I'm plain Jane and no nonsense.
Daniel in the late-afternoon sun.
I'm just starting to talk more. I'm pushing myself to say the things that sit in the back of my head. I've actively begun trying to stop being so afraid of judgement. Sometimes I don't say things in fear of what I'll be branded. But really, who wants to be some pussy clam? If I leave a group of people having held in what was on my mind, I leave the event feeling really dissatisfied and low. When I speak up, when I contribute, suddenly I feel a lot more validated. I feel a little more acknowledged and understood. My dad used to say I could talk underwater. And I figured out why, when I'm with him I feel so loved and therefore confident and that's all it takes for me to give him every piece of my mind.
I need to share what it is I'm passionate about, regardless of whether or not the person I'm telling has the same interests or whether or not they even care. It's like I've become paralysed by the impending opinion of others. When in all likelihood they're probably not thinking of me at all. That's almost comforting.
Also, in the world of I, I've been paranoid about spirits lately. I've been having some really mind-tripping conversations about the dead and those that still roam the earth. A woman at work used to date a guy who could see dead people all the time. Yes, like the 6th Sense but for real. And she told me that one night, at an early hour, he got up to go to the bathroom and there was an old man sitting on his toilet. And by old, I don't mean aged and wrinkly, I mean in period-style clothing. From the 1800s or something. He screamed at the spirit to "fuck off" and it did. This story has scared the bejesus outta me since sometimes while sitting on the dunny, I get the chills run right through me. What if it's a spirit passing through me? Holy moley, I was not prepared for this knowledge.
Dan and I are heading to Qld early Monday morning. We've decided to run amok and be the closet rockstars we suppress here in Sydney.