Nature Is A Bitch. Part 1

Nature is a bitch.
Don’t get me wrong, I love nature, but lately she’s been treating me like the unpopular kid at school and is thus refusing to have anything to do with me. What a bitch!
And like that unpopular kid, I can only bask in the glory of Nature without truly engaging enough to show her just how bloody awesome I really am, on account of the fact that, well you know, she’s a bitch.

It wasn’t always this way. Once Nature and I were best friends. I would spend countless hours frolicking gaily through the woods and singing a merry tune as birds, deer and other woodland creatures fed from the palms of my hands…Oh wait…no, that was Snow White…
I would however marvel at the wonderful assortment of earthly insects. This was before I became a lady after which, I would then scream loudly at the assortment of earthly insects. I would make gloriously long daisy chains and caress the bark on trees, though not sexually you understand. I may be single but I’m not desperate…yet, and generally just spend my time thinking how insignificant I was to all the things that surrounded me.

Once, my friends and I decided to meditate in a particular forest. It didn’t matter that that particular forest has a reputation for where one hides the bodies of the slain and the fallen and is also known as a murderer’s paradise. It was majestically beautiful, hidden away from the bustle of every day life and a quiet postscript to the world waiting outside. And it’s only now as I look back in naive innocence, reminiscing fondly on my past youth, that I can truly see what a bunch of pretentious twat-waffles we were to even think about frequenting such a place. Seriously, what a bunch of bloody morons!
Anyway, after the four of us had finished our mantras, swapped clothes (don’t ask!) and wondered why all the crickets and birds had suddenly gone quiet, we decided foolishly and like the fools in a horror movie where you’re begging them to be slaughtered painfully and gruesomely because of their foolishness, to explore the rest of the forest. And that’s when we came across the bouncy tree.

This tree was spectacular. Centuries old, it looked as if it had been standing there since the beginning of time. I can’t remember what type of tree it was, but it’s boughs were thick and long (resisting urge to make lewd and obvious comparison) and when pulled, would spring high up in the air before bouncy back into place. (urge for lewd and obvious comparison becoming stronger) So we decided to go for a ride. (MUST…RESIST…)
Taking turns, one of us would straddle the huge limb (okay, I’m just gonna forego anymore tree descriptions. This is turning into 50 Shades) holding on for dear life, whilst the other three would first pull and then release it.
Soaring through the air like an magisterial awkwardly screaming bird of prey was an exhilarating experience and despite seeing my life flash before my eyes a few times and whimpering my mama’s name, it was wondrous. Also, I may have peed myself a little.
Still, it’s a moment in time that I will never forget and a testimony to the wonders of Nature.

But that was a long time ago. Since then, Nature has abandoned me and taken up with a group of bullies who are intent on making my life a misery The chief ringleaders?
Fibromyalgia and Allergy.


As The World Goes By…

I’m listening to the sound of the rain falling outside my window. It makes me want to snuggle deep under the duvet, a huge mug of hot chocolate at the ready.
I can hear the wheels of the cars as they race through paddles gathered on the roads and the sound of children on their way home from school, unconcerned about the wetness that soaks through, their only intent on telling their parents about the day they’ve just had.
I can hear an exhausted mother berating an errant child and the slam of car doors going to and fro destinations unknown to me. They echo through the chatter and laughter and dribbles of conversations that reach ears nosily straining to hear the parlay of a dialogue that I cannot decipher.
As I continue to write, the school run ends and the cars drive off and a peaceful quiet descends upon the street on which I live. A street for where life passes me by. A street where the world goes on without me.
The quiet, punctuated by a few hasty driven autos, sometimes reminds me of the loneliness that I feel stuck upstairs in my bedroom. How I am no longer an active participant in this thing we call life, but how I wish vehemently that I was.
But sometimes the quiet brings with it a sense of determination, of maybe one day, things will be different. One day.