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Friday, January 31, 2014

216 Reasons Why Numbers Suck

Give me the alphabet and I see beautiful bright colours. Give me a list of numbers and I see chaos and nonsense. I never liked numbers. Never liked maths. Thought time was a bullshit concept put in place to regiment us. Couldn't understand why people liked referring to numbers so much. Why numbers were so important. I had an ex boyfriend who believed he was being haunted by the number 22. I scoffed at the idea.

When I came back from Thailand I worked in an office 'til the boss was too big an asshole for me to put up with. I started a new job in a clothes shop just before Christmas. They had decided to open a smaller shop for ladieswear in the same shopping centre. It survived over Christmas but afterwards they turned it into a bit of an outlet shop. I was the only one that didn't mind working there. So, it was taken for granted that I would always work there. I had help and company the odd time but not very often. The shop survived for months getting rid of all the stock that couldn't be shifted in any of the other stores. The shop's store number was 216. The longer I worked there by myself the more I hated the shop. The number 216 started to pop up, reminding me of my loathing for my job.

Then I remembered that when I was teaching in Thailand my favourite class were 2/16. Unlike the other classes I saw them more than once a week and built up a relationship with them. They were very cute. And sometimes naughty. So the number 216 kept popping up in my life but I had a positive thing to relate it to, as well as a negative thing. I do look atthe clock several times a day but you can be guaranteed that when it's 20:16, 21:06 or 02:16 I will instinctively look up to see the time.

There is a game I play on the computer called Mah Jong. It's like a Chinese tile game where you match pairs. I was playing this for a long time and could never completely clear the board, though often got close, when I realised that if I did clear the board the score would 216. This made me chuckle and not long after I decided that if I cleared the board, scoring 216, I would do something. I don't like to say what but two weeks after I decided this I was lying in bed one night and without any warning I cleared the board on the game. I'd got my 216 score. Though I didn't feel ready to do the thing I said I would do. The next day I didn't need to do anything. The thing I told myself I would do just happened.

Needless to say this made me very intrigued about the number 216. It's strange how this number figured in my life for almost 5 years before I thought to see if it had any meaning. Wikipedia helped me out on this one. A quick search shows that the number 216 has associations with the Devil. And to think I didn't believe in him!

Thursday, January 30, 2014

Warning: Explicit Language (yay!)

It has been raining here in Norn Iron nearly everyday. It's like one old man said to another "That's a c**t of a day for nothin'"
I want to dedicate this post to swearing. Not that it's big and not that it's clever but oh, how satisfying it can be. My dear sweet mum has a terribly foul mouth. As youngsters our ears were constantly bleeding. We were well reared enough to know that even though mum was allowed to swear like a trooper, we weren't. My sister Katkins found it hard to hold her tongue, however, and she would often slip up.

When we moved to the country side we were excited about all the wildlife we would see. Apart from the odd rabbit (mostly dead ones that the cat brought home) we rarely saw anything exciting. Then, one day, we were looking out the window and we say a ginger beast skulking along the edge of the field. Katkins shouted out "A fox, a fox! A fucking fox!" Turned out just to be a cat though. She also told mum to "F**k up" once and the look of horror on her face when she realised what she had said was priceless. And then there was the time that we sat down to our Christmas dinner and mum, sarcastically, suggested we say grace to which Katkins bellowed out "F**k Me Dead".

One summer's afternoon when I was about six or seven and my eldest sister was 14 or 15 I announced my boredom. Z suggested I compile a list of all the bad words I knew. Which was most of them. I thought this was great fun, especially when Z taught me a few new ones. That was the day I learned the word C**t.

Many year's ago when we had our dog Danny mum decided to write his diary. He had a very busy life which revolved mostly around his love of chocolate and hen and his hatred for what he called the hoor-cats. Mum went to S.Africa for a holiday for three weeks and Z and I kept up Dan's Diary for her. Danny, amongst other things, was a very foul mouthed dog. And, boy, did he hate them hoor-cats.

