Losing Lisa.

I read another of my old stories tonight, A Fairytale in Philadelphia. It took me back to a time when I still had aspirations, a time before the view in the mirror cleared and I had to accept that I was no longer 32. But it was heartening to discover that I could make a passable attempt at being some sort of a writer back then.

And it was also interesting to realise that I had taken Louise’s advice. No doubt the real Lisa has learned her lessons in her own time and I am properly far and away. There is a bittersweetness about such recollections, but I can take heart from the fact that there are erstwhile dental nurses of ¼-Greek extraction prepared to massage my ego by remembering who I am. I just have to hope that I don’t get carried away and forget that I’m not 32 any more.