Beating Agoraphobia
I went out today ALONE for the first time in three years! It was amazing, like getting out of prison. I was out alone, walking alone. Went into a shoe shop alone, bought a pair of cheap shoes, alone. I was walking on air when I came out , bouncing down the pavement, smiling inanely, idiotically, joyfully, alone. No panic attack or anything. People thought I was crazy, I guess, but I was so happy…because I was alone.
THE CHANGING FACE OF PSYCHEDELICS
I bought this months Marie Claire magazine. I’m not into women’s magazines as a rule. I find them creepy at worst, patronising at best, but Marie Claire tries to have intelligent thought provoking features, plus they’re giving away a really nice free gift this month, Neal Yard‘s hand cream products. I got the Wild Rose Hand Cream, which is a tenner to buy in real life, which is steep by anyone’s standards. I’ve got to say it’s worth it though. A quality product which absorbs quickly, leaves skin feeling smooth, soft and nourished and has a long lasting divine scent. I have to say that, because I feel I’ve got it knock off somehow. I’m attempting to advertise, to make up. But it is good. I wouldn’t say it was good if it wasn’t. Also the magazine was marked down from £4.99 to £2.50. So, it’s pretty much a bargain this month, which needs to be snapped up people!
There’s some good interviews in it. Scarlett Johansson talks about vaginas, there’s an feature on The Cheer Leading Grannies Of Tokyo, but the the main thrust of this post is an article written by health journalist Charlotte Haigh MacNeil. She went to a retreat in the Peruvian Amazon, to learn more about ayahuasca, ‘a traditional hallucinogenic ‘medicine’, made of up of two plants: chacruna, which contains a substance called DMT, generating visions, and the ayahuasca vine itself, which allows DMT to work in the brain.’
It is being discovered, among the psychiatric profession, that psychedelic drugs may aid an array of mental health conditions. They have found, in particular, that they are helping people overcome addictions, deal effectively with depression and anxiety, and more notably, OCD.
Professor David Nutt, (I know, I’m thinking the same thing) is a psychiatrist and neuropsychopharmacologist. In a study of magic mushrooms, given to people with chronic depression, there have been positive and lasting changes in the participants mental health. Half of them are still well after six months. (Shame about the other half).
‘Psychedelics are considered relatively safe in comparison to alcohol, but experts strongly advise against trying them in a recreational or non-clinical setting, as you may have a disturbing experience,’
No kidding. Well, I’ve never been there. I’ve never taken drugs. There was that ONE time…when a very serious but sweet college acquaintance took me back to her rented flat after class one lunchtime. Her cat and dog were already smoking the weed when I got there. They were bad pot heads. I vaguely remember leaving her flat around one in the afternoon and jay walking right through busy city centre traffic, without a care in the world, and with a severe case of the munchies. She had converted my 18 year old self into a vegetarian in one morning. I was to take up the mantle for twelve months. That’s no mean feat. She did well, but without her continued influence, I was back on the sausage rolls after a year.
Anyway, back to the point, according to psychiatrist Dr. Rucker, ‘psychedelics ‘loosen’ your brains usual patterns and defences start to dissolve.’ Which means that the things you have locked away in your brain, that you don’t really want to face, start to manifest.
Not good. Or is it? To me, it’s like dreaming when you’re awake. We all know how dreams can help us in our waking life. Dreams can guide us and help us assimilate and understand our waking lives. Often times, they even act as warnings. And on a personal level, dreams have given me glimpses of a possible future that have stopped me making horrendous mistakes in my waking life. Psychedelics induce a dream state while the dreamer is awake. They seem to induce Super Dreams, but on a vertical level, which in many cases, appear to help the dreamer deal with the most pressing problems in their life.