Monday, January 27, 2014

Freedom vs Control

"Freedom isn't the absence of commitments, but the ability to choose - and to commit yourself to what is best for you"

I am drawn to this quote by Paulo Coelho time and time again. I guess it's because freedom is important to me. And maybe I'm only really understanding now what it means to be free. I have felt free many times before. I am good at feeling free. I actively seek out things that make me feel free.

Control is not conducive to freedom. To want to be in control all the time is time consuming and exhausting. I am probably the complete opposite of a control freak. My life just seems to happen. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. Ultimately, I believe in balance. So I probably should take more control over some aspects of my life.

So, because freedom and contol were on my mind I decided to do some research. I came across an article on Psychology Today. It mentioned James Redfield, author of The Celestine Phrophecy, and his suggestion that attempting to control another person's behaviour is a type of neurosis, based on childhood feelings of powerlessness. He referred to four different strategies in attempting to manipulate someone's behaviour; The Interrogator, The Intimidator, The Aloof and The Poor Me. The interrogator is constantly questioning and criticising the beahviour of others, making them feel uneasy about themselves. The Intimadator uses force or violence to scare others into submission. The Aloof is distant and detached, speaking rarely and only in vague or cryptic ways. The Poor Me is always complaining about feeling unwell or sick, to make others feel guilty for asking them to do anything.

According to Don Miguel Ruiz, a truly free person is someone who is not affected by either the neurotic or normal attempts of others to regulate his or her behaviour. In order to do this we must not "take anything personally". It goes without saying, of course, that a truly free person will not feel the need to control or regulate anyone else's behaviour.

So, when someone asks me to commit myself to something and I say no, I'm not saying no to commitments, I'm just choosing to commit myself to what is right for me.

Sunday, January 26, 2014


Today I took Ziggy for a walk in the park for a change of routine. I also did some housework for a change of routine. I'm now trying to figure it out if it made me feel better or not.

In my last job there was a customer who took a shine to me. Her real name is a secret but I'll call her Hortence, just because it's a crazy name. This lady had been coming to the shop long before I had been working there. Prevoius members of staff found her hard work. People can be when it comes to photos. Especially when they are important to them.

Hortence was crying out for a bit of patience and kindness. As soon as she was shown this she started coming in twice a week. She started a project of getting old family photos scanned. She had several albums and each Friday she would come in and pick out variuos photos out of particular albums. I had to write extensive lists. She would then come in on a Saturday to pick her albums up. She had no coherent pattern to which photos she was getting scanned each week, and, after a few months I had scanned every single photo from every single album. I'm not sure why she didn't just get me to do that in the first place but she seemed to enjoy doing it the way she was doing it. This went on for months. She kept chatting about the project coming to an end but it never happened. When she'd ran out of albums she moved on to loose photos. When she ran out of those she moved on to scrap books she had kept of old newspaper cuttings. When she ran out of those she moved on to old religious pamphlets she had picked up from church and bookmarks with religious proverbs on them.

Her project went on for over a year. At times I got frustrated with having the burden of serving Hortence and being the only one who knew what was going on with her order. She didn't like being served by anyone else. It kept me busy though, not only scanning her photos but fixing up all the little cracks and marks on them. And her photos were interesting. When I left she dropped in a couple of envelopes for me. I called in to get them and there was a card in each envelope. One to say 'Thankyou' and the other to say 'Good luck on your new job'. Inside one card was a photo of her and her husband. Inside the other card were some religious blessings. She has got used to me not being there anymore and, as far as I know, her project is still going on.

Good Luck Dodgin' Them Bullets Boy

Amy: Hi John, just ignore me if I'm being nosey but it came up on my newsfeed on facebook something you wrote on Noon's wall. Am I the Amy that you were supposedly meant to have kidnapped? Who the hell has Noon been talking to? All a bit mental.

