I would be a complete zombie…
So perhaps we could talk about zombie movies, which would remind me of a recent road trip I took out into the middle of nowhere.
The roads were lined with road-kill.
Being too tired for filters, I’d probably bring up the topic to which, if you are anything like me, would put us both off our beverages.
Hopefully the view would make better entertainment than the awkward silence that might ensue.
When each day seems to be monotonous repetition of the last…
It can make you pretty miserable, feeling as though nothing is ever going to change for the better, it can be hard to shift your outlook by staying in the situation.
Sometimes the only way to break into a new phase is to literally get out of the place you spend all your time in.
Last weekend I got in the car and drove away from the town I live in.
It was only a temporary get away, but the fresh country air and (seemingly) never ending desert roads made short work of my clouded and blocked mental state.
I would recommend a mini adventurous escape to anybody feeling stuck in a rut or a bad mental phase. Even if all you can manage is a day trip to somewhere new, or even a place you haven’t been in a long time.
Daily Promt: Escape the Phase.
Autumn is a favorite of mine…
It culminates in the fortunate mixing of the cooler season’s refreshing air and the warmer season’s sunny blue skies.
Daily Post Photography Challenge: Jubilant
I’d ask you if you have ever had to stay strong when you felt the complete opposite.
I imagine most of you would say yes. I would then ask you to elaborate…Perhaps we could share some funny stories. Like the time I was so upset with a situation, that I went and brushed my teeth… my response to the stress and sadness was so strange that it I ended up laughing at myself.
I guess little things like that can be a relief to the pressure during hard times?
If you have ever experienced relief from a negative feeling or situation in a bizarre unrelated way, please feel free to share! 🙂
I was alone.
Things had been tense at the house for a while… and so I was alone to avoid the “tense-ness”, so to speak. I was not alone because I wanted to be.
The rain was pouring down outdoors, making contact in comforting sounds to the exterior of the building.
I sat staring at my computer screen in hopes of something. I didn’t know what. Eventually, through a few aimless clicks, I landed up reading a very short story, about a man who fell in love with the idea of a stranger.
I remembered falling in love with the idea of a stranger once.
He used to come to the beach and write in his car every morning – just like me. One day he didn’t come to the beach… and I never saw him again.
I noticed some tears slide their way down my cheeks.
I could hear the loud invasive cacophony of the television set in the living-room where my partner watched other imaginary lives being lived.
Free Writing – Do it!
Labels get thrown around fairly free and easy in this life.
I’m sure you have categorized or been categorized by others on many occasions during your time on earth.
The first time I felt my category change in an emotionally confronting way, was when I quit my career to move to a new city and start a business with my friend.
I had to take up a cleaning job to pay the bills. Going from corporate sophisticated/ laptop toting garb to dressing like a teenager and scrubbing walls was by no means emotionally easy… especially the way that people looked at and treated me so entirely differently to what I was used to. I eventually got back to wearing court shoes and and carrying laptop cases from office to office, but little did I know…
I was only to repeat the mortifying category shift experience again.
Only this time in a new country, where nobody really knew who I was or what I’d done in the past… and only had my current circumstances to judge me by.
Imagine your own flat mate hiding the wine glasses from you!
(yes this actually happened) as she assumed my occasional glass of an evening was a 24 hour a day habit due to my (at the time) unemployed status.
And this is even before moving to a street that even the real estate agent seemed afraid of.
A lovely street where dogs run loose, the sound of neighborhood swearing carries throughout the suburb and tales of resident’s unsavory pastimes seem only the norm.
The vibe was so foreign to me at first, and altogether terrifying to be honest.
But as time goes on, I have made peace (in part) to the situation and hence the hoodie and ripped jeans (below photo – when in Rome, right?). Let it be acknowledged though, that the wine bottle is all for show, despite what my ex-flatmate might try to insinuate. God knows I wish I could say the same for the cigarette…
If you were to sit next to me right now, with an equally grande sized latte, I would be eternally grateful.
Not because I need a partner in crime so that I don’t feel so incredibly greedy drinking this giant cup of a morning, but because of a recent incident on the bus.
I would ask you, after gently prying to ensure you are not such type a person, why it is that some mothers, in public, indulge in swearing profusely at their children.
They seem to do it in order to make said child less noisy, all the while drawing the commuters attentions (which the children had failed to attract) to their own high pitched and filthily embellished orders.
It also worries me that they can turn it on and off so quickly… As if it is all really an act and in no way a natural human’s occasional lack of emotional control.
The kind of thing I was all too familiar with in customer service call centers where the person on the other end of the line was audibly hyperventilating in anger and frustration (or so I used to believe).
At first I felt really bad for the children…
And then i realized that the children themselves were entirely not phased by it. Is it just me? Am I too sensitive?
The ones you seek comfort from complain of suffocation.
You sit alone in the dark and the creeps crawl towards the sanctuary of your shadow.
It was the worst insomnia I had ever had.
I remember having dreams once, dreams that I was afraid I would never wake from. But this was just the opposite, living in a waking world that you could never escape from through the immunity of deep sleep.
When I went out, I felt like a ghost among the living,
like a part of the old forgotten farmland that had now been built over with upper middle class housing where corporate cars seemed perpetually parked in the clean white concrete driveways that lead up to the sterile magazine perfect homes.
I would wander the shore of the beach that took on the name of the town to which it fringed,
seeing the young people wade in her waters, couples wander her shores. It was like watching a remake of an old film , same story, new actors. None of it real, and me, watching from a place that I could not be seen or known by the characters as they played out their pre-written fates. The thought that they might respond if I reached out through the film like static that gauzed my eyes, to touch somebody, or speak to them, seemed like a foreign and vague notion. I refrained from such foolery and stuck to transactional conversations only when absolutely necessary.
“Dunhill blue, 20’s please”
“That’s 24 dollars”
Waiting for the transaction to register through the eftpos machine was long, quiet and dizzying.
The moment it cleared I began to walk out of the little store, avoiding eye contact with the clerk and the other customers and ignoring the man behind the counter as he attempted to offer me the small white square paper of the printed out receipt.
I lay very still as my ears explore the world of 90’s grunge and wonder what kind of person I might be if I let the sound define me. The room around me remains unaltered, half packed since last week. The yellow paint on the walls is chipped here and there. Moving furniture in and out and all around has been done clumsily and left the marks, the walls look dirty even though they are bare.