Life is too fucking short

Life is too fucking short. 

It might sound cliched but it’s true. 

A local man died yesterday from brain cancer.  He was a life-long friend of my sister’s.  He was 30 years old.  A young man.  A young man who left behind a wife and two daughters.  It’s not supposed to happen that way.

We are supposed to live a long and healthy life and die of old age.  But, sometimes life can be cruel.  Life seems too short, no matter how many years we get to spend on the planet.

Live without regret.

Love with a full heart.

Do what makes you happy.

Life is too fucking short.

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Wasps

I feel better when the wasps in my brain die off.

Thoughts can be so noisy sometimes.  Buzz, buzz, buzz goes the worry, worry, worry about silly, irrelevant, irrational things.

I’m thankful that these spells are few and far between for me but when they do hit, they are overwhelming and frankly, a little frightening.  Perhaps I’m not unique in this.  I can, after all, only experience my own thoughts.  My mind and moods are predominantly calm.  I do feel like I’m quite level-headed generally and I’m thankful for that but then that probably makes the contrast so stark when the nest is disturbed.  I can’t explain where it comes from so I guess the only thing I can do is see it off.

So how can I exterminate the thoughts that not only buzz but sting?  What is the mental version of neutralising a sting, like vinegar is to a physical one?

Stop.

Meditate.

Quieten the mind.

Gain clarity.

Ten minutes of meditation works wonders.  Today I can analyse myself without feeling the anxiety that accompanied the wasp chorus.  I realise that:

I feel better when I’m not trying to read people’s minds.  Their thoughts are none of my business. 

I feel better when I am not trying to analyse group text messages and look for some hidden meaning, some reason why I might have offended someone or wondering whether their comment is offensive.  I didn’t and no, it isn’t or wasn’t intended to be anyway.

Paranoia ain’t good.  Another point is, not everyone thinks the same way or communicates in the same way as me.  While a comment might look offensive to me, if the same thing had been said verbally rather than in writing, it would possibly seem innocent.  Different mediums give different meanings to words. 

I feel better when I don’t worry so much about how I appear to others.  Being able to look myself in the eye is more important.  Being able to hold my head high means more.

I feel better when I don’t expect everyone to like me.  They might do but I feel better not wondering about it!  I have a husband, son, daughter, mother, father, grandparents, aunties, nieces, nephews, cousins and friends who love me.  That means more, a hell of a lot more than fake friendships in real life or reality. AND WHAT DOES IT MATTER ANYWAY? 

I feel better when I am being kind to myself.   And why not?  I have to live with myself.

I feel better after writing this.