John: Hey, no not at all, thanks for writing. That message from her really span me out. Not sure what the hell she was going on about. Maybe you could write to her and tell her I didn't do that please. I did, however, not pay the bike money but you remember why. Bloody gangster rip off merchants. I plan on going back over there with some mates in October so I don't want to get shot. Anyway, how have you been? Long time no hear. John x

Amy: I just sent her a message saying you didn't kidnap me. Crazy though. I do remember the whole bike incident. I'm sure you'll be fine going back. I'm just working away in a cushty office number, saving money to do more travelling. Hope You don't get shot when you go back in October ;)

Amy: Hey John. Not sure what to do. Kieth told Noon that something happened between us and now she wants to know if it's true. She says she doesn't care (but I think she's pissed off). The ball's in your court on that one but I don't want to ignore her so I have to tell her something. Fucking Kieth!

John: Oh crapola. Right, well, you could just say Kieth got confused or something and we didn't. If you don't mind. I was planning on seeing her when I go over there so don't want to piss her off. Everyone's going to want to shoot me.

Amy: Yeah, probably better if I tell her nothing happened. Fucking Kieth. I love him but fucksakes where's his code of honour? Anyway, good luck dodgin' them bullets boy!

John: Yes, I will be emailing him. Thanks. Your discretion is very much appreciated. I'll let you know how I get on. If I don't get shot.

Thursday, January 23, 2014

My Best Friend

It is great for Ziggy to be at my mum's. It's doggy heaven there. The problem is, now he knows how great life can be he just wants that all the time. I have pointed out before how Ziggy is very much like his owner. He is also very senstive, like me. When I am feeling bad, Ziggy feels bad. This creates a vicious circle as I start feeling guilty for kepping Ziggy with me when we both know that his life could be awesome all the time. I feel worse. Ziggy feels worse. He lives for his walk around the river path. He settles in the evening when I start to settle and relax before bed. But while I'm in the throes of despair so is he.

So I had to ask myself was it better that Ziggy go live with mum permanently? A couple of days ago it seemed like I might not have any choice. It breaks my heart to deprive this fine young beast of all the pleasure that life has to offer him. He's young and virile. My mood at the minute is probably more suited to an old, sleepy dog. I have been pondering it over and over and neither options were looking good. If I let Ziggy go it would be another loss for me to cope with. As guilty as I feel I do take pleasure in him being around. He's the one good thing in my life at the minute.

Last night we both went out to mum's to stay. It warmed my heart to see Ziggy so happy and comfortable out there. Ziggy picked up on me feeling more at ease and when he wasn't playing with the other dogs he was lying close to me. It made me think that, as much as it's not ideal having a dog living in a small flat in the town, if I'm happy, he's happy. The wee darling doesn't have the capacity to know that he could live in the country all the time. It doesn't bother him as much as it bothers me.

Hopefully getting a flatmate will change the dynamics. Ziggy will have a bit more going on his life. I won't feel guilty for going out for a couple of hours to see friends. My life will get better and Ziggy's life will get better. I won't be stressed and Ziggy won't be stressed. Until that happens I have to focus on not feeling guilty that Ziggy's here with me. He loves me. I'm his mummy.

Friday, January 17, 2014

Pickled Willies

Finding a little bit of inner peace doesn't magically make everything ok but it does make things better. I know I must be feeling better because I am overwhelmed by love for Ziggy. He's been staying at my mum's while I work a couple of night shifts and I miss him. I can't wait to see his wee ginger face tomorrow and he'll be getting a bath as I just phoned my mum to see how he's doing and she said "The very best. He's covered in shite."

Night shift has been fine. Sometimes I forget how much I hate routine and it does me good to get out of it. I enjoy getting stuck into physical work. Also, stacking the shelves gave me a proper chance to look at all the products. I was working the foreign food aisle and was amazed at the sheer amount of pickled willies and things they have in jars.

