All posts tagged: reflection

New Year And Another Attempt At The Better Me

I’ll admit that I’m one of those people who sees New Year Resolutions as just another pointless attempt towards trying to motivate one’s self in the right direction. Those of us that make the grandiose decisions such as “I will get thin/fit/on a human and socially acceptable sleep cycle” tend to fall not to far after the first hurdle. However, I’m going to break the streak of the past few years and set myself some challenges (we shall not use the phrase resolutions) and at the end of each month I’m going to look back and see if I’ve managed to achieve any of these goals. If I haven’t then it isn’t failure, I just have to adjust my targets for the following month and start again. So for January 2015 I am going to: – Complete both my third year essays and hand then in. (Since the deadlines are in January this is something of a no arguments challenge. If I don’t I’m somewhat screwed in terms of a degree.) – Write the first …

Glorious Silence

“Is it not glorious?” he’d asked me, hand stretched to pull me up the slope towards him. “Can you not hear that silence?” I shook my head, ignored his hand and grabbed the out-crop with as many fingers as would worm their way into the slate cracks. “Serenity at its purest,” he told me and all I could think was of the ground water finding it’s way to the cavern floor in thick droplets, creating noise that explodes off every niche and fissure. “Heaven,” he whispered, making me wish that he would simply stop. I was not here for his words, or the sound of his breath stirring the air that had not moved in centuries. I’d come for the promise of silence.   Inspired by a post on Biblioklept.

Pause For Silence

“When do you stop?” he asked with fingers threaded through mine. I knew what he meant. He meant jumbled notepads, cluttered desktops and sticky note post-its with more tasks that I could fit around my laptop screen. He meant tomorrow’s ‘to do’ and yesterdays unfinished. “Can’t you pause?” he asked. “Let it all go for a bit?” “Sometimes.” I answer, avoiding speaking of night-time sleeplessness, too hyped from caffeine and brain hopping ideas, too frantic to concentrate and too many to ignore. “Sometimes there are moments of calm.” I don’t say that there are moments when I look at him and all I think of is that moment, even though I know it is clichéd and I should be beyond using such ideas. I don’t tell him that there is one uncertainty that dwarfs and mutes every aspect of chaos in my life. I don’t want think of how quickly I might call this love. Visdare 30