I don’t think of my own life. I think of myself a lot but not what I’m doing. I don’t think of the experience of living and breathing much at all, I only find myself wondering what others are thinking, how happy or sad they are. Always worrying about what they think of me but I don’t worry what I think of me. I know my opinions of myself, but I’m not wondering how I feel, I’m not concentrating on what make me happy or sad in order to try and make things better, it always seems to revolve around someone else.
I’ve been to a shopping centre today, spending quality time with my mother. I have had so much fun I’ve forgot myself, I’ve been ‘ugly laughing’ and just plain having a good time. She’s hilarious. We started the two hour drive at ten, laughed and cursed and told the Sat Nav to shut up, my day was already infinitely better than the several previous, before we even reached our destination. It was nice talking to someone who understands everything and having full undivided attention.
Of course when we arrived we ‘ugly laughed’ some more at our packed lunches wrapped in tin foil and the stench of left over chicken tikka, finished eating and trekked the short distance to our favourite place.
I forgot what it was like to be happy.
I bought things of course, but looking back on the day, the company was what mattered most to me, I was not bored or ignored or at any point hungry or thirsty. My feet didn’t hurt, I didn’t feel exhausted, I could almost say that I felt recharged, powered by the joy of it. Afternoon tea and shopping for handbags.
I think that when you live with someone who doesn’t understand you, it’s best to have a few days apart every now and again to distance yourself from the frustration of being brushed aside when you could really do with a long hug and being hugged when you could really do with a little space to breathe. It’s a tiring condition to endure for every one involved.