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It's been a cold day. Windy. Trees were shaking their nakedness at the sky, which, by the time I left work, was a roiling mess of blue, orange, and pink. As if someone had bled all over cotton wool and set it on a glass bowl. Puss mixed in the blood. Orange and pinkish red and tinges of yellow. And when you hold the bowl up, you can see the darker planes where the liquid has stuck the wool to the bowl.
And the sky was blue. Robin's egg blue.
And I shivered, and wondered about things. Many, many things.
My body still tells me it is sleeping time, but I know I can't listen.
Placements. I have breakfast, and burn the crumpets. I've been after crumpets for so long, and then I burn them.
It matters not - I like the taste of burnt toast and crumpets. It makes me think. Most things make me think.
I walked from the 31 stop, and my lungs complained. I wish I had an inhaler, but I used it up. And I fear this afternoon, because I have a doctor's appointment and I will find out the results of my chest x-ray.
A long day.
The cat keeps electrocuting me. His sister and he are attention-seeking recently. A big change considering they used to wedge into gaps and spit at us.
I worry. About my relationship mostly. Should I? She loves me, and I love her, but we keep doing the things we've promised not to do. Third anniversarry last month. Three years of doing the same shit to each other, while promising to stop.
There's something wrong with that. Perhaps I should go to see this shrink. Perhaps it will be of some use.
Darkness is sweet release.
Some things aren't quite what they seem. What I mean, is that what I say isn't always what I mean.
If the sky turned pink, the seas flooded Thanet, and England began to have malaria outbreaks& Would the governments of the world still say we had 'time to save the environment'?
I saw a crow by the river the other day. It was eating a worm it had plucked from the warm, moist earth. It was next to the path, and watched me approach, and then flew off.
The other crows followed it.
There were white flecks in their wings.
The heater in the bedroom is broken. It's a picky beast, and sometimes, if you are very lucky, it will work. But not recently, now the weather is frosty.
I wish we had proper heating.
The cats are miaowing again. All day, all night. They have more food than we do, and warm beds, and don't need to get out of a warm bath into a freezing house at least once a week.
I sometimes wonder what being a cat would be like. To have no concept of the future beyond thoughts like 'Pounce mouse, eat mouse.'
I'd sleep a lot.
I had a dream. I was the daughter of the chief of my tribe. I was intelligent and would be the heir and was sent away. While walking and there was a bridge, broken above and water and a fish came to me. Blue. I ignored it. It was a big fish. Koi shaped. Then another fish came to me, closer, and the other one was right and behind. The new fish was red. I picked the red fish up from beneath - very heavy. It bit my nipple, and I yelled out that I was worthy of being the heir.
There was a feather. And it moved because the wind blew it.
If there is no seat, where do you sit.
The moss is getting along well now, it grows thick near the stream and some of it is old enough to spore.
Did you know, mankind is insane? It is ruled by the mind.
And the mind is a dangerous thing.
The stream is fast now, because the rain is frequent. Moss is green and big, it's communities of microbes and tiny insects thriving as if it was a wet and steamy rainforest.
They know not about humans.
When the rain falls, it doesn't worry that it's going to hit something. That is fact, and future, and rain hasn't got those concepts. It just falls, dancing in the wind or lacing through the leaves. Beautiful droplets of water that can be caught on the tongue, cold and fresh and somehow different from anything. People don't like rain. I do. It's good for you, I chant, when people ask me why I don't wear my hood up.
Air and water and light, a dance that will never end, even when we are gone.
I like to knit.
I can knit a square, or a rectangle. I can knit a big square and if I take the needle out, and tug the wool, all the loops will come undone in turn. They don't argue about who goes first. In a steady order, like a regiment.
I wanted to join the army, once. But I cannot.
Sometimes I want to go out into the ocean. I used to dream about it as a kid, about just walking down to the seafront and walking into the water until I could be free from this world.
I have saying - Don't look to the past alone - you will blind and ostracise yourself. Don't look to the future alone - you will blind and fool yourself. Don't look to the present alone - you will blind and lose yourself. Look to now, and use the others as you would a reference tool.
People don't understand me. I don't understand people. I know what and why and how, but I don't understand. I understand computers. I can't talk to people without my computer. My brain just prefers to express itself through my hands.
