Maybe you’re right…

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“Not one of your pertinent ancestors was squashed, devoured, drowned, starved, stranded, stuck fast, untimely wounded, or otherwise deflected from its life’s quest of delivering a tiny charge of genetic material to the right partner at the right moment in order to perpetuate the only possible sequence of hereditary combinations that could result — eventually, astoundingly, and all too briefly — in you.”
― Bill Bryson

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Several days into the armageddon/zombie apocalypse known as Brexit which has the UK now in its grip and…

I’m still alive…

still working on the stairs in the hallway of my recently purchased house (whose value is plummeting as I write this… which is kind of funny because I thought the house would fall down due to structural issues before it lost any value),

still stripping them to repaint and refurbish them…

some of the spindles on the banisters need replacing… unless I like feeling seasick and wondering if they’ll give way every time I rely on them to hold my weight…

mind you I’ve lost a bit of weight and my derriere is showing that the most, it used to be sticky outy now it’s mostly flat, but I rarely notice what’s behind me unless I sit on a splinter and my butt doesn’t protect me from it like it used to when it had more fat buffering it…

butt aside, my hands could kill you they’re so toned and muscly… not that I’m using them for that kind of activity…

still considering my options…

still telling myself this is a phase a country is going through…

and strangely enough no one else in my vicinity seems to have morphed into a mutant…

guess I shouldn’t base living a historical moment on movies and what you see on TV…

or on the news media which seems to want the people to rip each others throats out so no one can say anything which others don’t want to hear…

still went to a local fair and…

still behaved like a complete introvert who runs away every time I see someone I know, and runs away when I see someone I don’t know…

while imagining that some day I won’t do that because it’s silly…

but somehow I’m someone who doesn’t run away from that guy who was in charge of the stocks… come on, it’ll be a larf, get in the stocks so that people can throw wet sponges at your face!

Only no one was there to throw wet sponges and… no one seemed to want to be there… or to have anyone be in the stocks… even though the media would have you believe that wet sponge throwing at people in stocks was all the rage after Brexit became an actual possibility…

with the pro-remainers being the ones wanting to throw shit at the pro-leavers…

(mind you this particular area… barely discussed this particular issue at that particular community event… within earshot of me)

as much as I looked like I might agree to get locked into those stocks to have my face wet sponged…

so much so that my partner became all chivalrous and rescued me from the man in charge of the stocks but mostly from myself…

(he’s such a sweetie! My partner, that is. No idea if the guy in charge of the stocks was or wasn’t… a sweetie)

I wasn’t about to get in those stocks, I simply seemed to show a momentary interest in doing so… I’ve never done that before, been locked in stocks (not like that anyway) and took a pause to wonder about it…

I confuse people.

People confuse me.

We’re even.

And when we confuse each other we may also confuse ourselves and…

deprive each other of knowing things…

but maybe we don’t want to know those things…

even though we think about them later and…

still…

think about them many years later…

those things we did…

and didn’t do…