A colleague read my blog and commented on the entry "Sailing this ship alone." It moved her. This reduced me not to tears but to something more snivelling: lamenting the past, contacting the ex, being all soppy. Weird.
I genuinely care about people. That is, I care about people close to me. My friends, my family. The women I have loved and in at least one case still do. I'm no good at expressing that. I'm male. I'm northern. I'm stoic. I'm weird.
It doesn't mean I don't care. When one ex said she just didn't know how I would react to things - and that was why she wanted to break up - I had to agree. I don't know how I will react to things. I'm weird.
So yeah, I suppose the point is that my blog might be moving (on the occasion I write about something other than football, cricket or politics) but I can't translate this to real life. Writing, yes. Real life, no. Because I'm weird.
Ah well. Better than being boring isn't it? Is it? Sometimes I wish I was boring. But then I wouldn't be me, would I?
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