One for the road

So many of my words have gone into paper from the ink of a pen that this platform is looking a lot less like a beach and a lot more like a desert.

So. Hmm. Where to start?

Mother has started going for counselling. Church counselling, no less. Her homework: to ask father if she can move back into the room to sleep. The status so far is unremarkably stagnant with mother's timid reticence in the presence of father - except when it involves alcohol. To think she had the cheek to tell him she had drunk all his Taiwan wine. Ridiculous hubris.

Issues with boys are uncomplicated, which is much appreciated. Thank you, God. Boy A1 seems to have moved on after I told him I couldn't be his serial texter anymore (cue lyrics: well, you moved on ridiculously quick. So much for hopeless romantic). How is it possible that despite talking to you almost non-stop for two months, I still can't tell your bullshit apart?

This is exactly why I say texting brings people nowhere.

Boy A2 is funny, God-fearing and altogether so so so terribly nice. But still, something's not right. Call me idealistic, call me choosy. Well, fine, that's exactly what I proclaim to be. God has prepared someone perfect for me. Not perfect, mind you. Perfect for me! Why shouldn't I be idealistic? Why shouldn't I be choosy?

People are people, work is work. God is God so it is well.