The Blog with the Bone to Pick

I have a Bone to Pick. I have a complaint. Now in the normal scheme of things I would dash to my email program and shoot off a missive of abuse to whomever had inspired my wrath.

God or Mother Nature or that Higher Being I do not believe, although I could be mistaken, have email addresses. Nor are they on skype. No mobile phone number. No home phone number. No fax machine. No PO Box address. I mean in this day and age? Really!

I want to talk to the person in charge of the production line they day they made me. Sombody has a real warped sense of humour and is right at this minute kicking back laughing their arse off at me. I want to know the following things:-

WHY bestow upon a being a love of the outdoors and gardening - and throw in spring/summer/autumn allergies?????

WHY bestow upon a being a love of the beach and the sun (and indeed plonk that person in Australia 5 minutes from the beach) and make her a red head with freckles and pale skin?

WHY bestow upon a being the love of parties, booze, dancing, booze, partying, alcohol, raging, dancing, wine, dancing bare foot, scotch, beer, dancing barefoot until 4 in the morning, cocktails, dancing barefoot until 4 in the morning whilst holding beer and not spilling any, wearing a flouncy skirt and dancing barefoot until 4 in the morning thinking one can legimately dance latin style whilst flicking around flouncy skirt and holding beer and THEN make her suffer for 4 days?

OK so mother nature probably was NOT responsible for that last one - but I figure while I am complaining I might as well just throw that one in.

So if ANYBODY has a address, contact number etc etc where I can forward my complaint - please advise me of same.

K

The Blog with the Tearing

I'm torn. In three different ways. My emotions are letting me down and not leading me where I know my brain says I should go. My heart is leading. This is bad. I'm not sure when my heart got to be in charge of this ship and in fact who the hell put it in charge. There was mutiny in "Kathland" and nobody bothered to inform me?

My sensible brain type being has always had control. But alas, no more. My heart is pulling the strings like I was a 16 year old and common sense "be DAMNED!"

The trouble is I have a lot more to lose than a 16 year old. Will my heart recognise this? Will it make due recalculations based on the 39 year old body it is leading? Or will it, as I suspect, not bother with trival information such as age, mortage, mother of teenage boy etc etc and lead me where temptation is not only rife but where my being longs to be?

Somebody once said "youth is wasted on the young" - I now think maybe "youthfulness is wasted on the middleage" is more the point.

Why am I so scared?