Life kills. No doubt about it. So let's not fool ourselves, there's pressure out there. We need to deal with it. Blame whatever you like; heartless banks, societal expectations, Facebook, your genes, Roundup in your bread, dementors in your head from the cradle, your boss or yourself. It doesn't matter. But I want you well. I just want you to keep going and realise you are as vital and necessary a part of humanity as anyone. Of course we don't all deal with life head-on like a Hollywood hero. Some of us are quite beaten by the madness life flings, so we deal with it our own way. That can take on a number of forms and outcomes. What do we need to get through?
Could be a leopard print underpants on in front of the tv, using your belly as a beer mat. It might be the syringe with whatever opiates you crave, a slice of a Fentanyl patch tucked neatly between gum and cheek perhaps? Wine often worked for me. It makes other people interesting in social situations and is a key player in keeping you comfortably numb when life stops being a mill pond and instead sucks out your shoreline to come at you with tsunami proportions. Maybe you're one of the ghosts gliding around from pharmacy to pharmacy, bagging enough codeine to kill the pain, the one that isn't really there but won't go away.
Sometimes it just takes an hour of The Cube to right the ship. Or a Tele-evangelist saying that perfect phrase that seems to reach all the way from your flat-screen to your flat soul. An episode of Friends to kill the white noise? Maybe you could hurtle a car down lanes at break-neck speed or painstakingly paint in watercolours.
A cuppa doesn't work for me so I try to hit the road. The road talks to me and I talk back. Asphalt is a good listener. I let it all out; the anger, elation, brutality and euphoria of life. I transmit it all through my Bike to the road and it whispers sweet nothings back, dulcet tones of forgiveness. And the road has never betrayed me yet.
But cycling is nothing. I don't care as long as you do something. Jump around a stage, walk the impossibly-short-legged dog somewhere, take a stroll under amber street lights at midnight, drive with the window down or turn up the Ramones to eleven. Go to church, get stuck in, light enough candles for everyone that loves you. Read a book with the tv off. Watch the sky after dusk for bats or just stop and listen. Listen beyond the fridge-hum. Hear that? It's you listening. You are there.
Say hello to everyone. Feel the sun on the nape of your neck. Look up. Taste the food instead of just using it. Say sorry. To hell with the rain, go out in it. Smell the turned soil from a field. Get your hands dirty. Allow yourself to feel tired. If someone asks how you are, tell them the truth. Have the second coffee and stay awake. And say thanks. A lot. And don't waste your time on random bloggers trying to keep you switched on. But always, always hang in there for the next sun-up. Promise?
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