Serenity

After a fellowship group last weekend I felt serene for one whole hour. The shares and stories were positive, but I can’t attribute the reason towards this alone. It was just a thing. I walked home, sat there in my chair, and, despite the electromagnetic heathens breathing down my neck as usual, obsessed with every word and heartbeat from me, I felt not just a peace above all human understanding…but a serenity I’ve never experienced before. Someone had a reunion with his kids the next morning; I felt genuinely pleased about that eventuality. God was mentioned a lot. I don’t know why I felt so good about me, myself, and life with everything in general.

Maybe it’s because my neighbourhood has been terrorized by Mason blood for so long. That pesky Mason blood, and all its fearful secrecy…they think that a scream scares everyone away and clears the path for them to cause chaos. I had a spell of locating their pubs and going in to shout my head off at them.

I DECLARE ANY WOUNDED VICTIMS IN THIS BASEMENT ALIVE AND WELL!!! 

(or something like that).

 They responded by knocking on my door at half two in the morning. I shat myself a bit, once the booze had worn off, but as in most of normal play I held my own. It’s okay to be scared, but don’t rattle.

I’ve found joy in humour, that much is a given, I’m laughing at the strangest concepts lately. Calling it weirdly bizarre ain’t the half of it. I believe absurd is the correct definition. I love giggling to myself, it makes people around me panic. They try and interrupt my pleasure by approaching me and muttering any old shit. I was chortling in front of four ladies the other day. Surprisingly they left me to it. I couldn’t help myself. They habitually treat me like a maniac when I am lolling on my own. It’s almost as attention-grabbing as lighting uncontrolled fires.

The heathens clinging/clasping/grasping onto my brain energy for dear life reckon that my joy is their joy, and that they laugh along with me. Funny, but I ain’t heard anything. They just lie, unable to accept that I can laugh at something that doesn’t concern themselves. They try and make me laugh for hours and then turn nasty when I give them a lippy half-smirk, then changing their attitude and saying I shouldn’t be sharing joy with evil spawn. They want to take credit for everything.

I won’t try and describe them because I would have to use the words childish, fickle, stubborn and deceitful. Basically impossible. They pretend their own feelings and emotions, in order to influence mine. I’d call them kids, but that would be an offence to kids. But hey, that’s enough about them. Just so long as they are dealing with me, who can handle them, and not some sweet young teen from the estate, who wouldn’t stand a chance, because she’d be slitting her wrists as soon as they brandished their knives, which they customarily do.

They’re stopped giving me instructions anymore because they know I am growing into authority each and every day. I learned more about myself this year than at any other period in my life. 

Just. Go. Away.