Charlotte, the journalist on the retreat, had lost three children to miscarriage. She was broken up inside, deeply bereaved. When she drank the ayahuasca, something strange began to happen, she had a vision where she met her three children, lost through miscarriage. At first, her vision is dark, painful and distressing, but then she sees a women in the sky smiling and cradling her children and she feels a great sense of peace. This woman was able to ‘accept her loss’ after her four hour ‘trip’. Six months on from the ‘trip’, she is still feeling at peace and has some sense of closure. Her pain and suffering has left her, to some extent.
Dr. Rucker says, ‘All psychedelics stimulate the 2A serotonin receptor, which processes and co-ordinates complex information in the prefrontal cortex in the brain, and enables you to think and get perspectives on different situations.’
‘Brain scans show, that in depression, the prefrontal cortex is overactive, as people become trapped by repetitive negative thinking. By triggering the type 2A serotonin receptor, the psychedelic encourages the brain to broaden its scope and come up with other ways of seeing things.’
Dr. Rucker says that ‘psychedelics cause the overactive bit of the prefrontal cortex to quieten down, and parts of the brain that weren’t talking to each other, start communicating.’
I think the conversation might go something like this.
PARIETAL LOBE: Now you be quiet FRONTAL, this has nothing to do with you.
FRONTAL LOBE: What have I done now?
PARIETAL LOBE: You know what you’ve done.
FRONTAL LOBE: It’s all your fault PARIETAL. And by the way, I’m not talking to you so don’t talk to me.
OCCIPITAL LOBE: Hey, stop picking on PARIETAL. He didn’t do anything.
TEMPORAL LOBE: It’s all your fault FRONTAL. And by the way OCCIPITAL, PARIETAL is not a He.
FRONTAL LOBE: Did you not hear what I said? I SAID, don’t talk to me. Talk to the hand.
Not everyone has powerful and profound visions, but it does seem to work well on people who have suffered loss and bereavement and those who have found it extremely difficult to accept their life situation. The visions some people have after partaking of this psychedelic, seems to help them work through their loss effectively and give them some sort of closure.
New research suggests ayahuasca generates new brain cells. There’s even talk about being able to treat Alzheimer’s through this psychedelic, while LSD and psilocybin have the potential to treat Post Traumatic Stress.
Professor Nutt (It’s that name again) does acknowledge that these substances are still considered dangerous, people have bad trips which can be very distressing, and a lot more research needs to be done, but which probably won’t be done…because they are considered dangerous.
I believe some people do get some seriously good results from taking hallucinogenics. But I’m sure there’s an equal number who have bad trips. Really bad trips, that may impact their lives negatively, in the same way good trips impact a life positively. I’m not sure we should mess with this stuff. It’s a bit like a baby with a loaded gun. I wouldn’t want to play Russian Roulette in that way. Apparently, they have an ‘expert’ standing by to monitor you, if you have a bad trip. but that’s all they can do in the end, monitor a bad trip. They can’t stop a person having it. They can’t reach inside the mind and pull out the distressing visions or produce an antidote. All they can do is stop you jumping over the veranda or hurting yourself physically in some way. They are powerless to stop the violence playing out in your mind.
So I’m not going to stuff myself with hallucinogenics just yet. I’ll go the old fashioned way – denial. I’ll deal with any deep seated emotional pain through alcohol, the occasional workout and Eckhart Tolle.
I, for one, hope that in the future, such dramatic and life changing benefits can be found, not in mushrooms, but in white wine, chocolate and black pudding. Until that day…cheers.
Today, as I was walking down the street with my husband, I saw a kestrel pinning down a pigeon. The pigeon seemed to be dead at first. The poor thing had a bloodied beak. As much as I don’t like to interfere with nature, I knew I couldn’t stand by and watch assault and murder in the animal world. My husband crossed the street to chase the kestrel but a man on a bike was passing and did the job for us. The pigeon soared into the air and appeared to get away. I hope the kestrel didn’t go after it again and that the pigeon can recover. Nature is cruel and the kestrel will get its dinner somewhere else. It was staring at me, while struggling to hold this pigeon down on its back, as if to say, ‘He’s mine, all mine, don’t interfere!’ I don’t know why I was shocked. I think it’s because I didn’t think they would go after pigeons, I thought they ate mice and things like that. While I know it’s what kestrels and their ilk do, I just can’t stomach predatory behaviour, whether it’s from animals or humans. Animals aren’t supposed to be evil or have a moral compass. I know they kill to survive and they have babies to bring up just like everyone else but give me a rabbit eating a carrot any day.
