I appear to have been stabbed with the vulnerability sword whilst I wasn’t paying attention. Maybe it’s the time of year and all the glitzy, untouchable magic that heightens this feeling. Maybe it’s the nostalgia that accompanies this season or maybe it’s because I have a shitty cold and the Lemsip, Olbas Oil, Strepsils, Benylin, and tissues with balm aren’t soothing as they should.

Or, it’s a combination of all the above that has made my hyper sensitivity overly sensitive. Well whoopity doo.

Maybe it’s me.

“Why are you so intense?”

“Because I like to live in the past, present and the future.”

Actually I prefer to live in the moment but get caught up with what was and what could be and often miss the moment. Where is this going? I don’t know, just go with the flow. Hold onto the handle bars and see what happens, yeah?

You know I’m odd right? You should do by now. Everybody refers to me as bonkers, mad or a little bit mental. I’m OK with that because it’s where I am most comfortable but it doesn’t always lend itself to society’s rules. Or people. And people….w-e-ll. Whilst they fascinate me I can find them quite mean sometimes.

Let me take my artistic brush and dip it into a pot of gold that comes out black. With that brush let me make a general sweep across my window. The behaviour of some folks can be undeservingly harsh. Some of it obviously so with all the fury born of fear and others more subtly hidden behind a fine, silvery veil of glistening duality. The hypocrisy of some and their delusions makes me shake my head in wonder at my luke warm cup of tea.

Basically, I’ve had my feelings hurt. Ouch. I don’t like it when that happens. Pass me yet another plaster – the ones that say “Jesus Loves You” because they will heal me faster.
Thing is, I’m quite a simple person in a complex way and if you are in my world it’s because I care about you and would never do anything, intentionally, to make you feel sad. Does that make me an easy target? Does that mean you’re allowed to be mean?

I need a hug and yet would totally refuse one. Does anyone else get that?

Now my normal response to being wounded is to mix the cement and lay more bricks than a jobbing builder on work rate pay. Up goes the fortress, slap, slap, slap. And you can’t get in until I’m good and ready to open a little arrow slit and peer out again.

But no. I’m not doing that anymore. Here I am today, open and vulnerable and wondering what sort of Blunderland I have created for myself. Nobody cares. But everyone cares. But no, they don’t.

“I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, Sir, because I’m not myself you see.”

So if there’s anyone else out there who has something to say or throw in then go ahead, punk – make my day. Poke the flesh whilst the shell is absent. I can take it. Lets get it all in there whilst the emotional lava is bubbling up a treat before it spews it all back out with a healthy dose of engineered,  “I don’t give a fuck.”

Questions anyone? Knock yourself out. I’m ready with answers.

…and whilst I’m sleeping tonight if someone could stab me repeatedly with the invincibility sword, I’d very much appreciate it.