Word Shelter

This morning I want to take refuge in words - words are my talismans, they help me unravel what I'm thinking and feeling. Words somehow magically have the power to comfort and calm me - this morning I want to hug my Famous Five hardbacks and revisit the carefree nature of being a kid lost in literature. Maybe if I head out to the bottom of the garden and keep walking, I'll come across Silky and Moonface. Thank you Enid Blyton!

Decades after reading those books, what they evoke in my memory and imagination is still so strong. Kind of amazing.

'Netherfield Park is let at last.' Ahhh, that's better.Thanks Jane.

When I feel stressed and misunderstood, this is where I ground myself - in language*, whether that's by writing, reading a book, magazine or blog, listening to great lyrics in some favourite tunes, watching the punchy prose of Sorkin et al tumble from the mouths of talented actors - as long as there are words, I'll be okay. (I really like talking with words too, but I look and feel less like a crazy lady if I blog rather than converse with myself!)

This week I cried inappropriately in the street. The reason for the tears is immaterial here (this isn't a private diary locked in my bedside table, no matter how few people ever read it), but what was great that someone listened to me ramble my way through why I was so wound up that my body flicked the auto pilot emergency release valve and left me crying against a cold tiled wall.

As the tears subsided and the words came out, I felt better. Not because speaking the words did anything to solve the problem, but speaking the words, and having someone hear them and sympathise with the slightly crazed girl crying in the street, helped me back towards equilibrium.

So what's the point of yet another entry into this blog that literally may only be seen by two or four or six eyes? I'm not sure really, but the act of writing helps me get my head straight - okay, straighter.

I don't want to be someone who carries crap around inside - well, any more than I'm already carrying. And if that means I have to suffer the indignity of crying in the street, or the car, or on a beach in Queensland (true story), then so be it.

Have you cried anywhere inappropriate? Lately - or ever? Let me know if you have, maybe I won't feel like such an epic doofus!

Thank you words, I would be lost without you.

Now, lashings of ginger beer for everyone!




*No words were injured in the writing of this post.