Wha-pak Man

Last night while recording our next series of Fabcasts, Migs and the rest of the gang decided to discuss, nay dissect, my lack of a love life. Comments were made, hypotheses were posited, and assumptions were questioned.

One thing I value with my true friends is that they are not afraid of seeking out the truth. And I must admit that when they train their laser sights on me, it can be quite unnerving. But for me it’s a good kind of scary, because I know that in the end the benefits to self-knowledge far outweigh the immediate sting their sharp comments and conclusions can make.

And what a slap in the face I got last night. Migs especially did not mince words, and I love him for it. Ouch. Love hurts.

So where does that leave me? Honestly, it’s easy for me to find lessons for others, but lessons for myself take a while to sink in. I’m now a bundle of thoughts and emotions in silent turmoil, broken only by mundane things like work and meetings and press conferences (with the Pacman himself) and movies with the family. When it comes to love, that’s something I know I have no control over. But I also know that this particular topical depression will blow itself away, and a gentle breeze will follow after a storm, the landscape a-washed and altered, refreshed and renewed.

Then again, my landscape may already be made of concrete and steel.

(Hey Fabcasters, take it easy, okay? I’m just kidding here. Mwhehehe. Insert evil giggling here.)

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Watch out for our next series of Fabcasts. It’s going to be, uhm, revealing.