So as I set myself up for bed, warm, lovely music playing, I snuggle down and even squeal with delight for the pure love of the comfort of my bed. To be able to sleep like a starfish and spread yourself outwards and sink before you, in some way, leave the world and make up your own. Yet my mind awakes with desire to, you could say, butter this page with words, like spreading whatever you fancy on toast.
My mind wonders to the notion of love. Loving comfort. Loving warmth. To just be happy and be happy with being happy.
And that is just it. It all may not make sense, but Im sure someday it really will...
When I began thinking about this blog, I felt sure that no statement was needed, I feel no need to explain who I am, what I do, as an ode to introduce a reason or purpose for my writing. (I suppose that is a statement in itself, but really, is there need to exhaust such expression?) My writing should just happen and nothing needs to be proven. I feel no desire to satisfy I'm making a point. There is no competition to win. Or gain. After all this is more for myself than anybody. The words hopefully of course flow, natural, just like breathing. A metaphor of life perhaps. To share the madness and ramblings of oneself feels more like an exciting, vulnerable and challenging position. Exposure. Kind of like standing completely naked in front of numbers of people with one hefty bright light shining on you. There is no where to hide. Im sick of hiding.
Of course, who the hell gives a damn about what I say. Who am I to say. But then who else is really one to say? All that matters is that we learn, from whoever, from whatever. If you learn, how can it ever be negative, right?
It'll only form you as a person. How you respond will come naturally to you. I believe there perhaps is not necessary any wrong to how one may react to such things, as long as there is no intention to directly hurt someone in the process and to get a personal kick out of that (the image of a disgusting smirk comes to mind), as apposed to it benefiting anyone.
I find myself able to get bored quite easily. Not necessary with tasks e.t.c. Perhaps with people... It may be said, that I can get quite frustrated with life sometimes, as if it is never quite enough. I find myself now regularly saying and thinking, is this it?
How I see the world now, is completely different to how I was last year, and the year before and so forth. Only once before have I been able to say I was happy. Often a friend of mine (they know who they are) would ask, how do you feel on a scale from one to ten. On that scale then, it was always a 7. Right now, I don't really imagine happiness to be measured on a scale, because there are so many varients. It doesn't matter with what regard that emotion is towards, the ability to appreciate something so much even for a second, is gorgeous.
Now, I can simply say I am happy. Of course, I am not sad. The good day is now the everyday. The bad day is the exception. Im hoping that is what it is for most people, yet I know its a mistaken reality that someday I hope most will achieve and love in their own way.
My daily happy I do not see as a scale. I see it as horizontal. Ongoing and just.
I can see why insomnia exists.
People are my everyday challenge.
And. I. Love. It.