Every Last Drop

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Loch Ness

Maybe we can pause the world and escape to a little cubby hole. Maybe we don’t even need to pause it. Maybe it can carry on without us but we would be content because we are not needed or required to help turn its magnificent cogs.

I suppose we don’t really need to turn its magnificent cogs. I suppose if we didn’t, the world would carry on as usual, and it would be exactly the same. But our little nooks would slowly vaporise away and we would be mere wisps on the fringe of it all struggling to find a parting in the heavy, stampeding traffic that is trundling along.

And it would be very hard to get back in.

And everything we worked for would be gone. Snap. Crick crack. Like a click. Or a tock.

That is why we need a holiday. To refresh and recharge our tired little arms, to carry on turning our very own special cogs.

Mine included driving all around this Island I call home. From the south to the topmost North. I only have four days left before I have to set the record player again and fall back into the stressful mess that is my real life.

The worry, the anxiety, the terrible marriage situation where the in-laws and commuting to work suck all the life out of my husband so all I get is an empty moody shell, the awful living situation, the nomad-like bouncing from house to house everyday, the exhaustion, the feeling of not finishing half what I set out to do by the end of the day because I do not have any private space for my work – aaaah!

I don’t want this peace to end. I really, really don’t want this peace to end. I could cry because I so desperately hate it back at ‘home’. But it will end.

And so.

For now.

I will find the Loch Ness monster (that’s Nessie, apparently), I will enjoy the scenic beauty of mountains and water and views and bagpipes for the last four days and squeeze out

every

last

little

drop.

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Loch Ness as we saw it

 

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Edinburgh from up top 🙂

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York – this man was blowing bubbles in return for a small donation to sponsor his trip to Japan!

All images are credited to my husband – he takes the good ones. 🙂

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How Important Is What You Want To Do?

Maybe you want to do what you want to do, but have you done it?

I want to do what I want to do. I want to write stories and have them read by hundreds and thousands of people. Even millions. I want them to have an aura of their own and I want them to find special nooks in people’s hearts.

And I know that in a hundred years my name will never even have existed, unless it does in somebody’s mouldy attic. In fact, in another thousand years, it will be like none of us have ever existed.

I stopped by Castle Howard in Yorkshire yesterday as part of my current two week road trip. It is stunning, beautiful, all the original furniture from the 1700s still stands, and the owners, when it is not open to the public during the winter months, still live there! Which, to me, is simply fascinating. The mansion is beyond any regular proportions of any lovable house in the UK today (well, I think), and yet the tenth generation of Howards still house under its magnificent and famous roofs and have parties and guests in its renowned guest rooms – with the same decor, I might add, that they had in 1800.

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Image credit – my husband.

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Image Credit – my husband.

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Image credit – my husband.

 

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I saw a central fountain of brilliant marble depicting mermen blowing water through horns on to a strong man carrying a giant marble ball on his back. I meandered through thousands of rose bushes contained within wonderfully shaped hedges. And, later, as I sat in the gardens, the hills rolling away in the distance, meeting the glittering lake to the left of the house, I thought, well imagine all the generations of people who visited this place and were awestruck by it. Imagine the previous family who flourished and died within these walls, imagine their lives and stories and ambitions.

We know nothing of those details, yet those details were tremendous to those experiencing them at that moment in time.

In the same way that our details are tremendous, our lives are so crammed with thoughts and experiences and things we want to share or feel we need to share and express – and yet, for what purpose, really?

It will all rot away and decompose anyway, and most likely not be remembered. And, given this fact, how important in the grand scheme of things is it really?

I have not done what I want to do. And this is not to say that what I want to do is not important. It is to say that I want what I want to do to be important for the short while that it will be relevant, because that is the only window I have.

Time is a cruel creature, but time is also wisdom and motivation.

 

 

The Dream Girl

When she looked over the hills, after pounding her way up on her rickety old bike, she dreamed she could fly over the metal mess that was the city, and alight on the greenery in the far distance. The mountains, pale and purple beyond, the hills, rising and falling, awash with green in varying shades. All rising above the scrapyard they like to call the city.

She dreamed she could sail up high and touch the clouds, so vast and fluffy, as they drifted along the vibrantly blue sky.

She dreamed she was a daughter of the wind, with magnificent tresses, her body winding and curving and swirling on the air currents, ducking and diving, so graceful and wild.

She dreamed she was the maiden on the hull of a ship, the front line of the sea path, guiding the crew through mountains of waves, lashings of rain and sea foam, and always wind. Always the wind.

The cold wind on her cheeks, numbing her face. The wind carrying her over the globe, through prairies and mountain ranges, under canopies of birches, vales of violets. Rushing through the furious wall of a waterfall. The hot wind of the desert, filling her eyes with sand, the cold wind come night time, shaking her free of her dust grave, taking her someplace new. Always new. Loud and thunderous, roaring and wailing.

She dreamed of hills and rolling frondescence, and when she grew up she wanted to weld her soul to the raging storm. She wanted to be wild and free, she wanted to bend the trees under her will, she wanted to slam herself into the nature so hard that she became a part of it; wind whipped and ferocious, scraggly and strong, full of vitality and life. She wanted to be the silence on the moors. She wanted to be the sea crashing on the rocks. She wanted to be the stillness of a lake under the twilight sky, stars dotting it’s mirrored surface. She wanted to be the planets as they turned around and around. She wanted to be the sun, and the moon too.

She lay under the skylight, and dreamed the stars were holes in the sky to another, brighter sky, way above.

Why Do You Think You’ve Got What it Takes?

Well, first, what it takes to do what?

In my case, it’s to do life.

To be kind and and good, to handle adult situations in a mature way, to pass all my modules.. and with high grades, to secure a  prosperous future for myself, to follow my dreams, to give my parents their due respect and honour, to be a good wife, to help my marriage survive, to take care of my body and my soul, to do well in life, to be happy.

Well, sometimes I don’t think I do have what it takes. But that isn’t what the question is asking. It’s asking why I think I have what it takes. WHY do I think I can do what I set out to do? Assuming I already know I do have what it takes.

Which I do.

I think I do because I am passionate about what I do. I am eager and excited to get up and go. I love my goals and dreams, and I desperately want them to become a reality, so therefore I am willing to put in the extra effort and hard work that I need to put in in for that to happen.

I know the road to ‘there’ will be difficult, and I will experience moments of sadness and frustration and sometimes depression, and might even feel like giving up halfway through.

But it’s like at the gym, when you’re on the step machine, and you’ve set yourself fifteen minutes of random intensity and at the seven minute mark you think, ‘God, I can’t do this anymore, let me just get off and go on to body training’.. but then it’s 7:55 and then 8:21 and you’re like, ‘Well, I can stop at 10’ but then ten comes you’re like, ‘well, what’s five minutes, ey?’ and then fifteen minutes are up and hallelujah you’ve completed your goal and you leave with shaky legs but feeling absolutely fabulous.

That is why I think I have what it takes, because I know when the going gets tough, I can give myself those little nudges that I need to go full speed. I can speed myself up. I am a self-motivator.  I can DO IT.

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Why do YOU think you’ve got what it takes?