Close Company: For A Girl Like Me.
Sunday Morning: 15 December 2024
Hello Everyone! & (almost) Humble Greetings..
It’s me Chasey Delaney, coming back at you from other perspectives, still quite manic like last night where I managed to send a photograph of my backside (arse) to all my veteran and new subscribers, still stinging in shame, still writing on a wing and prayer that all that will get swept under the rug and this number will not descend any much further.
I bring to you another chance to see that stupid -ass newsletter (which) does have a teeny tiny bit of common sense takes as well. This may or may not be the last time you’ll get to laugh at my bare naked, pancaked, old unFLATering bottom on my Substack blog. Because the less-crazy, less-bold, less-brazen parts of me is screaming at me to EDIT it down and DELETE that arse part. So, watch this space. If you do take a wee gander- please let me know you were there, you saw it and you still care about me. Like/Heart it will you please my lovely darling. Thank you so, so much! xxx
I put my place in perspective I could be who I used to be, I could be crazier than I am in less comfort than my own home I could be sending you this letter from the gutter, from a cold and lonely place. This note could be from:
… The Nutter Nextdoor!!
I am that crazy cat lady (without the cats), I am that lonely neighbour hanging out her dirty laundry (without a care nor thought in the world as to what it might do to the ‘locals’, breaking all the rules when it comes to proper modern decency. I seem to specialise in stretching the boundaries a lot further afar than most people would. Like the old single senior on the ground floor does.
Breaking through all social constructs of ‘minding her own fucking business’ - the SLUT. she doesn’t respect that her prude-and potentially-paranoid, insanely jealous neighbour (i.e. me!) might get the wrong end of the stick and be potentially-pissed off if her lying-cheating-ass ‘husband’ has a look out of the window! God Forbid. I am that level of lonely, suicidal and desperate for attention that I too would play my music full blast to show how cultured I am, wear my make up thicker than Mick Jagger cross Marilyn Manson would.
I’d constantly knock on my neighbours doors especially (the one’s closest to mine, who I hear arguing and shagging sometimes, through the adjoining walls, whose big fat wife (i.e. ME) has a really fit, horny and always ‘available’ (my partner) who will assist me in fixing the fucking bedpost, hanging a piece of art in my hallway, lifting a spot of furniture from one room to another, while I am standing in the doorway batting my daft eyelashes and looking all sultry.
I don’t know if anything happens between ‘me’ (i.e. my neighbour) and that ‘schizophrenic’ woman next door (me) but for the rest of the week and all time I will insist on hanging out on the washing line my entire knickers drawer of Ann Summer style thongs, lacy granny pants, lacey and suggestive all-in-one bodysuits, all and any of the sexiest lingerie that an old bitch of a woman like I can muster.. hoping to muster a thought or more.
I am that level of lonely that I hardly notice anybody looking or anything else. I just forget about the suggestive wet mess out on the washing line left in the steaming rain. I just sit back, relax and smoke a cigarette listening to the screams, protests, arguments and other such toxic discussions, battles, conversations going on all around me, from the homes that won’t have me, that keep me on the threshold, never invite me in for a cup of tea, that warm my house with their heating and warm my soul with their evanescently Close Company.
I could be lonely, I am lonely. I can’t help the real people who inspired this opening paragraph, I can’t even help myself much more than I can do by walking away from the Carnivore Diet and dunking a dark-chocolate hobnob into to a hot cup of inky coffee.
Stats Update Since This Morning.. 0_o
