Ba la la la

[le-baymax]

Why am I so angsty? You have heard of teen angst. Have you heard about adult angst? My manager was mean to me -> I'm not and never was good at my job. My partner of many years dumped me -> I am and will always be forevermore unlovable. Nobody wants to sit with me at lunch in the office -> I'm deserving of nothing but hate.

It's suffocating, and unlike teen angst, cannot be romanticised. Because teen angst is a swimming pool. Adult angst is a whirlpool. You have to try and fight and fight and fight not to get sucked in.

[le-baymax]

Photo by 0.D-G, taken from Pinterest

A castle in a rich land?

No.

Take me to a castle in the sky.

Stone walls are too hard.

Too rigid.

I'd rather live in the sky,

With clouds for walls.

They're too fluffy to hurt me

Too fluffy for me to want to hurt them.

[le-baymax]

Thunderstorms have this strange power to soothe my soul. And I wonder now - how can something so loud and chaotic soothe me? How can something so mighty and dangerous make me feel a calm that I rarely feel?

Why are thunderstorms so inherently romantic?

Why does watching a storm pass by with a cup of coffee in my hand, feel like the warmest of hugs?

Why is a thunderstorm more tender to me than the people who were supposed to love me?

I seek answers. And I feel strangely akin to Ari - the little teenage boy who sought to discover the secrets of the universe.

Maybe, just maybe, the thunderstorms want to swallow the numerous storms inside me. Maybe the thunderstorms see me as their child. Maybe that's why I'm not afraid of them.

Maybe that's why I love them.

[le-baymax]

I painted my nails strawberry pink.

It's not a color I usually go for. But one morning I woke up and decided that my life needed a pop of color.

And I didn't know how to make it happen.

So I took that bottle of nail-paint and painted my nails a bright strawberry pink. So bright, it's almost neon.

And it...pops.

Such a beautiful shade - I do not know why the color is given so much hate.

Now, each time I wring my hands together anxiously, my gaze falls on my nails. And for a second, there is color. Bright, pure, almost childish color.

And I don't feel so blue.

And after reading this, if you feel like this is just a tortured metaphor, maybe you're right. I do not know. But hey! Maybe this is my way of saying that I can be dead inside and still have pretty nails. Who knows!

Certainly not me.

[le-baymax]

I'm lonely.

I'm terribly lonely.

And I love the moon.

Is she lonely?

So bright, but all alone in the endless blue.

If the silence of my room is deadly

How much deadlier is the silence of the void?

Does she need company?

I'll take Venus' place in the sky.

And be the ever-loving Evangeline.

The moon will never be lonely again.

And neither will I.