Download the audio version of today’s Dollop here
Yesterday’s stats indicated that another person clicked the link taking them to the erotic fiction novel mentioned in Sunday’s blog, bringing the total up to two people. Here’s the link again in case you missed it. Please click on it, because I’ve concocted a cunning plan whereby I boost the writer Sarah Morgan’s sales so much that she gets in touch to thank me in person. Let’s just say, if her books are anything to go by, she’ll know exactly what to do to make it worth my while. Yes, I am thirteen days into this consecutive blog posts exercise and I’ve reached the stage where I ask my readers to help me have sex. But, in fairness, I’m giving these blogs away for free, so it’s the least you can do really.
Last night I had a dream in which I was having an argument with an Ex-girlfriend. I can’t remember what we were arguing about, but I do know that I was definitely right and she was most certainly wrong. The argument was getting quite heated and seemed to have been going on for some time. Eventually our verbal exchange reached its peak and I think we might have been about to reach the angry make-up sex stage. Of course, this coincided with my alarm going off. I think my ex new what she was doing? The make-up sex idea was definitely engineered by her. In the dream I thought that she was being reconciliatory, but now I think about it in the light of day, I’m convinced that she knew exactly what she was doing, timing her amorousness deliberately to coincide with my alarm going off, giving her the last laugh, and hammering the final nail in the coffin. But you’d have to ask her that if you really wanted to know, although, trust me, she’d deny any of it ever happened and say that it was my own mind just making it up. But again, that’s just the kind of thing she would say, and sneaking into her ex-boyfriend’s dream to taunt him is precisely the kind of thing she’d do. I am not paranoid, I am not, who said that? Shut up, I am not paranoid!
However, the dream did give me a topic for this blog. I started thinking about how being blind influences the way I behave when it comes to potential areas of conflict, such as an argument.
Being blind can make it difficult to be charismatic or authoritative. If you can’t see then it seriously can impair your ability to make a dramatic exit. Let’s use the example of a heated argument between a blind man and his partner.
“You’ve gotten away with this for too long. Well let me tell you, I don’t need you any more, I’m out of here!” The blind man declares, his head held high in triumph. In truth, he was rather pleased with his passionate soliloquy. He’d made his point very well, very forcefully. Now all he had to do was storm out of the room. That’s what was needed now, a dramatic exit. So, with his head still held high, he walked in the direction of where the door was. Except, it wasn’t. He crashed into the wall, bruising his chin. Maybe holding his head up high wasn’t helping matters. He needed to focus his vision down, closer to the ground, because his eyes couldn’t focus properly at this height and angle. It was a shame to loose the head-held-high posture. He was pretty sure that it helped add extra indignation and charisma to the exit, but he was also aware that he was in serious danger of losing both of those things completely if he crashed into any more walls.
He needed to find the door, maybe make one final declaration. He’d quite liked “I don’t need you any more, I’m out of here!” He thought that that had worked quite effectively. That would tell her. That would ring in her ears. He could just imagine her now, sobbing on the phone to her friends, reciting that line to them, barely able to say the words through her tears. And it would serve her right.
But … The door. He must find the door. They put it here somewhere. He could see a jet of light in the corner of his left eye, coming from across the other side of the room. That must be where the door is, he surmised. The glass panels in the door must be amplifying the light. All he needed to do was walk towards the light.
“Shit!” he screamed. His nose was burning. The light was a candle. He brushed the hot wax off his nose. Ideally he’d take some cold water to the burn, but there wasn’t time for that. He realised he was really starting to lose face here. He must find the door.
Then he heard his girlfriend sigh wearily. She stood up, took his arm and gently escorted him to the door. Well, that didn’t go as well as he’d imagined it in his head, but still, he was at the door now. All he needed to do was cry his ardent farewell, and give the door a good slam behind him. Then he’d be out of the house and out of her life. And that would show her.
He was at the door now. He unlinked his arm from hers, turned to face her and yelled, “yes, as I said, I don’t need you any more, I’m out of here!” Yes, of course he was aware of the irony. But now that she’d guided him to the door, he didn’t need her any more. He grappled for the handle. Where was the sodding thing? After a few seconds of fumbling, his girlfriend gave another weary sigh, and opened the door for him. Again, he became acutely aware of the increasing irony. Maybe he should shout that he didn’t need her any more again. After all, now she’d taken him to the door and opened it for him, he didn’t need her any more.
“Yes, so, as I said, I don’t need you any more, I’m out of here!”
Hmm, the words didn’t sound quite as poweful and as sincere that time, he thought. Still, he could reclaim the moment by giving the door a good slam behind him. He stepped out of the house, and reached for the handle to give it one, big, dramatic final slam. But, again, the handle completely aluded him. Where the heck was it? He fumbled for awhile. He was losing the moment again. Then he found it. Aha! He grabbed the handle forcefully. He wanted to get a good angle on it to make the slam louder and more intense. But then he realised that the door was already shut. His girlfriend must have shut it gently behind him. Damn her. Well he’d show her. He’d have to open the door, then slam it closed. Not as powerful an exit as he’d have liked, but better than nothing. Perhaps he should shout “I don’t need you anymore, I’m out of here!” again, but maybe three times would be overkill.
He took hold of the handle, pulled the door back open, and then slammed it shut again. In fairness, it was a pretty forceful slam. He was quite proud of it. It was a shame that it was severely tempered by the debacle that had preceeded it, but at least he got the slam in. Now he just had to walk away.
Except … Oh no. He’d forgotten his cane. With all the drama he’d completely forgotten to get his cane. He couldn’t go anywhere without his cane. There was nothing for it but to open the door and get it back. He’d have to ask her for it. He opened the door again, and diffidently cleared his throat.
“I need my cane.”
She sighed that weary sigh again, and got to her feet. She handed him the cane.
“But I don’t need you anymore, I’m out of here!”
But he knew it was useless. He’d lost the moment completely. This wasn’t the charasmatic, noble exit that he’d imagined. He knew he’d lost.
“OK, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I do need you, I do, I’m sorry, please take me back, I was wrong, I shouldn’t have said those things, of course you have a right to sleep with my best friend and my brother and I was stupid to be upset about it, please don’t leave me, I’m sorry, I need you, I need you!!!” he blurted. She gave one final weary sigh and He slumped back into the house.
Obviously, this is an exagerated scenario, but you get my point. It’s difficult to adopt a position of power and authority when you know that you’re going to have to ask them to help you storm out.
Anyway, I’ll end this blog post here, otherwise I’m in danger of burning my fish, which is not some kind of strange euphamism, I am just cooking some fish for our tea, and I need to go and take it from the oven. Perhaps I’ll talk more about my fish-based meal in tomorrow’s blog, who knows? That is the delights of doing a daily blog. Anything can happen. But I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to find out what? “Oh I hope ihe writes about his fish meal!” Well, you’ll just have to wait until tomorrow my friends.
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