skipping down the garden path

i know some amazing women. they're so incredible they constantly blow me away & i can't believe there are so many of them. in some ways it really is a man's world. no wonder they all look so smug. i'm lucky enough to call some of these goddesses my friends, even though often i'm unsure whether i'm particularly deserving. 

whilst i struggle with my own existence, the meaning of it and whether it ought to be continued, i end up coming back to the women of the inner sanctum in my life: raen, claire, clare, serena, sonja, marianne, kate, ang, ky, gina, monica, cat, jess, kathleen, karina, shell &  sometimes conrad. the keepers of the secrets. there are men too but they number fewer even though typically i always liked men. sometimes it was mutual.

this is claire: the minx. the pragmatist. the comic. in my wildest fantasies i imagine us in our decrepit old age on balcony chairs gazing out together into the ether with vibrant blue rinses & cackles which soar to match. i am happy then.

but the thing is, which has been blatantly & painfully illustrated in my most recent love relationship is that there can be no future without a present. you can plan all you want but there's no point picking out the wallpaper & obsessively researching it if the foundations & roof aren't built. noone likes soggy walls. which invariably collapse.

one may as well just skip blindly down the unformed garden path back into the emotional wasteland from which we come from.