by Rie

This won’t be a very good post, I suspect; I don’t feel like writing. But I need to, so here I am.

I really, really want to write something light-hearted and simple but I’m drawing a blank.

There’s a mango on my desk. And a peach. They smell awesome. But I don’t think that provokes much thought. Well, except food-related thoughts. I’m thinking of this Thai-style dish with glutinous rice, sweetened coconut milk, and sweet, sweet mango. I’m kinda waiting for Australian mangoes to taste as good as Asian mangoes.

Which I hope isn’t a controversial thing to say. There would be no hope for humanity if people started arguing about mangoes. Then, again, people argue about vaccines.

There, right there, I lost a bit of hope in herd immunity and, therefore, humanity.

Oh, fine, people argue about a lot worse. Tell me, really, tell me, how is your time productively spent convincing people on line that One Direction is God’s gift to humanity? Why and I mean why would you waste 20 seconds of your life cursing at someone on YouTube for voicing an opinion?

How did I get there from mangoes? SEE HOW MY BRAIN FUNCTIONS?

The reason I wanted to write a “happy” post was to prove to myself that I could. It’s been a pretty dark time. But that might be because I have my curtains drawn.

And that was my attempt at humour. Thank God my stand-up comic days never existed.

I can’t stand the quiet. When all I have is the whirring of fans. Have I mentioned this before? I feel like I have.

If I have, I will reiterate: my mind can’t stand the quiet. It darts into a million pockets, some I had hoped to keep sewn shut. It’s like trying to calm an irate child down without turning on the TV when you’re exhausted and desperate and angry. Not being angry at the child but angry at yourself because you’ve reached that breaking point. And you turn on the TV and the child calms down but you’re angry at yourself for giving in.

Yeah, that feeling.

I have done very little good work. I don’t know if I will ever be able to replicate my previous efforts. I’m going out of my mind.

In a lot of ways, this is why this blog has become less of a journal and more of a comfort. It is the constant listening ear because, whenever I read back, I hear my own voice and I empathise. I hate who she is, this terrible, whiny writer, but I understand what she’s going through.

If only she’d shut up.

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