out of him. I feel a bit sorry about that, upon reflection, because he was pretty hilariously out-there in his day. Now he’s grey and tired looking.
Before he walked out, I was obsessed with doing the right, responsible thing.
But life feels scarily short and irresponsible fun turns out to be an irresistible buzz.
Unfortunately, when things go pear-shaped – as they invariably do when you’re daft – there’s no one to talk to about it, because you totally ignored the advice you were given the last time you sobbed on everyone’s shoulders.
People get REALLY annoyed when you ignore their sensible advice. They give you this LOOK. And you feel soooooo guilty about disappointing them.
But I can’t help myself because … Oh, I don’t know, I just can’t.
I’m hooked on adrenaline rushes. They get me through the days and weeks. And they don’t come from being sensible.
So, to all my friends tsking me: I know, I know, I know.
Please don’t stop caring about me. Please just shake your head and pick me up again when I fall. Please forgive all the daft decisions I’ll make in the coming months.
No, I shouldn’t do this and that and the other … But I’m going to anyway.
It doesn’t mean I don’t love you. OK?
Song of the day: Icehouse “I can’t help myself”