I’ve lived with birds for thirty years. Right now, I live with two adorable cockatiels, but know nothing about birds of prey. Having just done some rudimentary research, I think it may have been a sparrowhawk and not a kestrel. I’ve heard sparrow hawks are more city orientated and will take on anything and this one was a little smaller, (certainly slimmer) than the pigeon it was going for and struggling to keep pinned down. There was something very human like in the way that it was pinning down this other bird, very rape like. I know it’s a fact of life and I shouldn’t get so upset but still, it was a very ugly, disturbing sight. It’s not something I see every day and I’m really glad about that. Flying rats are people too.
Have you started your New Year resolutions yet? Don’t be too hard on yourself. One day at a time. Don’t take it too seriously. Just try to feel your way through, nice and easy, and listen to your inner voice. A relapse or two is acceptable in these dark winter nights. After the holidays is not a good time to start resolutions, when you think about it! So you’re already ahead! You’re already meeting the challenge. Ultimately, just stay focused on the long goal and you won’t go far wrong.
– Sue
Or…subheading…
Christmas And The Apocalypse
I realised today that we can’t do anything, or go anywhere, or interact with anyone, without the risk of rejection. We risk it in our social lives, in our everyday routines, in our careers, in our jobs, business, love lives, family, in everything we do, everywhere we go…
The rejection can be about simple things, interacting with someone in a shop, a work colleague, or a friend. We can feel rejected if they don’t laugh at our little jokes, give enough eye contact, respond the way we expect/want them to. What about our work? Do we feel appreciated? What if we’re rejected on a daily basis when we put our ideas forward, make little suggestions?
And if trivial little things get rejected, what about the big things, like declarations of love? Now there’s the biggie. What if a man or woman wants to change direction, be someone new? Perhaps they’ve been living an inauthentic life, but never knew it, until now. How do they go about suddenly being Jill if they were Jack? Maybe someone has suddenly found their voice but knows it will be met with rejection if they shouted from the rooftops.
Or it could be a creative thing. An aspiring novelist sharing their work for the first time…a playwright…an artist…a painter…a singer… an actor…let’s all wait for that moment…the hiatus…the point of no return. Let’s put it out there, all of us, pour ourselves out. Bathe in the vulnerability, shower in it. Feel the raw. Skin peeled off. Now you know. You’re in the middle of the whirlwind. You feel you might explode with the tension but there’s nothing you can do. You just have to ride it through. So you felt it and you realise there’s no escape. Every day, in every way, we risk (maybe it’s just me, I don’t want to tar you with the same brush) that feeling of…rejection but what is it really? Why is it so painful, so avoidable? Yes, AVOIDABLE. Why is it so easy to avoid? Or rather preferable? And why do we go on avoiding it, time after time?
Because avoiding pain is a human instinct.
The fear of rejection is a deep primal, primitive, gut wrenching instinct of survival…bringing you back to the infantile state. It doesn’t injure us physically but it can destroy us emotionally, psychologically. Or…hurt our pride? Pride is such a coward. And if we didn’t have this…if there was no risk, or we felt no risk, in other words if we didn’t care, how far could we go? Could rejection make us stronger, when we became immune through constant exposure?
I’m interested in what type of rejection is the hardest? Sexual? Creative? Professional? Personal relationships? Family? Are they all on an even keel? Does it depend on the person? Perhaps it’s different for everyone. We all have our archilles heel.