This doesn't happen very often but I have a real urge to get lost in a film. A nice film, not the strange films I usually watch. I actually have one that my good friend Mels bought me for Christmas. It's called Beasts of the Southern Wild. I think Ziggy would enjoy it too though he might do a bit of hootin' and hollerin' at the TV as he's well aware when there's beasts on the telly. Right, I suppose I better get ready for work. I wish I was getting ready for bed.

Thursday, January 16, 2014

The Indigo Adult: Part Two

I hate labels so therefore it seems kind of odd that I would embrace the label of an "Indigo Adult". The thing is, I don't see it as a label. Labels are constructed to make things easier. We like to attach labels to people because we think it will make us understand them better. Labels have associations and connotations that are, for the large part, negative. But this isn't a label that I have had placed on me. It's a label that I have actively sought out (when I say actively sought out, I mean, I listened to my soul and it guided me to this) and it's a something that I embrace. Because the comfort and security it offers me is necessary for me at the minute.

Let me tell you about my journey. When I was a child I knew I was fundamentally different from all the other children. Though this didn't stop the want and need to fit in. One of the first things I challeged in life was the idea that God existed. I have since thought about different views of God but the notion I was rejecting was that of Catholicism. This was only because it was the only God I'd heard of. What I didn't like about the whole idea was that if I believed God existed I would then have to believe that the Devil existed. I didn't like the sound of this Devil chap and so I rejected him. I refused to live in fear of him. I was quite prepared to give God a chance, seeing as he was the "good" one but my peers all told me that if I believed in one I had to believe in the other. So I became a non believer. In some ways this worked out ok as my mum didn't want us growing up with religion rammed down our throats. In other ways, it further isolated me from my peers.

I rebelled at secondary school in much more normal ways. I died my hair green/blue/pink, I got my face pierced, I listened to music that elders (except my parents) disapproved of. I found my niche for a while. There were others like me who didn't fit in with the rest of socirty. Didn't want to fit in. At university I studied Sociology. This confirmed all my beliefs that EVERYTHING was a social construct designed and put into place to control us. This further developed my need for the world to be a better place. I spent my teens and 20's in a blur of experience. At times I thought only about where I was and who I was with. These were truly happy, liberating times. At other times I thought about myself and asked mysdelf why, even when I was doing all this awesome stuff, did I still feel so empty inside.

But it was none of this that made me question my place in the world so much. It was always, always, through my relationships with people that made me wonder what I was meant to be doing. It was in the dark times when I didn't feel good enough that I dipped into my psyche and wondered why I felt so out of sync with the rest of the world. I didn't understand any of it. I wrote poetry, I read Paulo Coelho, I saw the beauty in things but I couldn't share my joy with anyone.

As I approached 30 the frustration grew and grew. I wondered what had I done with my life? Where did it go. In my head I was ready to settle down and have a family but my soul still felt so restless it was too scared to take that plunge. It was during this time that I really delved deep into myself. The depression that I had tried to ignore throughout my whole life finally took a grip of me. It was kind of like it was saying "Look girl, you are going to feel like this whether you run away or not. You might as well just ride it out and get it out of your system". So I did. I had counselling, anti-depressants and family to help me through it. I also started to put the feelers out. I researched spirituality. It's such a vast arena that there is always going to be so much that you don't identify with. But, you don't focus on that. You focus on the parts that speak to you and make your soul shiver with excitement.

Paulo Coelho has been one of the most influential figures in my life. He is the one that introduced me to a God that was different from the God in the eyes of Christianity that I was brought up with. I still find it hard talking about God though. It's just a name, a label, but the associations are strong. When I was going through difficult times I didn't want to pray to God. Instead I turned my music up full blast, danced 'til it felt so good and then I projected all this good energy and feeling out to the people I loved and cared about. This is the beauty. It's so personal we can honour and celebrate whatever way we see fit.

