Today I had to drive down to Carmichael, a village in Lanarkshire to pick up a new lawnmower. The old lawnmower was not very old at all but was designed by Germans who apparently believe that lawns consist of only one type of grass, not much use when you have three lawns on a hill. When the self-propulsion pegged out, I heaved a sigh of relief and got rid of the Einhell junk. Who designs a lawnmower that cannot cope with grass, and cannot collect it?
Anyway, I got to thinking as I drove down, as my satnav redirected me onto some horrific ring road which involved circling my house in ever increasing circles about three times on the way there, about what I really wanted from the Wolfe event, were I to move heaven and earth to actually get there.
- Apparently my first priority was to establish that I am very funny via a series of hilarious and pointed greetings. Who cares? I can be quite cruel too, especially when you are being a total dickwad. Wolfe is well aware of this, so if he responds that he does not want me to attend, it is my own fault as well as his for being a plonker in the first place.
- I spun this out in my head, to the point of actually having the conversation I have been waiting to have for the last seven years. That conversation is actually about work, what his aims are, and how my unused academic material could be used to give him the kudos required to make more of the European market. Why do I even still care about this? He certainly doesn’t. He is quite happy, good for him. He probably still sleeps on Shazzie’s floor when he is over here and is incapable of moving on to adult life anyway.
- I then got to imagining setting up an actual meeting, and when I got to the imaginary meeting, he turned up with at least one dry looking hippy chick with the intention of humiliating me again. (hahaha the fat chick is here to see me) When I took this idea further to making my gooseberry departure, I realised that my wanting to see him was nothing at all to do with lugging on his lingam, and everything to do with recovering my face. This, going by past experience, would not suit him at all as he has a great love of being totally disrespectful right up until it turns out that you are a lot smarter than he expected you to be, at which point he runs. If this is how I think of him, why am I wasting my time on this?
Prior to my having this reality check, I was thinking optimistically that he might actually be quite pleased to see me, he may have grown out of being a plonker, and that things might end up OK between us. Not in a grand romantic sense, but at least he would understand that my attention seeking novels are just that and I do not actually bear him any real ill will. He seemed to have big difficulties with that. Most of my rather acerbic material prior to the books was aimed at getting his attention rather than harming him in any way. (it is all removed now, so don’t bother looking)
Now that I have realised that I am trying to save my face, and this is still about Facebook blocking and me feeling small, I feel like an idiot. Why do I even care? If I want to write my tiresome book, which still will not sell as Ina is still pretty much a nonentity, I have to write it regardless. He will soon lift anything useful if he bothers reading it. (highly unlikely)
It is all extremely tiresome, and getting me nowhere. Why go to all the trouble of getting there, with a no refund policy and the likelihood that he will freak out? There has been no acknowledgement from the organizer that they even have my enquiry, never mind a response, so I am thinking it is likely that they will not respond until it is way too late anyway.
See how reality differs from positive thinking, anyone? It would have been nice if my imaginary friend wasn’t imaginary, but he decided against it some time ago.