I'm behind on these words. So I've written them on bus tickets or along my wrist and then scribbled them onto a napkin at lunch. Do you think I'm strange when I wear the hood I cut from the jumper that smelled of mutton, with it's colourful additions. The jingly red-and-yellow cat toy that broke and I fixed with wire to put on my hat at the end of a plait of red embroidery thread with gold glass beads.
I've got to try and knit a blanket. It's just so cold now.
When the shit hits the fan, will you shield me from the spray?
What's the use in letting go if it's just gonna happen again?
No-one's gonna be there when I'm old. My girlfriend doesn't love me anymore, and I don't want to live without her. If I change my bad habits, it'll be better. But I told her I was working on my persona and she said she 'wasn't out to change me'.
If I'm so bad I've driven her away, I see little choice in the matter.
I took the bus again. What fun. Life is all about fun. The guy on the back seat hacked and coughed the whole journey - 45 minutes. The least he could have done was keel over and die so those of us who he was infecting would at least have pre-emptive revenge.
Someday things will be better. The lies the human mind tells, trying to make the human look forward to the future, which will never come.
See, once the future arrives, it's the present. We should live in the present, shouldn't we? How else would we exist?
I think I'm sane.
My girlfriend thinks I'm crazy.
My doctor thinks I need medication, a psychiatrist, and a blood test.
My mother knows I just am.
I shouldn't talk to people in physicality. When I try to converse, what I wanna say bypasses my mouth and vanishes. It seems the only way I can talk is through my hands. Perhaps I should try being slower. Allow myself time to think and formulate.
But the impatient women in my life would stress out at me for not answering in those all-important two milliseconds after a query.
My soul hurts.
Nono, it aches. I feel like inside, I've been doing a workout for the last millenia. Why does it hurt to be around others? Is it the lack of respect, decency or honour that gets to me, or am I more anti-social than I previously concluded?
I wanna go back to college. But I dunno what I'd study. Philosophy would be interesting, but where am I going with my life? Maybe I should go study biology (again) with geography and IT.
Then I can see if there's a career combining my favourite things.
There's something soothing about this thing.
Entering your thoughts of the day into a plain, white screen, knowing that no-one you know will read them, ever.
My step-sisters used to steal my diary. I stopped keeping one after that.
I don't trust people. There are only two people in the world I trust - my girlfriend and my oldest friend. I wonder who it was that finally broke me?
I'd blame it on the girls I've dated, but to be honest, I don't know if I ever even trusted them. Even the earliest ones.
I am nineteen. I've always been the weird one, and I never had friends. I watched from the corners and hoped I wouldn't get chased that day. It wasn't the mental bullying that upset me - I never cared what people thought about me, still don't - but the physical bullying at first made me snap. I have an extremely bad and dangerous temper, but now I have it controlled. Later, when I learned to control my anger, physical stuff just made me depressed, made me cry. Due to my lack of friends, I have no social skills.
The twitching seems to be getting more frequent. I used to get problems with twitching and such as a child - my leg (the one with the bad hip now) would give out, or twitch. My hands used to be pretty steady, but lately they seem to shake and twitch all the time. The twitching I'm alarmed about, is one that hits as I'm sleeping. I wake myself up with my body spasming and kicking and twitching and I just can't stop. My girlfriend sleeps through it, and I fall asleep when it's over and try to forget.
I'm in pain. All the time. And I'm tired. I thought that everyone felt this way and that I was just a wimp, I still worry that perhaps I am merely making a big deal out of something natural. However, after chatting to a few friends, I discovered some things. First, a friend of mine said my symptoms were exactly the same as hers, and that she has 'yuppie flu' which, translated, means ME or CFS. I don't really want to have some nasty un-curable thing, so I'm trying to ignore it.
I need sleep.
Fantastic. Phantasm. Freakish fucking fearfully froggish pants. When I'm in a bad mood, I like words that stick. Together. Like Effs and Phhffs..
Yar, life is teh suck. It's getting better, but you know how Sod seems to watch over you and increase your load everytime you crack a smile? Yeah.
So, my mother, who was paying our Bulldog Broadband, stopped. A long time ago. Without telling us. And now we owe them Ãƒâ€šÃ‚Â£141.33 and have no idea if bailiffs are gonna be hammering down our door tomorrow or next week.
