Cycles

Once again, it's a long weekend.  Easter, some folk call it.

I'm sat at home, drinking scotch, and wondering how much longer the cycle will continue for me ... for any of us ...

Mulling Things Over

So, here I am again, making that rare appearance on this weblog.

As each day passes I'm more aware that my short time on this world is nearing the end.  And I've been spending too much of that precious time absorbing negative energy.

For me, Blogger was a starting point in social media.  Fascinating people around the world published about their hobbies, interests, and lives, lives which were so different to mine.

With other social media so freely accessible these days, flippant remarks have polluted the Internet.  I tried to recall how much negative energy I experienced on Blogger, and I don't recall much.

I like positive people and am attracted to them.  The amount of negativity I'm experiencing on other sites is mentally draining.  This isn't negativity directed at me, just at the world in general.

I've become a part of that, not through design; it just happened.

It's time for me to step back and re-evaluate things.

The Long and Short.

As we approach the shortest day of the year in this hemisphere I can't help but feel that that day seems like the longest.

Here in the of North of England, we're presently enjoying a whopping eight hours of daylight a day, although it should be referred to as daygloom.

You see, it's never really that light during this time of year, except on the rare days when the sky decides to take its clothes off and show us some bare blue.

No, it's mostly threatening darkness in the eight hours we're supposed to have light.  

And that's why these short days seem so  long.  That darkness is telling us we should be in bed.  We just weren't designed to live our lives by clocks and shift patterns.

But if I feel like this now, how do the dwellers of the Arctic Circle feel? 

A Break in The Rain

The inclement weather (it's pissing it down as my dad always says) has driven me to reading ... and writing (typing, if you want to get all pedantic on me).

I'm sat in a caravan in Wales; halfway between Cricceith and Pwllheli, surrounded by stunning scenery.  I got here on Monday and, with the exception of this morning, the weather has been good.

But, as I was saying ... typing ... I've been reading, Doctor Sleep to be precise, Stephen King's latest book.  King was the first adult author I ever read.  He seems on good form in this latest story.

Taking a break from reading, I remembered that I used to enjoy writing as much as I enjoy reading.  And then I remembered this blogger page, something I haven't updated in three years.

So, here I am.  Writing.  Rambling.  I remember my English Lit teacher calling it  "stream of conscience" or something.

The last few years I've kidded myself that I don't have the time to read or write as much as I like, if at all.  I suppose it would be more accurate to say I've been lying to myself.

So, here I am.  Contemplating.  Considering a promise.  Not to you, but to myself.  I'm going to start writing more.  Whether anybody reads it or not, doesn't matter to me.

It's kind of like ... therapy.