It can be said that all you need to start something good with someone else is chemistry and timing.
I have had chemistry on my side for many instances in my life but timing?
Timing’s a bitch.
For instance, I wish I’d never gone to a fateful high school rugby match in the middle of March and I wish I’d never met someone else standing on my best friend’s porch in the beginning of May. Because one of those instances ended badly because I was in the wrong place at the right time and the other one is now, 5 months down the line hanging in the balance of whether or not I’m on the right side of the wily mistress time and her bitch of a hidden agenda.
So what’s the moral of the story? Timing will break your heart six ways to Sunday that’s the damn moral, have you not been listening? Timing is a dirty hoe!
I am very aware of the fact that I’ve now blown this whole issue of time out of proportion, and that what I think might be bad timing could actually be a massive cliched “blessing in disguise”. As my good friend has just reminded me over voice note, “Calm down, this doesn’t mean you’re going to end up with a dumb bench presser, I’m pretty sure you’re better than that.”
Maybe timing is my excuse? Maybe the time to start being genuine is right now, and I need to stop being lazy and frightened, pick up my cell phone, send a scary emotionally revealing message to that someone and make timing MY bitch. Perhaps we all blame timing because we all enjoy the drama of anticipation too much, or we’re scared that the timing is actually right which means we suddenly become responsible for our own happiness, not luck or chance, but good old-fashioned risk taking.
Perhaps timing is not a bitch, but a misunderstood little hussie with low self-esteem who can’t help but be mean because it makes her feel better.
We’ve just gotta give her a time out and some therapy.
That settles it, I’m going to go make my own good timing by taking control and being genuine! After exams though because I really don’t want this to blow up in my face and make me lose focus.
Actually I might just leave it.
Because as my gran’s refrigerator magnet says:
“One day my ship will come in, and with my luck I’ll be at the airport.”