It’s a funny old world. Very much in the sense of peculiar rather than haha, and certainly not LOL.
It has struck me lately that all the things one might wish for come with the warning that if you get too much you won’t be happy. In fact, you’re likely to be even less happy than you were in the first place.
Sure, with some things – such as money – you’d have to go a mighty long way into the realm of too much before you were fed up and saying: “Enough now.”
Maybe it’s just evidence that “nothing ever stays the same” or simply that humans are contrary beasties.
Time: On the one hand there is NEVER ENOUGH TIME TO DO ALL THE THINGS, yet if you have to wait for even half a minute in a queue or traffic jam, it’s far too flipping long.
Ideas: Both when I’m busy or when I’m waiting in traffic, my head will be full of excellent ideas – the best yet, usually. However, when I sit down to do something about them, they have vanished and there won’t be a single good notion to hand. Not one.
Age: Remember being old enough to leave home, make your own choices and go to night clubs? Yeah. Now I wish I wasn’t so old because all I want is to stay in and have someone tell me what to do next. And as for night clubs, you couldn’t pay me…
Breasts: Apparently – though I don’t remember this – I once put hankies under my shirt because I wanted breasts – proper grown -up breasts.
Choice: Hate being told what to do? Feel hemmed in with no options? Right. OK, you can do absolutely anything, go anywhere, whatever you like. You’d imagine that would feel better but it just as stressful being faced with too many options.
Socialising: Most of the year, there’s not so much going on, hardly anything in fact. Night after night on the sofa. Then for the last four weeks of the year and around six weeks of the summer, the calendar is rammed. Invites turned down – double bookings ahead.
Possessions: If I could draw, the picture would be a sinister see-saw with shopping on one end and decluttering on the other. And menacing at the edges would be the spectre of recycling opportunities missed.
Spice: Too bland = yuk. Fodder for babies or the geriatric. Too spicy = yuk. Causes indigestion, hiccoughs and sweating. Broken veins too, apparently.
Attention: It’s easy to feel neglected and overlooked if no one asks about your day, notices your hair/weight loss/misery – especially those close to us who are supposed (by proximity perhaps) to recognise these urges. However, if someone really notices – I mean really notices the details – then it’s creepy and weird.
Hair: One of the biggest areas of discontent. For both genders, it’s about location. At first, it shouldn’t be on chests (men and women) or legs and pits (women only) and it should be on the head, brows and lashes. As time passes it shouldn’t sprout on chins (women) ears (men) or shoulders (both) and is sometimes sadly lacking on heads (both).
