Is the fighting over?

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“Is the fighting over?
I lost track.”

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plaits, sadness & snippets of information

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Aren’t the horses lovely in the sun – bright blue sky above them, and (if Im bored enough) plaits in their manes 🙂

Today I’m feeling kind of blue – not sky blue, more of a shadow blue. I heard from a friend, and my work companions have been in good spirits but I can’t seem to shake the fact that – I just feel sad today.

I guess its from all those conversatinos I seem to be having that involve the quite apparent need for a change in my life, but my fear / inability to actually do anything.

Yesterday a student (and therefore technically my inferior) said to a visitor that my project wasn’t going anywhere (as In I wasn’t achieveing anything)..even my boss jumped to my defense saying that was a bit rude, but the damage was done. He’s right. Im not getting anywhere. The realisation of this is quite depressing.

After a blissful 2 months of no migraines and clear skin, I’m now officially run out of the prefferred discontinued hormonal pill, and as of today – its migraines once or twice a month until I can convice a Dr to give me a referral for some surgery. bleh.

I really feel like I’m not acheiving anything in any aspect of my life right now. I’m not socialising, I’m not pulling my weight with family matters, I’m not painting or writing, my work progress sucks, I’m not making any progress with animate or inanimate aspects of home life – I’m just not getting anywhere. And I’m tired.

Did you miss this drivel? no? didn’t think so….

 

 

 

Conspicuous by absence

The translation of thoughts to words is often ill-crafted.
The interpretation of those words, if left open, can allow new, and at times contradictory thoughts to emerge.

Im writing again. But science, not feelings. The message seems to be getting through.

What with buster mistakenly smashing my phone, getting a kindle and generally feeling that I have nothing of merit to say, I have stayed away from here. Waiting for sufficient inspiration to strike.

I bought myself a new set of sketching pencils but no image will form. The tin and contents remain pristine.

I imagined myself as a crocodile while I cycled to work. I felt my face squash and elongate as my teeth divided and sharpened against my mouth. A crocodile on a bike, singing Tori Amos in her head and wondering why none thought this was an odd spectacle to observe.

Things around me have soaked up and exhale a strange aroma, not unlike liquorice mixed with salt and pine, an unmistakable scent I associate with expectation. I am waiting.

What am I waiting for?

For a change in my inner landscape from this continual monotonous arid day.