A perfect afternoon

Having fought depression for a while now, it’s so rare for me to just be happy for no major reason. But something about today is different. For several hours now, I’ve been quite content doing nothing in particular, and it really love the feeling.
It probably started yesterday, when dad suddenly decided he wanted to watch some episodes of Doctor Who with the daleks in it. So I went into my room and dug out every Dalek episode I own. (If you know me, you know it’s no small feat, going through over 130 episodes).
The result has been a bit of a marathon with me and my dad. We aren’t watching them in any order, except the order in which I piled them onto the counter. So one episode, it’s got awful 80’s synthesised music, the next, it’s the second episode ever made (from 1963). It has reinforced my love for Doctor Who, and helped remove my fears that it was a passing phase and I would grow bored of it (a genuine fear I have, as that’s how many of my interests end).
So most of the late morning and early afternoon today, have been me and dad watching these episodes. Yet some people might observe, that we aren’t fully focusing on it; dad is building a Lego truck, and I am doing jigsaws on my iPad. To many people, it may sound like disinterest, but to me, it is perfectly normal.
I have a crazy mind, it cycles through thoughts quite fast, and in recreation at least, I find it very difficult to focus only on one thing. For example, if can’t do any sewing or puzzles in silence, it just doesn’t feel right to me. And if I’m watching something, my hands want to do something else.
To me, if I enjoy doing puzzles, or sewing while watching certain shows, it means I really enjoy them. The way it works for me, I enjoy a lot of shows, but some take more effort for me to enjoy them. I’m not saying it in a bad way, it’s just how my mind works. if I have to give it my full attention to enjoy it fully, to me it just isn’t as good as some shows.
With a show like Doctor Who, in my opinion, it isn’t always the best made and thought out story, but a genuine love of the story universe, and a fascination with the characters means that to me, it doesn’t matter if it was badly made, or the story is especially cheesy. I still adore it all (yes, even grudgingly I love Colin Baker).
For me, it is effortless to enjoy the show, I don’t even have to watch it. Just listening to it is enough. (It probably helps that I know the stories so well, I don’t need to see it to know what is happening). And I don’t mind that the volume is up way too loud for my comfort (dads nearly deaf, but I’m still sure you can hear the theme song playing from Mars, he has it up so high at times), which makes the Dalek voices even more grating. All that aside, I adore this show.
So sitting in the lounge room with dad, watching these episodes and doing puzzles on my iPad, I feel pretty good right now. I don’t feel as depressed and lethargic as I normally feel, which has done wonders for my mood. My dog is snuggled next to me, grunting softly in his sleep, his little chin, resting on my ankle. His breathing is quite soothing, a warm spot next to me.
Later, I’ll be going to a friends place for Easter, which means I actually get to go to an Easter service for the first time ever. I just found out that a particularly gruelling shift I was dreading today has been cancelled. Only one thing can improve my mood today, which I am doing right after I post this; I’m gonna go make myself a cup of tea.
Until next time, have a lovely Easter, and try not to go crazy with chocolate.

Flowers in her hair

Many people have described me as being a bit like a hippy; I wear long skirts, have long hair, I’m a vegetarian, and I care very much for the environment. But I never wear flowers in my hair. I never pick flowers. I don’t mind receiving flowers, but I can’t pick them myself. I know why.
When I was little, maybe 7 years old, there was a place about 5 houses down the road, and out the front of it, was a great big hibiscus bush, with pink flowers. Every time I went past it, I would stop for ages and just look at the perfect blooms. I was too frightened to touch them; I knew they didn’t belong to me. But I used to imagine what it felt like, and how pretty it would look in my hair.
One day, I was standing near the bush, and in a fit of bravery, leaned over to smell it. It wasn’t quite what I expected, it had very little scent, but the stalk in the middle brushed my nose and left a light dust on it. As I stepped back, startled and trying not to sneeze, the person who lived there came out.
I have no idea what they looked like, it’s a complete blank to me. But I remember they picked one of those flowers- the one I thought was the most perfect, and she gave it to me. I excitedly thanked her and ran home to show mum.
I spent so long just looking at it, stroking one of the petals, completely fascinated by the texture of it. I remember how delicate the stalk in the middle was, with small beads of pollen.
It was one of those moments where time stood still, for someone so young, I spent ages just looking at it, and touching it. But what I remember most was how quickly it wilted. The stalk snapped, and the petals took on that slightly oily texture they get when damaged. The edges turned brown. The pink faded.
It was devastating to me, this beautiful flower, that took month to grow, could wilt in mere minutes. It seemed so unfair. It seems such a trivial thing, but as a child, it was an awful thing to realise, that everything fades.
Since that day, as I walked past the bush, I saw all the other flowers, still in bloom. They were still beautiful, untouched by time. Even now, I will never pick a flower. To me, I can’t stand the idea of cutting its life short, such a beautiful and delicate thing. But maybe one day, I’ll get a fake hibiscus flower clip and wear it in my hair.