Whoever said that 'running away from your problems never solved anything' obviously hadn't been chased by a lion. If a lion was after you running away would be the best chances of survival.
It's ironic that I personify my problems as a lion, in which case I think it means that I'm totally justified in darting to the nearest exit whenever my problems are looming on the horizon. I imagine that most people carry around their emotional baggage in a compact suitcase on wheels which conveniently rolls around behind them in an orderly fashion, flight attendant style.
Imagine what it's like for me having a lion dropping in unannounced just as I think that all my problems are finally resolved and I'm beginning to make progress. I'm not sure if you're aware of the difference between a suitcase on wheels and a lion suffice to say that a lion doesn't follow closely behind your heels in an orderly fashion. Instead lions will bide their time until they're ready to pounce on your heels and bring the whole of lot of you crashing to the ground with an almighty crash when you least expect it. In fact I've noticed that Leo (that's the name I've given to my lion in an attempt to make him more personable; a bit like people calling a spider that they've found in the bath Cecil so that it somehow makes their phobia less significant) constantly stalks me and just when I think about starting to do okay, he attacks me without warning.
It's like the time when I'd been out on a few dates with this cute guy I met in a local wine bar. We were chatting away quite happily and for once he was a man with something intelligent to say for himself and, as he was a corporate lawyer, I'm guessing that he wasn't short of a few bob. Then Leo makes his entrance. There was me thinking that it was a personal call, you know just dropping by because he hadn't seen me for a while and was wondering how I was doing when he doesn't ask me how I am at all but starts reminding me about the last guy I dated. More specifically how it ended with the last one, how miserable I felt and how none of my friends could get me to come out of the house for six weeks unless it was to go to work or stock up on comfort food.
So what did I do? I made my excuses there on the spot and left. Leaving a lovely, decent bloke completely and utterly confused as to the reasons behind my out-of-character actions.
I've been thinking recently that this has to stop. I'm rapidly approaching 29, all my friends are getting married or buying houses with partners and I've had a longer-lasting and more meaningful relationship with the knickers I'm wearing at the moment that I have done with any man I've ever dated.
This leaves me with two options: I could invest in a new pair of running shoes. Or I can stop running and tame the lion because, let's face it, if circuses can tame real lions from the wilds of Africa then surely I should have no problem taming an imaginary, personification of my problems in the figure of a large cat.
I know what you think I should do but I've seen a pair of running shoes in the sale in a lovely shade of pink so I think I'm going to take my chances and try and out run the bastard.
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