Well now, pet… It’s a fine thing you called on me today. I’ve been sitting on me cloud watching you scurry about like a beetle in a jam jar, overthinking things that don’t deserve five seconds of your precious time. That brain of yours is like a kettle that’s forever just about to boil – hissing away at nonsense you’ll barely remember in a week. So let’s get a few things straight, shall we?
First off, you don’t owe anyone an explanation for the shape of your soul. Not for the scars you carry, not for the wild places you wander, and certainly not for the way your heart keeps loving people that don’t always know how to hold it right. You came here to learn, sure – but you also came here to laugh, to swear a little too much, and to dance like an eejit when nobody’s looking (or when they are, if you’ve any gumption at all).
Now, about them people who think they can tell you how to live your life… let me tell you something, darling: there will always be some fool who thinks they’ve got the map for your road, but you’d do well to remember they’ve never walked in your boots. And half of them wouldn’t last five minutes if they did – blisters and blathering before you’d even finished your tea.
When you feel lost, and you will, because you’re human and that’s the deal – don’t go looking for signs in the sky or waiting for some holy bolt o’ lightning. Sit yourself down, put your hand on your chest, and feel that stubborn little thump-thump in there. That’s your compass. That’s the bit of you that never lies. When it pulls, follow it. When it warns, listen. And when it tells you to stay the hell away from someone or something, for the love of all that’s green and growing, heed it.
As for joy – grab it. Scrape it off the walls if you have to. Find it in the bottom of a chipped mug, in the first flower to brave the frost, or in the way a fat cat can fall asleep anywhere he pleases without giving a shite who’s watching. Life’s hard. It’ll knock the wind outta ya sometimes. But it’s also got this sly, wicked sense of humour if you’re paying attention.
And lastly, remember, no one’s getting out of there alive, so you may as well make a bit of mischief while you can. Be kind, but don’t be a fool. Love big, but don’t let anyone treat you like a spare part. And if Bully pulls up in that big shiny truck again thinking he’s king of the road -tell him Granny Frass said his exhaust’s looking a bit limp, and I’ll be seeing him in his dreams.”
– Granny Frass
UNDER THE WILL... OVER THE DRAMA... 
Leave a reply to Mae Faurel Cancel reply