How am I? You fool... 
Discord's Chains will shatter now.
Let Vexation reign!




I'm seeing [and enjoying] a number of romance-influenced posts at the moment... most probably due to the Valentine's countdown?  

Anyway, I'll post this while it doesn't feel out of place, so I can spare the feelings of foolishness: 

"A kind of true love?" 
I do get quizzical looks. 
But that's as far 
As I can define it. 

You were, and are, a being
Of Promethean heat; 
An Aurora of my ever-open heart 
Perhaps too dazzling? Hard to say. 

And the smoke in my eyes? 
The old song lyric got it right.  
My heart was happy to be on fire; 
Less happy to cool. 

Sadly we were not the only ones
In this tender equation. 
My ego growls 
While my soul sadly understands.

But my heart's not warm for you alone; 
I've a different warmth; a great warmth 
For those I love but don't desire.
It will more than suffice.

So would I change the past? 
Alter causality to spare the pain? 
All things considered
Lord Tennyson said it best. 



"Take care of your body -- it's the only place you have to live."
-- Mr Jim Rohn 

Of course, survival of the fittest in the original Darwinian definition refers to 'fitness' in the evolutionary-biological sense... so the phrase means [at least in my understanding] that those most likely to survive in nature tend to be those who are most easily able to adapt themselves to changes... and therefore 'fit' best. It doesn't mean: "survival of the strongest... so I'll be utterly selfish and tread on the weak bastards." [As practised by some of my least favourite people.] 

It's in interesting point, psychologically, because I've found that the more I'm able to react and adapt to setbacks and changes of circumstance [something I am not a natural at] the more content and happy and calm I'll be. 

Moving along, though... we come to Buffy's personal fitness, which is much less interesting to evolutionary biologists!

After a few one-off try-outs in January, today marked my first 'jogging' day. 

My delightful chum and fellow blogger Professor Lovely [aka Summer of the 'Summer SHINES' blog] has inspired me by her devotion to the RED January, and I thought, "why not?" 

I used to be a runner. Not a professional one, but a rather good one, if I say so myself. 
Haha, I'm able to toot my own horn because the important part of the preceding sentence was "used to be"... when I was good, I was a mere child in my early 20s. Now I'm a seasoned old duffer in my late 30s. 

But my legs still work, so I've no excuse. 
I'm not in bad shape... but I'm not particularly fit, either. And I'd like to be fit... or else my lifestyle of excess might start catching up with me[!] 

I'm not a fitness freak and sometimes shudder at the idea of 'healthy living', which goes against my pseudo-hedonistic ideals... but as a realist [such as I am], I'm prepared to admit that being healthy is a hell of a lot better than the alternative.

Anyway, half an hour ago, I did it... my first 'proper' run since 2014.

-- I did about a mile.  [On and off...that's my limit.] 
-- I didn't have a heart attack. 
-- I didn't have a panic attack. 
-- I didn't run into a tree.
-- I wasn't laughed at by children.

Conditions were not ideal, however: throughout my whole jog, it didn't stop raining. 
Peeing it down.
Chucking buckets. 
Piss from Heaven.

"Apres moi, le deluge" ... as they say in Swindon [and possibly Paris].

But I'm content. 
Pleased with myself. 
Happy I did it.

Anyway, in my head, now, I hear my own, tired voice:
"Never again..." 
Then I hear Professor Lovely's voice: 
"You WILL do it tomorrow!"

...So I don't have a choice, do I?

So anyway... thank you, Professor. You might not be having the best day today, but your shine is definitely shining in the world.


Yep... that's the analogy that popped into my head when I woke up -- so I thought I'd type it out quickly: 

The eagle over the water. 

That's how I see myself.

Flying an uneven flight... 
Sometimes soaring, majestically, wings outspread, the whole beautiful landscape beneath me. 
Sometimes wobbling... descending... and then plunging beneath the water. 

Spluttering, struggling to breathe, feathers weighed down with murky water.
I'm impeded, slowed down, pissed off... but I don't stop.

And then, the trajectory is upwards again: up towards the sun, high in the sky. 
Happily, heavenly heights. 

It's possibly the way the flight will always be... 
High and low; sometimes serene, occasionally dangerous. 
Sometimes swift, occasionally apathetic. 

One thing remains constant, however: 
The flight over the water 
Is always in a forward direction. 



Cold doors are now locked.
"Twas a dark and brillig night?" 
Thunder slaps me hard. 

Wine, women and worms 
Have I wasted thirty years?
Don't close that coffin.

My eyes want to cry.
So why do I keep trying? 
My Host shakes his head.

In the billiards room 
There's a tap on my shoulder 
So I turn and growl 

Dignity? Oh yes. 
I think I remember You. 
So where did you go? 

Suddenly She's gone 
My question hangs in the air 
Salaciously sad.

I drown in my drink
In vibrant need of closure 
Sadly unachieved.

So I stagger through
Thick carpeted rooms of bile 
Please give me a crutch! 

What do you mean "No"?
'Twas worth a try, I suppose 
Will you set me free?

Elegantly cruel
She's turning the lights off now. 
So I keep running.

