Windy walk to work

You would think strong windy weather would dry your eyes out. Whether it was the wind or the music, one had to hold their breath this morning to keep the tears in. We all need releases and we go to all sorts of forms to get that; 'a night out', drinking, drugs, 'a night in', food, television-the release tends to be an escape and we let off steam. It's funny because even though we desire such event we know afterwards the problem will still exist.

One has to remember to take time for themselves otherwise they may explode, or in my case not. We all have our own ways of dealing with stress; some cry all the time, some don't, some get angry, some abuse and fill the body with factors too much unnecessary. They all sound like negative sources. For me, the tears won't come. I think one has gotten to a stage where tears, even if they prick my eyelids-they won't roll down my face. I don't believe we run out of tears because I cried last week over other matters, one silly one including being poked up the nose (yes up my nose, how pleasant). I know there is heartbreak, but only now am I learning there are different kinds. I think this one I am feeling makes everything seem slow and I feel almost out of breath. I feel like I am craving air to sweep over me and rock me away. Perhaps this is where music acts like a great blanket and the motion of traveling lifts me into a floor-less zone. There is no bottom, as such, no seat, no lean. Just weightlessness.

I'm good at seeming happy, I'm good at lying about being happy. Not only is it my full time job anyways, when you utter words over again and fake a smile the lie only becomes too easy and you begin to believe it yourself. At first...Everything builds of course, and all will hit you in the face-all it takes is a small reminder to bring it all back. The difference is that I fake it when asked, how are you? The funny part of it all is that in that moment I actually am happy, talking to whom I am talking with, sharing stories and learning about their life. The difference in happiness is when you are alone it is a dangerous healthy being.

I have to remember the words, take a hour out for yourself everyday. More so than ever do I believe those words. Otherwise I feel one may crack up, the mind dithers over thoughts for a quick fix. Don't fret, not in a negative sense-I am far beyond abusing myself with food, legal or illegal substances or even causing self harm. I am too smart for that kind. If I am going to get a release, It will be in a healthy form. Sad energy will be put into something productive as such because I know in time when the wind does settle I want to look back and not regret. I always say to this day I don't regret anything, but in 6 months time If I looked back on things and knew I had put a stone of weight on, had a bad night on drugs, puked my guts up over alcohol- of course you look back knowing you can't do anything about the past-but is there really any need to add more drama? I think one would spend more time in future being annoyed about past activities.

Who knows what journey I will take. All I can say is that it is very strange being, so excited about the world and heartbroken with it at the same time. Perhaps that is my own gift, the light looks different to me compared to what others may think.

Brrr...A hopeless battle with nature

As summer begins I think it appropriate to remember winter as well. Often do I hear people say what their favourite season is, majoritively complaining about Britain and the weather conditions-how those wish to move away from it all. I can't help but sigh to myself when I hear these comments, for I see it as waste less energy for something to complain about. Weather is out of our hands and all we can do is prepare ourselves for how we take it. I find it best to remind self in what we appreciate more because of the change in environment. Let nature be nature and take its course, for then we shall follow it and make our own.

'Maybe the discontent that comes to us in winter is in the realization that every moment of joy is but a brief resting point on the greater journey toward oblivion. Or maybe that's too grand. Maybe the discontent in winter is the discontent about the fleeting quality of the present. Nothing holds still for very long, after all. Nothing that feels good stays good for very long. Even in Los Angeles, the perfect sunny day turns to night; a feeling of contentment is replaced by anxiety somewhere along the line.

If there is a greater contentment to be found, then, it is in the contentment of discontent. It is in the willingness, maybe, to have your winters and to have them in their dreariness and decay, neither surrendering completely to that discontent nor pretending to solve it.'