I haven’t recently been rejected, but I’m sure we’ve all been rejected recently…that’s not the reason for this post, it’s the RISK of rejection. Now there’s the key, there’s the Big Mamma. I need to share that and in doing so, have made myself vulnerable to the risk of rejection, in a way. It has to be done, I have to live it, if I’m going to advocate it, it’s all about the risk. Sometimes I think the risk is what hurts more than anything, it’s the ‘nothing-to-fear-but-fear-itself-thingy-my-gig, that’s the Bogie Man. The Bogie man is sick (we are sick, I am sick) and we need to haul his ass out of here.
People love vulnerability, it reminds them of themselves. Our rejections rub off on others. It inspires them. Schadenfreude. You are helping others gain pleasure through your misfortune, but what they don’t realise is, your rejection has a by product. That ‘by product’ is a bit like like gas, like a cow passing wind, except it helps others. You cannot lose here. They think you are crushed through rejection but how can you be crushed if you’ve helped them want to live for another day through Schadenfreude?
Most of our rejections are temporary. So it’ll be about pushing through and never giving in and believing in the passions of your life. We have nothing else but the passions of our life, which are those things which make us feel like we are in oxygen debt if we don’t keep doing them. So, stick your neck out. Put yourself out there, risk rejection. There’s no way we can actually go through life without the risk, unless we live without any social contact. We have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Treat it as a game, and you will win, or at least get somewhere, move on. It’s better than standing still.
At this time of year, rejection takes on a darker hue, it becomes heightened and therefore harder to bear. We are aware of it more for ourselves and for others. Everyone gets a little crazy the week before Christmas. It’s that time limit, the countdown, the tension.
I saw an abandoned shopping trolley full of food in a supermarket. The place was absolutely jam packed and it was utter chaos. I could imagine the rising panic of the person who abandoned it and I hoped they were feeling better for running away, more liberated, less tense. I was feeling it too. I wanted to run too, but I soldiered on. I was proud of them, whoever they were. It was a positive slant to their panic attack. They took action and got out of that hell hole. At this time of year, people just aren’t thinking straight, and another thing they’ll do is put something in a trolley and often abandon it on the sweet shelves by the check out. Why does it always seem to be a chilled or frozen product? Is it some kind of sod’s law?
People are so irritated and annoyed and panicky right now. Mothers yell at their kids more. Spouses snap at spouses. In fact, there’s much more chance of rejection this time of year than any other (Except perhaps for Valentine’s day)
People stock up on food as if it’s an apocalypse and an apocalypse is always a lonely feeling. I cam imagine an apocalypse brings rejection in bucket loads.
But Christmas isn’t an apocalypse, it’s a holiday. It’s a time for joy, love, giving and receiving, the season of goodwill, but sometimes the bleeding obvious needs to be stated now and again.
Merry Christmas Everyone.
I saw Burt Lancaster today. He was in the amusement arcade. He even had Burt’s famous smile but without the teeth. He only had a couple of front teeth. It was a toothless smile, but still, he had a beautiful smile and a beautiful soul. Sometimes, I like to observe people, but only people who stand out, by the summer day that is shining through their soul.
When you see someone physically attractive, you can’t stop looking at them. Maybe you’re a deer in the headlights and maybe they’ll catch on and get all big headed and egotistical. Even if you just glance in the direction of a man or woman who knows they’re attractive, they’ll catch on very quickly, and then they’ll get all smug and stupid, but, when their soul is pleasing to you, they are oblivious. That in itself is immensely telling. It’s not physical attractiveness that’s important, but something on a much deeper level. I’m sure others have been frozen in time and feel like they just want to sit in the darkened cinema of life, with that bag of popcorn, just to observe someone’s beautiful soul on the big screen. Coming to a street near you.
