peripathetic

Okay, after yesterday's playful little verbal stunt, I reckon it's time for something a bit more serious. Today, I... woke up feeling bad, which rapidly turned to feeling badder when dad and I had one of the customary older-son-has-moved-back-with-much-older-father small fights. But why is it that arguing with someone, even if only for a few seconds, in the morning has such a shitty effect on the rest of your day? It was only about clearing a couple of rooms out so that estate agents can come out and value the house this week.

Well. Hmm - it was *only* that, yeah, like that's a small thing in your life when you're looking for some small measure of security in what increasingly seems to be a mad world where the nasty things are waiting to lead you down an alley and have their wicked way with you. And where the nice things in life have already grabbed someone else and are probably right at the end of the alley, fast approaching a stellar and dreamy-eyed climax.

Today feels like it's been stolen. Which is a bad thing when most days are things that your head might get a handle on or might not, depending purely on chance. There was a woman talking on the radio (thank god bus drivers don't always listen to regional news programmes!) about psychotherapies, and how most of them owe their genesis, in some way, to Sigmund Freud. At the end of her little spiel, she was talking about how one of the therapies is geared to purely and simply giving a person adequate time and space, and attention if necessary, to thinking about themself, and their needs, and how they fit into the world. Bloody hell, I don't know what that is, but I reckon the world would be a much better place if we all had about 6 hours of that every week!

It'd do a lot more for my general wellbeing than the insanely prolonged workout I just did.