And so the hours drifted into days and the days drifted into months. Winter turned to spring, then to summer, then to autumn, back to winter and on to spring, and summer again. (Summer liked the limelight so much, it remained on stage for an indecently long time after the matinee final curtain, clinging with desperate fingertips to the last moments of glory, while autumn stood impatiently in the wings, drumming fingertips on a tressle table, waiting to get the evening show underway...
And still there was no contact from Amber or Tom.
I've pretty much given up all hope of ever seeing her beautiful face again.
I joined a gym yesterday and, against all the odds, was there first thing this morning for a two-hour work out.
I'm determined the kind of muscle defininition I enjoyed in my early twenties will miraculously reappear. My flabby gut will become flabby no more, my flaccid man boobs replaced by reasonably well-defined pectorals.
I’ll cut down on the weed, rationing myself to a couple of joints each night. And I’ll quit drinking, at least during the week. Fridays and Saturdays to be set aside as my ‘getting off my face’ days, and even then most of the time I'll restrict myself to a couple of beers and a spliff or two.
I've even started to take care of my flat as well, you know, just on on the wild off chance that Amber might turn up.
At lunchtime, I made a conscious effort to tidy up after myself. This weekend I think I shall even paint the place from top to bottom. Weed the garden, plant a few shrubs, maybe some flowers, that sort of shit.
And my lonesome Amber-based pining inspired me to write several lines of lyrics for the new Bo Molasses songs.
Even if I never see Amber again, she’s provided the spark I needed to get myself back on track mentally, physically and certainly musically.
Oh, but I do want to see her again, so damn much.
