She’s here

So apart from the evil man in my life, I’ve met a girl. And she’s…pretty damn great. It’s all happened really quickly, far quicker than I could have anticipated and to be honest it’s all going a little bit too fast. But I can’t complain. We get on, are insanely attracted to eachother (I think!), and every date we’ve had has been absolutely amazing. Romantic, dreamy – I’m a real soft bastard me! But she’s loving it too and without appearing arrogant, I’m pretty damn good at all the dating stuff.

It’s tense, exciting – I’d forgotten how magical it is holding hands in public. The simple gesture of her reaching for my hand, playing with my fingertips and interlocking our fingers as we walked, aimlessly, pathetically, hopelessly through the city was electric.

In the park, her head on my chest, me playing with her hair and saying nothing. Just being. People don’t “be” any longer – there’s too much emphasis on doing things for the sake of doing. I’m a thinker, a hopeless dreamer and it’s wonderful spending time with someone just to be together…for no other reason than just holding eachother, kissing, rubbing noses and…

It’s a little pathetic saying this, but I know it’s true: blokes do like this kind of stuff. We do. It’s a feminine society we are in these days, but I don’t think that has anything to do with it…we like holding hands (not all the time, though!); we sometimes like kissing in public (not all the time, though!) and we too feel the electricity. We too can be hopeless romantics.

Bullied into hope

Everyone I’ve spoken to, and that amounts to about three people, tell me I’m being bullied. He’s relentless, albeit inconsistent and unpredictable. For example, he’ll set me various tasks in the day, all of which I’ll do. Often he completely misjudges how long they’ll take and it’ll take me longer. Then, because I’m doing that work, other things take a back seat – and if I miss something, it’s all my fault. I know, for certain, he will rain hell on me tomorrow morning as I’ve noticed he’s just done about six different things all of which I didn’t have time to do. I’ll wake up again tomorrow morning, too nervous to eat breakfast, drive to work and expect another awkward, snide, nasty and belittling tirade from the evil bastard who is my manager.

Then, later, he’ll crack a joke. I’ll find it funny – I usually do, as we’re very similar people – and suddenly feel at ease. This could be seconds or hours after the undermining conversation which will have set my pulse racing. And it’s a vicious circle. I really have no idea how to handle him; and I don’t care any longer. Whatever I do won’t be enough. I know he respects my ability but he’s frustrated at my inability to have nine hands and four brains.

Sooner rather than later, I will quit and find something else and, probably, throw a brick through his window. Some people just don’t get it, do they?