But, for sure, the biggest challenge in my life has been understanding my depression. Even when I've been running away from it it's been there, lurking in the background and keeping me back. This is why I'm so ready to embrace being an Indigo Adult (although this isn't a personality you can choose) because it is the first thing that has made me realise why I feel the way I do. My rejection of professional help in the past has been a result of me knowing that this depression is something that runs deeper than a chemical imbalance. Yes, those things are real and can cause depression but, for me, I'd rather try out a different way of living before i resort back to numbing myself from the world. Counselling is different. No matter whether you are slightly depressed or chronically depressed, talking is therapeutic. Talking to someone who will not judge you no matter what you tell them is how we learn to love and accept ourselves.

I'm still working things out for myself. That will never stop. I don't mind. I enjoy thinking deeply and I have faith in myself. I know my struggles are not over. There will always be hurdles but every year of my life I am learning and growing and while I continue to do that I will always be ok. I have things to work towards. Aspirations and hopes for the future. For the first time ever I am sure of myself and my place in the world.

Wednesday, January 15, 2014

The Indigo Adult: Part One

There was a reason I named this blog The Palace Of Heavenly Pleasure and that's because I wanted it to be a place of hope and laughter, not a brothel like the book it was named after. Thankfully it's not much like a brothel although you may hear the odd mention of mud wrestling. I also know for a fact that, since I named a post "Dogs Doing It Doggy Style", I get a lot of hits from perverts hoping to find something raunchy. I bet they are are rather disappointed when they realise they have stumbled upon my blog which, at times, is a lot more sad and serious than sexy.

This time last year I was starting to come into my own. I was in the middle of a bout of depression but I was writing through it and, most importantly, getting to know my self. My true, authentic self. It was a cathartic experience. I looked at all the struggles in my life, why I had them, what way they made me react, the running away I did from myself in order to escape these struggles or forget them. I can't stress enough what that writing did for me. It gave me a new lease of life. Hope for the future. I wanted to share my story but couldn't cope with the fact that that's all it was. My story. Crucial to me but not so important to anybody else.

That didn't matter though. I'd got a lot out of my system and I learned to take a lot of pressure off myself. I was more content. I felt I had good energy around me. Things got better. At times I felt it hard to trust that things were actually better. I found it hard to fully succumb to the security that was supposedly offered to me. I found it hard to let go of the independence I had fought so hard to gain over the years.

Fear destroys everything. Truth creates beauty. The fact that my world seemed to come crashing down around me just before Christmas was not just to do with the end of my relationship. Of course, it was a big part of it, but I was dealing with the sadness of facing the possibility that I didn't really know myself that well after all. That all the hard work I had put into facing my demons had been for nothing. I felt that my heart and soul had lied to me and that I could never trust them again.

This is how I've been feeling for just over a month. Possibly longer because I was sensitive to the subtleties in the air and things were rarely straightforward or easy. Far from it. Yesterday I went to the library to leave some books back. I toyed with the idea of getting some more but then decided there probably wouldn't be anything of interest anyway. But while I was there I took a quick look. I ended up taking some books for the sake of it. One of those books was called "Indigo Adults". I have no idea how this book managed to make it into the small pile of ones I would take home but I'm really glad it did.

Having spent most of my life feeling "different" from everyone else (when I say different I mean DIFFERENT) I struggled to find my place in the world. I did a lot of drifting. I'm really not good at explaining the theory and history of Indigo adults but when I went through the list of associated traits I felt as though the book was written especially for me. This is how most Indigos feel when they read it. This link will provide all the relevant information for anyone who's interested in finding out more.

To me, this is life changing. Because for the first time I feel like someone gets me. I don't feel so alone although I've spent so much time feeling alone that I know it's nothing to fear really. It gives me hope that I can find my kindred spirits because this really is one of the most important things in my life. Of course I want to meet the man of my dreams but I don't want to rely on just one person for my emotional needs to be met. I want a community of people. So, now I know that they are out there, the Alexander Supertramp's and the Kurt Cobain's of the world, all I have to do is find them and connect with them. Before they die tragically, because it seems to be a curse of the indigo soul to struggle so much with the way of the world that they live reckless lives. Always nice to end on a cheerful note ;)

Tuesday, January 14, 2014


“Freedom continues to be the thing I prize most in the world. Of course, this has led me to drink wines I did not like, to do things I should not have done and which I will not do again; it has left scars on my body and on my soul, it has meant hurting certain people, although I have since asked their forgiveness, when I realized that I could do absolutely anything except force another person to follow me in my madness, in my lust for life. I don’t regret the painful times; I bear my scars like medals. I know that freedom has a high price, as high as that of slavery; the only difference is that you pay with pleasure and a smile, even when that smile is dimmed by tears.”

