Trials.

I’m currently attempting to negotiate one of the most difficult problems known to mankind:

How do you allow somebody fully into your life on their terms, not yours?

This is a difficult one for me. Always has been. It makes me feel as though I’ve been consigned to the servants’ quarters below stairs while somebody else is getting breakfast in bed. Maybe it’s because I’m a Sagittarian, or a slow learner, or a born leader, or emotionally immature.

Trying my best.

*  *  *

It’s been a very warm, dry, sunny day here in the Shire. I was planning to eat my dinner al fresco until I heard the rock music marching up the hill from the pub, and then I changed my mind.

I can’t stand being forced to listen to other people’s choice of music, you know. I really can’t. It’s one of the strongest of my foibles.

‘Don’t you like music?’ I get asked when I grumble.

‘I do like music,’ I reply. ‘Music is supremely important to me. I deem it the monarch of the artistic genres. It’s the only one capable of moving my spirit through all shades of the emotional spectrum. I love music. That’s the problem.’

They rarely get it, and if truth be known I’m not entirely sure that I do. But that’s how it is and that’s that.

*  *  *

If the Spanish for ‘what will be will be’ is que sera sera, what’s the Spanish for ‘what never was never was?’ Questions like that often occur to me when I’m on trial.