Fuckin' A, don't ya think?
You know how Sod hates people being happy?
Well, I've been using a new blessing that seems to be improving things quickly. Been a day and already things are looking up.
Not literally, of course, because if everything started looking up wouldn't everything get an awful neck-ache?
And that reminds me - I tried the whole 'stand on a street corner and look up' thing. I had some mates join in, one sitting on a bench nearby watching. The amount of people who looked at us and then looked up to see what we were looking at! Hurr...
Flip-flopping lazilly across the expanse of time. Time is around but you can't see it or feel it? What determines something as real or false?
Men die for beliefs. If they can't prove those beliefs, why follow them? It shouldn't be because they were brought up to believe, or because it's all they know - it should be when something inside says 'I know this'. That internal, sparkling gut feeling that it is true. That it is.
So many people don't know this, or think gut-fear or gut-wrench is it.
So moss has to be years old to make those little orange spikes. How old do we have to be to realise what is wrong in our society?
I'm darting today, my mind is pinging around the echoey darkness and coming across new thoughts and images that dizzy me. It slows my speech and slurs my movement.
Part of my body is numb. My arm and leg. It makes me think even more; the parts that aren't numb are screaming. My spine is stiff and hot, like a rod of fire from my lower back to my skull.
Darkness, though, why? Why do we fear the cover of the moon? It's safety, it's warmth. Coming in from the dark to the orange glow of the fire. The inner fire warms your soul, but you have to feed it.
Learn something new every day. Have a new experience, break your habits, develop a new hobby. Smile at someone on the bus.
Did you know, life is a lesson? We're here to learn, experience things, and grow. We go back, and we report, and then if it's not enough, we are born into a new body.
The month draws in, as we exhale icy breath. Trees dance in the nude, shaking their spindly limbs in defiance at the prim evergreen trees. People are already putting up decorations, as if the birth of Christ was truly on the day they celebrate, as if, if that were even true, he would like the celebration of greed and want.
I celebrate solstice. I don't care about gifts. The longest day is a day of family, friendship, love, bounty. We go to a forest and have a picnic.
The longest night - indoors near fireplace - family, friendship, warmth, light, love.
Knitting. Who thought this up, this complex dance of needles and thick cord? What a wonderful invention, a portable tapestry you can take out and continue wherever you go. I like knitting. I wish I could do tubes, and then I would make myself some warm, thick socks. A hat, and maybe a muff. I would love a muff. One that has a pocket too, for small things, bus tickets, a pencil stub, a few scraps of paper on which to scrawl my thoughts as I shiver in the corner seat of the bus, wondering if, why I am different.
Do people read these? I read one. It called out to me and I wished I could be there to fix him, to help him. I doubt he'd want it, but I felt that he needed someone who understood. I understand, but I shan't say anything. I'm too internal. For once I'm letting things out and no-one I know will see them. They know my screenname, and they'd know it was me, but they aren't interested in such things. Do they really know me? Or are my internal tortures figments of my imagination?
The longest night. It's getting so close. It'll be so much darker than I was used to, and I have never celebrated one so far from my family. I live in a flat with my partner, and it is cold. The windows let in the wind and there is no heating or flooring. But it's a roof of our own. We've a bed, a microwave (gifts from a friend) two laptops, a sofa, two chairs, a fridge (from EFI), a toaster, a toastie maker (gifts from BHF) a steamer, deep-fat fryer, and a slow cooker.
Did you know we are lucky? People think we're mad. We might be. My partner is going to see a psychiatrist soon, and my doctor tried to send me to one. I'm not mad. I don't want another person prying in my mind. I don't want anyone in there, there isn't room. I'm cold and thirsty, but too tired to go get my bottle and refill it.
I got a new pen for my tablet. Now I can inflict my drawings on the world. Watch out, people, 'cause I'm coming to get you.
The last day. It should be significant? But I feel sick and tired and nothing else. Maybe I should read back on what I've written. Maybe I'll go read the person I feel drawn to. Maybe he didn't post. It's an odd thought, that I care about someone whose writing I read. Like an intrusion of privacy against them that makes you feel they need someone, but you know that to tell the person you Know would make it worse.
Remember school; you knew when another kid 'LIKED' you? But you never acted on it. Why?
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