- Paulo Coelho, The Zahir

“Love is an untamed force. When we try to control it, it destroys us. When we try to imprison it, it enslaves us. When we try to understand it, it leaves us feeling lost and confused.”

- Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

Love exists. I know it does, I've felt it, I still feel it. I feel it every day. Loves grows and changes. Love plunges a knife in your heart and it comforts you in a way that makes you feel like you're back in your mother's womb. It's an all encompassing feeling of safety, security and protection with your every need being met. It's perfection. It's also a burden, a shackle, holding you down and keeping you back. Or it can wrap it's hands around your throat and choke you until you can't breathe. Sometimes, it can be all of these things all at once and that's the confusing thing. I've stopped trying to make sense of it. Love has made me act irrationally but how can you rationalise something that is so abstract? My tortured soul has given up asking my head why it must feel this way. I believe that I must reconnect with my intuition and let it guide me where I need to go. I know that I have to be proactive in some matters in life but why force the rest?

I'm finidng it very hard blogging at the minute. I don't want to just stop writing because I feel sad but I do miss that girl who wrote about silly things. The girl who got excited about treasure hunts and tree houses. The girl who loves dogs and music. I know I am still that girl but I am carrying a weight on my shoulders that's making it hard for me to laugh. But, when I think about things logically, really, I had a lucky escape. At least the weight I carry on my shoulders is my own heavy heart and not someone else's.

Saturday, January 11, 2014

The Dancing Juggler Howling At The Moon

I've been listening to Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros for about a year now. They are awesome. And totally up my street with their hippie vibes and indie folk music. They are a music collective from California (one of the few states in the U.S. I'd consider visiting) with Edward Sharpe as the lead singer. I watched a video of them performing live for a Canadian radio station and I concocted this idea in my head that they might be a cult. Edward Sharpe does have the look of Jesus about him. So I wondered if he cracked the whip to make all these really talented musicians write songs that he could take the credit for. According to Google I'm not alone in thinking this but I have since decided that if other people think they are a cult they are probably not.

Cult or not, they make fantastic music. A couple of days ago I made myself listen to some new songs. I hadn't listened to music for weeks and it's such a healer. So I found this song called "LIfe Is Hard" by Edward Sharpe's cult. It sent shivers down my spine and it kinda reminded me that life was never meant to be easy. At least, maybe, for certain types of people. Being aware of the intense beauty and magic in the world means being more susceptible to the pain we can experience.

I can see now how my course is helping me. The other day I could hear my inner critic (probably the ram) telling me I was completely useless and no good. I let it go on for a while and then I remembered I had a wolf inside me that could help. So I told the ram to f___ off and the wolf and I howled at the moon. It made me smile and I stopped thinking I was a bad person. Because things are shitty enough for me at the minute without letting my inner critic going off on one.

I did a bit of soul cleansing as well which involved removing items out of my flat that have no purpose here. There's always stuff left over. And it doesn't mean anything. It just sits there gathering dust and taking up space in a world that's already much too cluttered. I'm definitely feeling a bit calmer and more hopeful. So, Yay! And also, I don't care if Edward Sharpe is a cult leader, I want to join them and be a dancing juggler.

