So here I am, back home from the eye of the hurricane. Not the real hurricane, obviously, and no, I’m not telling you where the real location was, either. This is not a travel blog. But if you took the time to read my last blog, Is Life One Long Game of Foreplay?, then you should have a fair idea of the potentially jittery, juddery, tingling anxiety I was assaulted by before arriving at my destination. Which I am NOT going to tell you about.
Did I just say tingling? Sorry that was a typo. I meant ringing. As in when the phone rings and you’re full of anticipation, wondering what delightful news is about to reach your ringing ears.
So, in follow-up to my last blog, which was all about life’s G-spots and such things, has this particular event, this much-desired trip, lived up to the expectation of its foreplay? Well, if this blog were a multiple choice test, I’d have to leave that question blank. Because even to guess would somehow seem wrong. Kind of like tempting fate.
But do any of the small hopes and pleasures of our everyday lives live up to their fantasised prototype? From ordinary weekends to longed-for holidays, to big celebrations, parties, weddings, family do’s, romantic dates, getaway breaks … do any of them live up to the steadily brewing, bubbling, bulging escalation that is held in check, tight as a trouser zip, firmly encased within all that red-hot promise, only to be revealed in the final eruption of anticipation? And then it’s all over practically before it’s begun. And life goes on – joy’s residue wiped away, tossed down the loo, sugary sprinklings swept up, aromatic candles burnt down to the wick … just the sighs remaining.
To be honest, I’ve not been back home long, so it doesn’t feel like my special event is fully over yet. The prolonged moment has not yet expired in a cloud of stardust. I’m still here, in a way, in the veritable eye of the hurricane. Beforehand there were blustery emotions to contend with; after I get back to normal life – from tomorrow morning, to be specific – there’ll no doubt be further gale-force winds. But now…?
Now all’s well. Let’s just hope that it will end well, as well.
Too many well’s there. What would my old English teacher have said? The one who I had a crush on at the age of thirteen. Or the other English teacher – the one who tried to kiss me at the age of fifteen. I mean I was fifteen, not him. He was at least two and a half times my age. And btw, after the unsuccessful kiss attempt (his guitar got in the way) I reported the entire event to my mother, and we both had a good laugh. Nowadays, we would have sued the guy for sexual harassment. Or sued the school for having employed him in the first place. Who’d ever want to be involved in the school business, eh?
But that’s beside the point, so consider the last paragraph deleted. (I just couldn’t be bothered.) It’s also besides the moment. Which I am trying desperately to make last as long as possible.
So the question is: will this longed-for trip from which I have just returned soon prove to be no more than a will-o’-the-wisp? Another crystalised moment to add to Life’s Archives of Worthwhile Events? Appreciated only in retrospect rather than in the moment itself? The real, blissful eye of the hurricane that provides respite and joy in the midst of our too-chaotic or too-lonely lives? All those moments we long for, plan for, live for, and then … back to reality.
So only tomorrow, when the word is made flesh, will I fully comprehend how the moment fared. All I can reveal now is: G-spot close to location, though durability of after-effects as yet unknown.
Ground control to eye of hurricane – can I do this again, please, sometime soon? If one keeps hopping on Boeing 737s to destinations far and wide, and getting all muddled up with time zones and all tiddly with the generous wine allocation on board long-haul flights, then life could pass by mellifluously and magnanimously and magnificently.
But if we did that all the time, not only would we get sick of the letter ‘m’, our private lives would also reach bankruptcy, and we would never get anything sensible or worthwhile done. Which, on many levels, is fine.
But what about the rest of the world and everyone in it? What about Brexit? What about the aftermath of US erections? Sorry, elections. (Old joke, I know. I’m tired – blame it on jetlag.) What about global warming? What about immigration? What about the advance of fascism in Europe? What about the future of my beloved Poland, which just yesterday celebrated one hundred years of independence amid flag-bearing crowds, many of whom bordered on not being very nice to anyone nearby who happened not to be Polish…
Okay, okay, I’m sure you get the gist.
In the meantime, can I just stay here please? Can I just remain in the conspiratorial eye of the hurricane for ever and ever after?