Quite often there are moments when I’m sat still, quiet and contemplative in the wake of something or other, just before another average something or other, and I’m perfectly grounded but don’t feel quite at ease as if the ground is preparing to shift and I don’t quite have my balance – sometimes, in one of these moments, I feel oddly out at sea. Like a buoy; large, ugly, ominous and lonely despite being one of a million. Yet there are other times when I do not feel like I’m out at sea at all, but instead the sea is actually inside me. An ocean gathering in my legs and feet; dark, deep and eternal. And like some tale from a Greek myth, there are monsters lurking in my ocean. Do what you like - correct me, rationalise me, tell me that they aren’t monsters but large squids and sharks but I tell you that they are hideous. They’re vile and they are wicked and on days of ill fortune when the air is windy and the waves disturbed they rise up – higher and higher until the water is in my knees and in my thighs, between my hips and in my belly and their dancing makes my stomach churn and my heart beat faster, faster. And then this great ocean and these mythical monsters find their way into my head, like pirates of the mind. They dance and gallop on waves of great heights until they spill all about, when the waves come out as tears and the monsters come out as verbalised irrational thoughts. I guess I don’t know what I’m trying to say or how i feel exactly, I just know that some days I am incredibly tired, that I am sat in my room – engulfed in sea sickness.
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