Wednesday, January 08, 2014

The Highly Sensitive Person

It's so difficult to pull myself out of this dark pit of doom at the minute. I had to send Ziggy off to mum's yesterday because why should he have to live in misery too? I'm finding it very hard to settle my mind but I have found a release in watching episodes of Neighbours from 2005 on youtube. This reminds me of simpler times. When Karl and Susan's relationship was more important than my own. They weren't simpler times though. I was in a shitty relationship and Neighbours was one of the things we used to watch when we weren't fighting. Looking back, there were no simpler times. Things were tough all through my 20's. Adolescence was brutal and I seemed to spend most of my childhood in a heightened state of unease. I came across a book from the library about Highly Sensitive People. I have always known I was overly sensitive but I didn't know there had been research into such a type of person.

Reading up on it helped me understand myself a little better. No amount of medication or therapy is going to change the way I am biologically made up. I have to be more aware of what I can tolerate and what I can't. Being highly sensitive does not necessarily mean you are an introvert, though being shy is a trait. I'm a bit of a balance between introvert and extravert. As a child I was extremely shy. As an adult I have been through experiences that have helped me overcome my shyness. Highly senstive people pick up in subtleties in the air. They are particulalry sensitive to people's moods. That's why I find work so hard to deal with because I am soaking up everyone's bad feeling. I also can't cope with other people fighting. I just want to run away and hide from it all.

The mistake I've been making is trying to harden myself, or cure myself of being sensitive. It's who I am and I should celebrate it. I should pay more attention to those subtleties in the air instead of assuming that I am imagining them. Like I said before, the main thing is being aware of what I can tolerate and what I can't. So here's a wee list:

1. People who talk incessantly - some people just keep on talking and talking and not being silent long enough to give someone else the chance of talking. This drives me crazy. Especially as, more often than not, what they are saying is drivel. In my head I am going out of my mind and silently screaming shut up, shut up, SHUT UP. I come away from these people feeling completely drained.

2. Crowds - why there ever had to be so many people in the world I don't know. I just hate people pushing and shoving and smelling bad. Everything happens so slowly and you're forced to spend longer than you want to with these people who might as well be animals. You might as well be stuck in a herd of cows waiting to go to the slaughterhouse. Is that a bit dramatic? On the other hand, if I'm having a party I want the whole house to be filled. So crowds are ok if I get to choose who's in them.

3. Children's needs - I remember so vividly what it feels like to be a child and I'm at my best when I'm around them. This is on the list as a positive of course. Children are amazing. I never used to care much for them but now I listen to every word they say. They make you laugh and they make you think and they are just amazing creatures being themselves because they haven't yet realised that they can be anything but themselves.

I'm exhausted now. Making lists is tiring work. I wish I could just shut my brain off but that's another trait of being highly sensitive. I have a rich inner life. I get absorbed in my thoughts too easily. One leads to another. The thoughts aren't always good and I have a tendency to over analyse things. But within that rich inner life lurks my creativity and my appreciation of nature and beauty. And that's what I have to keep focusing on.

Saturday, January 04, 2014

Some Good Ideas

I can get fixated on ideas sometimes. Especially if I think it's a good idea. And, from my experience, if you talk about something enough, eventually, it will happen. And so happened the tree house. This makes me want to complie a list of things I would like to eventually happen just by talking about them enough. Also, my mum will be proud of me for making a list. She likes it when I be like her. Here it is:

1. Mud Wrestling - Mud is brilliant, wrestling is fun so mud wrestling must be brilliant fun! I asked the manager of our student's union if we could have a mud wrestling night but he said health and safety wouldn't allow it. Spoil sports.

2. Music Night - I just want some folks meeting up and jamming the odd time. Music + friends = :) happy soul.

3. Freddy and the Fox Illustrator - I know so many arty people but it's just not happened yet. I keep waiting for some kind of divine intervention whilst doodling terrible pictures of foxes that look like anteaters.

4. Giving up smoking - kind of a dull and self explanatory one really but it's gonna happen very soon.

5. Driving Miss Hannah - No more excuses now that I've got my licence renewed. Except that it's the very last thing on my mind at the minute.

It's not a bad list because they are all very possible. I just have to keep talking about them. Especially the mud wrestling!