Yeah I connected the dots – I just don’t wanna talk about it.
Go on girlie you can do it
We’ve got your back just keep yourself upright
We know it hurts but another half an hour and you can collapse
We’ve got your back
You can do it
All relationships – friends, lovers, enemies, frenemies, business links – are gardening projects. You prune, water and cut back as needed. But if you’re not quite sure of the species you can pick up the phone. Plants are easier, google does the research for you.
I don’t believe you can count
Notches, like ticking boxes
Why on earth would you whittle down a stick
To prove that you had wood?
When I say you got under my skin
You found a way some how
Dug a hole, planted seed
And drove your way in
So I’ll carry you with me
Not be with you, cause please
Don’t take this the wrong way
But you did not please me
As you should have
Now and again you tighten
I carry you with me, not with you
But do this for me
Be happy, be healthy
Forgettable and forgotten. Violent and bigoted.
I’ve got you under my skin.
Lies fell from your mouth as easily as leaves from the trees.
Stop taking credit for my hard work. You broke me, I rebuilt me.
Refined sugar is evil. We all know it. But why do we use it as a treat?
I imagine a scenario. In my head I have children, more than two and less than five, a brood of my own. They’re young and I explain sugary treats and fast food to them:
“You see my darlings these are pure evil. They may taste good, but they have caused people to become so ginormous they cannot even move. Sometimes their organs simply stop working and they DIE.”
I pause for dramatic effect and look at their shocked little faces. Maybe I show them horrible pictures like on the back of cigarette packets.
“So everytime I give you fast food or sweets I am not treating you! I am wishing you into an early grave.”
I won’t be that cruel, having an appetite for cake especially, but definitely somewhere along those lines…
Does fear have a smell?
I had a somewhat eureka moment a few weeks ago while watching Hannibal. Gruesome programme, but he talked about meat being tainted by terror. He described it as citrusy.
I can’t speak for tainted meat (I’ve never refined my palate like that and you won’t catch me chomping on human flesh either) but fear, terror, blind panic does have a smell to it and it’s only now I’ve noticed that I don’t smell of it.
An embarrassing problem for a ‘lady’, I’m sure, since we are supposed to merely glow, but I am one sweaty betty.
And for the past few years that sweat was tinged with a pungent, sweet and slightly sharp aroma that I could not put my finger on. My clothes reeked of it, I had to wash everything after one use – even coats or jackets. Absolutely nothing was immune, the smell was so pervasive.
A vampire from Joss Whedon’s world would have been tailing me for miles. I reeked of fear.
Is it any wonder I had an uncanny knack for attracting predators?
Thankfully after a lot of hard work I am starting to smell normal again. Food for thought, as this could be a very easy diagnostic tool.
As Gandalf the Grey once said, “When in doubt, always follow your nose.”
And this is why:
From New Scientist
I’ve been wittering on about yoga for ages, and according to an article I just read, regular practice actually helps to shrink your amygdala – perfect for those suffering from trauma-induced whatever.
The rest, well there is no bad there. If you’re willing and able to move, the only side effect is awesome.