Time.

I've been running away, hiding from the truth, living in another reality only to be dragged back to this one. I did't even realise it's been 10 days since I last posted, I figured it would've just been about a week. Clearly not. Time has been rushing past so quickly, this exact time last month I would've been laying on a deck chair, soaking in way too much sun. Then soon I would be getting ready for dinner, and being utterly content.

The chatter of the locals and tourists alike contrasted beautifully with the conversations of the wind and waves. On one side of the hip-high wall you would have laughing, language and liveliness of the village. On the other side, the wall wouldn't be hip-high at all but easily 6 foot high - the sand would move effortlessly at any touch, the various colours melted together to create what looked like a starry night on the ground (due to the black sand) which melted into ever moving, musical waves. Standing there, letting the waves wash over my feet, I was calm. I was calm and collected. I didn't have any indecision. I knew what I wanted to do, and I done it. I didn't think "oh should I go back yet, or should I just stay here for a while longer". I stayed until it was time to go back. That time changed of course, but I knew what time. It felt nice. Good. Time didn't rush past, it didn't threaten the people and it didn't threaten me.

With the low hum of the constant moving of traffic here in England, it makes the waves seem even more distant. The idea that if you had a boat (and of course the proper sailing equipment and knowledge) that you could go anywhere, that instead of being deterred by the sea, you are the sea. The same could be said about cars, but cars eat money and excrete harmful gasses. Instead of feeling the grains of the black, sparkling sand in between my toes, I feel hard, cold concerete beneath my feet. I would be lying if I didn't say that time didn't scare me, because it does. Time, and consequently age and death, scared the living daylights out of me. It's like time moves as quickly and as slowly as traffic. Sometimes it'll go ridiculously quickly, others it will move at strolling pace. But the two get mushed together so much that I feel like I'm not even in it anymore. That I'm just a bystander. Watching as the traffic goes by. And I can't help it. I can't move into the road. I'm just walking along side everyone else, and anytime that I do go into the road I'm pushed right outside again. Exiled.

I didn't even know what this blog post was going to be at first. I thought it might've been about my indecisiveness, and it started out that way. I had a doctors appointment the day after I returned from Tenerife but I didn't go to it. I didn't even say I wasn't going to it. I got up to go to it. I got ready. I was about leave the door, but I just couldn't. I didn't know what to say because I don't what I'm feeling. 10 days ago I said I was going to kick my arse into gear and I haven't. I haven't gotten any more fitter, and I haven't gotten any more happier. (Saying this, I actually just called the doctors and scheduled in the only available appointment for 8th of September @ 9:40 - today is a good day). I know I'm going to continue writing this blog, I know I'm going to continue to listen to my saviour that is music, I know I'm feeling rather indecisive about almost everything but that's about all I know. The fact that I know that I don't know how I'm feeling is a little ironic, wouldn't you agree?