By guess and God and hope and hopelessness.

It's funny how families work; how the person you were least close to growing up ends up being, in a perverse, messed up way, the person you're closest to. It's amazing what adulthood and distance does to relationships.

Almost regretting invitations given in haste, but the things we do to make others happy should never cause regrets, even though they often do.

My pulse still feels sluggish, as if it's pumping stale alcohol to the surface of my skin to be sweated out. This would not surprise me. Every time, I'm left wishing that I was in possession of a modicom of impulse control. Aching, exhausted, and feeling like hell, but the memories are good, and you only live this lifetime once.

I wish the air was cooler. I feel as though I'm baking in my own skin, expecting to be extra crispy any day now. Part of me can't wait for winter, even though I love the summer. Yesterday felt like July; clear blue skies, brightbrightbrightness, butterflies chasing each other (in honest idiocy of flight). There was a sweetness to the day, memories of being young and lying in a hammock slung between trees as my dog ran around crazily, before coming to lie in the shade, panting at the heat. I miss her.

I wish I could cool myself down just by pressing a button on my arm. That would be awesome.

You're more than in my head, you're more

Sometimes saying what you mean is the scariest thing in the world, when people can be so unpredictable. It's easier to hide out in the lie, or just say nothing at all ("if you can't say something nice..."). But there are some things that need to be said, because otherwise things might just get worse. Festering in your brain until they burst out in a flurry of harsh words and harsher meanings.

Passive aggressive is not a lifestyle choice.

My friend's handwriting makes the lowercase letters feel like urchins, running around in rags with dirty faces, hollering at each other across dusty streets, skinning their knees when they fall.

Sometimes I miss being that young, but then I remember what it was really like. Rose coloured spectacles give a pleasant fantasy, but sometimes it's best to remember things the way they really were so that we can appreciate the present more fully.


'Bastian Balthazar Bux,' he grumbled. 'If I'm not mistaken, you will show many others the way to Fantastica, and they will bring us the Water of Life.'

"We'll see," said my Grandpa. "We will see. We will see."

There's something about being awake after you should have been asleep. Sometimes I miss the insomnia, because it freed me to do what I wanted without needing to waste time asleep. Catch up at the weekend, no harm no foul.

Too many things that I want to get done, but it never feels like I have any time to do it in. Technically I do have time, but it would mean sacrificing time spent doing things which are higher up my list of priorities. Even if other people can't understand why. (That's really not my problem.)

...swinging, tangled in a cat's cradle, entangled dreams and hopes and fears catching fingers and toes as you move. 

For all the world's a stage, and some of us spend most of our lives performing to invisible crowds.


(I've never figured out if 'very commercial singing voice' was a compliment or an insult.)

From (pre-)rush hour, with love

Sometimes I think my hair is trying to take over the world.

Testing, testing, one, two, three.

One more time, you're listening to the flight recorder of....

No, wait.

That's already been done.

Sometimes, you have to reinvent the wheel to run yourself over.

Speak in pop culture references to find your own voice.

Hide yourself so that people will find you.

Sometimes, you have to do something for yourself. Something meaningfully meaningless, impulsively planned. Sometimes you have to just do instead of think; sometimes you have to sleep on your sittingroom floor for the hell of it, when your bedroom is the next room away. Sometimes it's the little things that remind you of who you are - lying on the floor in the dark, music in your ears, in your veins, mouth open in a silent scream as the rhythm pulses through you.

(Did you know that 'rhythm' is the longest word in the English language that does not orthographically contain a vowel?)

The things around us shape us, especially when we fight against them. Rebellion is in itself an act of conformity. Influences, outside and inside, mould us until the day we die. Constantly changing, forever and never. If we were to stop changing, stop evolving as individuals, we would stagnate.

The world itself is changing. And we need to change with it.

Roll on the changing times.