It's Game, Set and Match
I whimper in the cellar. 
Trousers in the bin.

Red dawn comes at last
So unlock the icy doors
Better luck next time?



A good day, was Friday. 

Busy-work was minimal; my evening with my vivacious chum and dining companion, La Latina, was excellent; and the day was completed with a good glass of fine[-ish] wine in a trusty Chesterfield armchair, sharing some creative thoughts with a few of my deliciously erudite fellow bloggers. 

Mr Anxiety... where were you yesterday? You were not missed... though you were in my thoughts. Obviously.  

Amid this excellence, though, I found my thoughts turning towards the talent of m'fellow bloggers. This past fortnight I've been inspired, comforted, amused, warmed and energised by them. 

By them. 
         By you. 
                 All of you.

A wise old family friend of mine once told me [when I was about 12] that he felt one of the key ingredients to happiness was to "make peace between your ambitions and your limitations", and I've never forgotten it.

Over the years, having certain doors of opportunity closing whilst others have slammed in my face has taught me, sometimes brutally, the depth of my own limitations. No bad thing. I consider myself a realist, after all [though it's a whole blog post in itself to begin to define such a term!].   

But I can list a few of my current limitations, anyway: 

[1] I'm a dilettante. 

[2] I'm a bit rubbish at taking setbacks in my stride. 

[3] I lack initiative in any great abundance. 

[4] I'm too shy when talking to people I admire. 

[5] I take responsibilities too seriously... which is why I run away from being given responsibilities, often at great speed.  

[6] I sometimes lack the courage to speak out when others are being intimidated/bullied. [Though it's different if I'm the victim.]

[7] I'm the worst saxophone player in the history of humanity. 

[8] I am not a good dancer... it turns out that my lady friends were humouring me about this in times past. Just because 'YMCA' was at Number 1 when I was born, does not mean that I was destined to be a stylish mover... sadly.

Hmm... not the worst list in the world, is it? I could add the Anxiety and Depression predilections to that list, but they sort of go without saying by now[!]

These limitations are of course not things to be proud of, and maybe not things to be necessarily ashamed of... but I accept them. That's important to me. I think it's healthy. 

And, being aware of my shortcomings, I think that makes me well-suited to find my place here, knowing that I will not set the blogging world alight [and a good thing too, as I'd feel it too much a responsibility], but am still content to tread my own path thru it, and even be able to throw a few doors open, every now and then. 

Anyway, to all the people I've spoken to on here so far... thank you. I've been energised by you, and I like to think we've been synergised by one another, if only a little. 
You've reminded me that it's important to think on the possibilities, every now and then. 

Make a peace between your ambitions and your limitations... and keep an eye on your possibilities. 


Today I'd set out to write a post on "The Groundhog Day of the Soul"... but, perhaps sadly, that might have to wait until 2nd February 2018. [I've also decided not to go out tonight... though happily I won't have to wait a year for the next opportunity to do so!] 

But anyway, this afternoon, instead of writing my post, I found myself in the middle of a bloody awful anxious/low mood. 
An attack, by anyone's standards.
What my grandmother might call "a right steel-tipped kick in the bollocks".

As it happened, in the midst of this, I made the decision to sign in here, and tried to blog my thoughts as they came... [see previous post]
But how to describe it, now, in hindsight? 

It was like a stabbing, of sorts. 
A stabbing in an old, well-known wound where I've been stabbed a number of times before. 
As it happened I felt a number of things...  

[1] I felt PANIC, simply bleeding out of me. 
That cruel voice, like my own voice, but harsher: "You're always going to feel like you're on the rack. Tough shit. Live with it..."

[2] I felt SHAME -- Unremitting shame and a complete dispersion of self-worth. Why bother contacting anyone? Why would anyone I know care that I feel bad? The cruel voice again: "No-one thinks well of you... and you're a deluded fool, Buffy, to think that anyone would."

[3] I felt MISERY... the heaviness of existence plonked on my fragile, seemingly broken skeleton. How I'd managed to live so long was just a mystery.

[4] I felt GRIEF... the brutal, aching grief of loss; the loss of those friends/loved ones gone from the world, and also for those friendships cooled or lost [as happens to us all]. I miss them all... sometimes more than I realise. 

[5] I felt EMPTINESS... as if all the good, all the sense of self, that had bled out of me could never be replaced.

The result of all this? 
I wanted to die. I just did; there's no other way to put it. 
Of course I wasn't going to do anything about it -- but I was drowning.

Anyway, it took a while, and I'm getting back to what can be reasonably called a Good Place. I've texted two friends and I've spoken to a few bloggers. I'm able to begin to put this in perspective, and I'm glad I didn't self-destruct in any dramatic way. 

It's also one of those little wake up calls: there are life changes I want [& need] to make, that I've not made before due to fear or for other reasons.

These changes must be made... and I'm going to see what I can do. 
Think bigger. Reach higher. No shame in not achieving all you've set out to achieve... there's plenty of time yet.

In the meantime, though, it's worth remembering my self-worth... in spite of Anxiety's attempts to take it permanently from me today, wholesale.

I'm proud of myself. 
In a small way.