Well, for the record, I observed Burt. He was with several people, a woman, three other men and a teenage girl. While the others were taking turns to use the public bathroom, he was laughing along with the girl because she was having so much fun on that dancing game. What’s it called now? It’s big in Japan.
Hang on, I’ll just google…
Oh, Dance Machine. Is that it? I thought it would be something more… I’m a bit underwhelmed.. Well, if that’s what it is, then that’s what it is. A Dance Machine.
So, she’s on this dance machine and having fun and Burt is laughing, but mostly smiling…genuine laughter and fun. Laughter can sometimes be a bit maniacal, a bit crazy. We have to be careful with laughter. Unfortunately, there’s a time and a place for laughter. I wish it wasn’t so. Well, this was the time and the place but it was mostly smiling, the benign type, so it’s allowed.
So these guys had rucksacks as well. Signs of a tourist. They were wearing waterproof coats. The proper expensive ones, not the shower proof ones for £1.99, which can sometimes be a compulsion to buy. Burt was tall, like Burt. Maybe a bit older than we remember him in say, Trapeze. And maybe he didn’t have the muscles Burt had either.
I wanted to follow him for a tiny bit. Not so that they would ever know, or get uncomfortable. They never know, these beautiful souls, because they are always in another world, the world of the people they’re with. Now that’s sanity. I’m careful not to burst that bubble.
When I say follow, I mean watch, just to get some of that joy, by osmosis, but it’s never premeditated. It’s always very natural, spontaneous. Spontaneous. me? Ha! My husband just said ‘don’t make me laugh, so that I have a heart attack through laughing’.
So I just watch them go off into their happy world. I watch them leave. They were all blissfully unaware. They never know. They never feel it. They have too much to give. I just observe the beautiful aura that surrounds them. I’m like a rabbit in a headlight and just have to snap out of it. Sometimes, like my friend Mike says, the rabbit needs to be restrained.
Burt was holding a plastic carrier bag. I have a soft spot for people who carry plastic carrier bags, especially if they are the resilient, environmentally friendly ones, the ones that last a lifetime and look a bit worn and are full of stuff. My heart just melts. I’m not sure why.
So I said to my husband, very seriously. ‘Look, there’s Burt Lancaster’, and of course, he ignored me because he’s known me for twenty years, and because it happens sometimes, not a lot, but enough. It’s not just men. It can be women, animal, vegetable, mineral. If you feel it, you feel it. I’m not even sure if, in real life, the real Burt was a beautiful soul, but the one in the arcade certainly was.
So I watched this lovely little troop leave the arcade. I blessed Burt and his friends/family and wished them a great holiday.
The future. What fun! What discovery! It’s all ahead. A big question mark waiting to be discovered. That’s how we should think of the future. Mystery followed by discovery. The future becomes the present and then the past. Suddenly, we know more than we knew a few hours earlier. We have more knowledge. The world becomes a different place for that knowledge. When you look at life that way, it’s beautiful and exciting. Mystery followed by discovery, followed by knowledge, followed by revelation.
Even if the discoveries we make, aren’t pleasant, or even mundane, suddenly, more life has been lived. We can get so much from all of that. Another page has been written. More memories added to the stores, to the collection. When we think of life like that, it seems, dare we say it…fun, life seems good, magical and wonderful. Hold that thought.
If writing is like sex
Then editing is the after glow
-Sue Young
I’ve been going to a lot of nice places this summer. I have gone to Lancaster for my birthday, for the last couple of years, but when I go, I keep forgetting to visit Lancaster Castle. Maybe one day.
Weekend before last, I went to Manchester to a war gaming show and bought a pair of pink six sided dice, and had a very nice experience in the Museum Of Science And Technology, Then on the Sunday, I went to Lytham 1940’s Wartime Festival. Loads of people dress up in 1940’s clothes, with the stocking seam line, drawn up the back of the leg with eyebrow pencil, fox furs and high heeled slingbacks. And that was just the guys. It was really good fun and the weather was great.
