Well no, I'm not. And to prove I'm still a victim of NPD, here's another self-indulgent true story (but remember every true story contains a wee lie.) And there's an HNT pic at the end.
Once upon a time, in another century and in another country, I had an entanglement with the nation's darling. Here's how it happened.
For years I had been living with Angie, a good woman but not the woman for me. Nor was I right for her. Not brave enough to separate, we were still living together but we were very remote from each other, and we lived celibately. But Angie had stuck by me through very tough times, and I wasn't about to repay her loyalty by doing the dirty on her. So, although I enjoyed having several women friends, I was scrupulously celibate.
For instance, I went on holiday overseas with a woman friend). I squared it first with Angie, assuring her that there would be no funny business on the holiday. Perhaps I was naive, but when we got to the hotel and checked into a twin room and the friend leapt on me expecting a week of illicit sex, I was shocked. What kind of a person would I have to have been, to assure Angie it was platonic then bonk behind her back?
Anyway, you get the picture - I ran my life according to principles. It was my way of making the best of my life with Angie.
Then one day I fell under the spell of the nation's darling, and developed my new morning routine. I would get up when Angie came home from her night job, and we'd chat and have a cup of tea. Exhausted from work, she would then tumble into bed while it was still warm from me. And I would switch on breakfast TV just in time to watch the ND read her last bulletin.
Why do I call her "the nation's darling"? Well for a while, she was a national institution. All over the country, unemployed males with no real reason to get up in the morning would set their alarm clocks and drag themselves out of bed before dawn, simply to gape at the ND as she read the breakfast news headlines and weather forecast, in her uniquely fluffy and alluring way.
Artist's impression of the ND
supplied by Mamahog
At 9 a.m., the end-credits rolled across the screen, signalling three things: the end of the news; the start of kids' programmes; and the ND jumping in a taxi to appear at my house 10 minutes later, where we would spend the morning helping each other with our personal growth. No, that's not a euphemism ....
The ND would ring the doorbell, I would open the door ("Ssh! Don't wake Angie"), and this bubbly gorgeous intelligent person would come into my life for the day. What kind of things did we do, while Angie slept? We massaged each other. We did mutual counselling. Told stories. Went walking. I suppose we flirted, if that word means anything in this century. Went out for lunch. In the street, heads would turn, and I don't think it was me they were looking at.
She was very exciting company, sometimes too exciting for a man who had just recently had a brush with death and disability and was still emerging from the shock, and trying to get his health back. How can I put it? To use an Aussie saying, she had a few kangaroos loose in her top paddock.
Then my old man got cancer, and I visited him in the terminal ward. Self-centred as I was, all I could think of saying was "do the nurses let you watch the TV news? Look out for my friend the ND." Crazily, I wanted to add "I'm going to marry her (then you'll finally be impressed with me)."
Technically, the ND and I didn't ever consummate our relationship, partly due to my own suspicious nature and inability to trust someone so attractive and off-the-wall, who I knew had broken several hearts. And partly because of my old-fashioned reserve, self-control and notion of fidelity. Not to mention the impotence.
Looking back, I think she and I redefined the word platonic. For example, on the day my father died, while everyone else ran around arranging the funeral, the ND and I spent the afternoon naked on her floor, doing massage. That's one way to get over the death of a parent. Months later, we slept together in my father's house, scaring each other with spooky imagined sightings of his ghost. I bathed her and caressed her. I could go on, but you get the picture. And in my mind, I wasn't being unfaithful to Angie because I never had sex with the ND. Is that Clintonesque thinking?
Anyway, one day when I was telling the ND how important healthy eating and living was to me, in my recovery from cancer, she interrupted me and said "why don't you just relax and eat lots of chocolate?"
Stunned, I thought: how can I trust this woman any more? She wants me to eat junk. She just doesn't get it.
We drifted apart, and the last time I heard from her she was asking me to sign her out from the psychiatric ward (they wouldn't let her out otherwise). Maybe she trusted me because I was one of the few men who hadn't tried to eff her over.
Looking back now, I think perhaps in its own way her exciting friendship helped me start to really live again.
The point now is, I've stayed healthy by eating nothing but healthy food ever since. And I never eat sweets or burgers, or drink cola. That was until last week, when I bought a monster size bar of Cadbury's Fruit and Nut chocolate. And I ate just one bit every day. Now I'm up to half a bar a day, with plans to ramp that up further. But it's okay, because everything's just balancing out. For many years I never ate any chocolate; now I'm making up for lost time. I'm perfectly balanced.
I tried moving on to Cadbury's Flake.
But it's not for me. Flakes just crumble on the tongue and give up all they have to offer in one huge immediate hit, whereas I'm into deferred gratification. I like the Tantric taste of a square of cold hard chocolate, that melts slowly in your mouth to sustain the ecstasy.
What's your diagnosis?
PS - This is a freelance Taoist blog. Every true story contains a wee lie. The lie here is that the photo of the ND is not actually of the ND, but it's the closest image I could find, reproduced with permission from a blog post by the dazzling keda.
PPS - And every lie contains a grain of truth.
PPPS - What is the difference between the Iraq War and the Vietnam War?
Bush had a plan to get out of the Vietnam War.
If you missed previous HNTs, you can access all the old half baked thursday posts here.