Sunday gone, I went to Newark War Gaming Show and bought a book about Rommel and one called ‘Hitlers Children’ and now because of that and because I said the German uniform was better aesthetically, then the others, they’re all jokingly calling me the priest from Father Ted. This is not true because there’s nothing I like better than killing Nazi’s in Wolfenstein. Why kill vampires, zombies, monsters, anything, when you can kill Nazi’s in Wolfenstein? Those guys weren’t just evil personified, they were also for real. That’s what’s so horrifying and terrifying, they’re real. For me, it’s mostly about ‘know thy enemy’, be forewarned and forearmed. Learn from our history.
We drove through the Peak District to Glossop, in Derbyshire on the way back, beautiful countryside and lovely picturesque villages.
In the early evening, when we got home, all the electricity was off in our home. So we had to call our landlord. He got our electricity back on with the flick of a switch but he explained that he has sensitive safety trips on the electricity system. We couldn’t understand why these safety switches had gone off in the first place, as we’d been out since eight in the morning and nothing electrical was on. It was only later that evening that we noticed that the whole cable of one of our table lamps had been stripped to the copper wire, by, we think, our pet cockatiel, Jerry. Going to have to make sure that nothing like that happens again. My landlord just saved my bird(s) from being Kentucky Fried Cockatiel.
I also role play over Skype, these Summer Sunday evenings, with my husband as Game Master, with our American friends. (The pink dice were useless by the way, kept rolling twelves) I play a wood elf who likes smoking weed, a sort of stoned Legolas. I play alongside another elf called Finn, who is, very naturally, the clever, more clued up version of myself. He’s like Abbot, I’m Costello. Probably in real life as well. There’s also a gentle voiced halfling called Purl Knittington, who has become a ‘Dick Puncher’ (her words) She disables people who ‘disrespect’ her, especially one drunken, libidinous but strangely charismatic dwarf called ‘Swig Ofale’ who dared to smack her bottom one time. With one strike of her dainty but well placed and forceful hobbit fist, Purl can put the male species out of action for a good while. Swig, who was one of the lucky ones, was walking like John Wayne for a couple of sunsets. She’s not to be messed with.
I think reading books in public has gone out of style. Or else, that is just denial speak for giving up. Today, I made the decision not to visit Blackpool Library again, at least not alone. I thought I could beat the system. I thought I could be alone there and not be bothered in any way. It is no longer a solo project. I can go into the gambling den that is Coral Island and there are no problems there. i think because everyone is busy haemorrhaging money. Coral Island is not interested in the sin of sex, at least not until kicking out time. They’re interested in that other addiction.
If I want to be left alone to read, then Blackpool Library is not the place to go. I don’t want to be unaccompanied or un-escorted there, from now on. Or rather I don’t want to be. I thought I could hack it. Unfortunately not. I may have tried to make a joke of it, earlier on, this year, or rather last year. I did the whole bravado thing, but I know when I’m defeated and there were so many people there last time I was there, too many and none of them were reading books. In fact, over in the cafe, there was some kind of open friendship day with the amazing aroma of well cooked, quality meals and all these friendly faces. But I can’t just walk into a sea of strangers, however much they smile so beautifully and smell of delicious food.
So I went into the quieter section but of course, the quieter section has its own problems. Everyone with social issues goes to the quiet section. My niece, who has always been very wise for her young years, advised about negative experiences regarding people. She said, ‘You’ll never see that person again, so don’t stress about it.’ That was always a comforting thing but recently, I discovered, to my horror, that is not strictly true. The straw that broke the camels back was once again, seeing a Misery style Annie Wilkes (played by Kathy Bates in the original film, based on the novel by Stephen King).
She had returned. The first time, I saw her, she followed me around and then took photos, when she’d got a good full frontal shot. I think it was her blatant over confidence which disturbed me most, just like Annie Wilkes. She was defiant, confrontational and self important, like she had a right to stand in front of me and take photos without my permission, just like Annie Wilkes. You can get arrested for that in Dubai.
Why couldn’t I just laugh about it, why take it all so seriously? This is a woman with thoughts and feelings and hopes and fears, just like everyone else, but I’m sure Annie Wilkes has thoughts and feelings and fears. It all just felt too much of an invasion of personal space. The fact that she was holding up an envelope and not a camera, means nothing. It was the fact that she felt it was a camera and that’s all that matters. What if she felt it was a knife and came at me with it? An A 4 jiffy envelope might not do that much damage, if she tried to stab me with it, but still, imagine the trauma. It’s the intention behind it, that’s the important thing. If they think it’s a knife, then in their mind they’ve stabbed you with it and are trying to cause serious harm.
But this time, thankfully, I had a witness. ‘Look,’ I said, to my husband, ‘there she is. There’s the woman who’s been taking photo’s/videos of me with an envelope.’ It was a huge relief to be able to prove there was a woman, who, as we spoke, was indeed taking pictures with a big brown envelope and really meant it. When I produced a witness, she ran off. She ran last time, once she’s cottoned on, that I’d cottoned on. One moment there, one moment gone.
My husband had to go off for half an hour and he leaves me here precisely because he thinks it’s a nice safe, quiet place for this hothouse flower to be, but I was grabbing at his shirt sleeve and saying ‘Please, don’t leave me!’
This is a library. I shouldn’t be saying things like that in a library. That sad truth was, I was scared of this woman. I theorised that she was mentally ill and not some undercover journalist, as I’d first fantasied. And that made me feel guilty but no less afraid, as there seemed to be a certain maliciousness in her actions, like Annie Wilkes. So I now had guilt, as well as fear, to add to my arsenal of negative emotions. I wasn’t relieved that she may have mental health issues, obviously, but I was relieved that she wasn’t a conspiracy person. Yet, things were coming to a head, because I was thinking of the infestation of P.U.A’s and all the intoxicated, middle aged divorced men and disenfranchised people, all of us, hovering like lost souls, among the books, but not really reading them. One thing I did do here though, as well as hovering like a lost soul, is read books, but no-one else seems to think that’s what this library is for.
Ninety percent of the visitors here are in the multi media section, on the internet, right next to the cafe. No-one’s interested in books, really, not the smell of them, not the look of them, or the touch of them. Am I the only one that has this fetish? For years, men have read newspapers in libraries. I remember them, hidden behind their gently rustling ‘Daily Mirrors’ in my youth. So, I understand, that’s a thing, I get that, that’s a library staple, but why isn’t anyone here reading the books?
And then it hit me, not only is everyone on the internet and not only is no-one reading the books, I’m the only woman in the reading sections, apart from Ms Envelope Camera. It’s always all men. Middle aged men reading newspapers, not books. P.U.A‘s pretending to read, not reading. No women, at all, unless they are there for social purposes, in social groups, or in the cafe, making friends and eating wonderful food, or taking pictures of people with envelopes.
Oh, why do I want people to read books so much. Why?
I love the uniqueness of this library but not the unpredictability. Perhaps I should welcome that in this mundane, greyed out world, but I don’t like surprises and I had a bit of a panic attack last time. So instead of sitting quietly and reading, which I didn’t feel able to do, I went to Coral Island and gambled.
But the gambling den was a breath of fresh air, especially when you’re just on the Two Penny Falls. A lot of fun to be had and you do win stuff. I wasn’t down by more than seven pounds fifty by the end of it all, and with a couple of cheap but nifty plastic key-rings to show for it.
No one will bother you at Coral island and you’ll be able to spend as much money as you don’t have there. It’s so noisy and chaotic and Earnest Hemingway is nowhere to be seen and yet…even if you love books, you will feel safe. It’s like a library should be, but without any books. Safety comes in numbers and bright lights, never forget that.
Things In My Head 