Monday 30 September 2013

Debate

I was once the very keenest of debaters; I could argue anything convincingly-whether I was educated on the topic or not and whether I agreed on the topic or not. I remember one particular Mace debate in secondary school where the motion suggested the voting age be move to 16. Two teams argued for and two against. I was proposing the motion and a girl from the other proposing team came to me after and wanted to chat enthusiastically about our shared passion for politics and the right of young people to influence how our country is governed. I had to explain that actually I wouldn't want a vote and that I knew less than nothing about a politics (a fact that has hardly changed despite being a well-educated student now-though I do think we deserve a right to vote and make a point of not voting on topics I haven't first educated myself about!).
The point I am blundering towards is that almost anything has points to support it and points to tear it down. War has its upsides, peace has its downsides; sadness can have benefits and happiness has some drawbacks. I find this an oddly reassuring thought because what this says to me is that there are no wrong answers. The only wrong answer is one you cannot support with at least one coherent argument. Not necessarily a fact, but an argument. I like nothing better than a good debate, because in a debate each person gets to say their piece, they are afforded one or two rebuttals of the opposition and then an objective third party decides not who is right, but who better supported their claim. If we argued like this in the real world there would be far fewer violent verbal spats because you are not trying to create an argument by beating down the other persons opinion-you merely both present your perspectives for consideration. If only we could be so civilised!

Wednesday 25 September 2013

Dear Blog

dear blog,
I am sorry for neglecting you. I am sorry for ignoring the creativity inside me that you need to exist. I am sorry for becoming absorbed in silly things, like television, or phonecalls, or doodling. 

I am sorry for letting you down when you have never let me down. I am sorry for not helping you to reach your full magnificence. I am sorry I haven't written. But I will. 

Friday 20 September 2013

I might be gone

I might be gone when you get back.
I was thinking I might leave. 
I've been tired for a while now.
So tired

So I might be gone when you get back
I'm telling you so you know
If I'm not here, don't worry
I felt it was time.
It was time.

If I am gone when you get back, 
And I feel I probably will,
Don't be concerned, because as I said
I haven't been feeling the best,
The best

If I am gone when you get back
It's not because you left, 
It's not because of the time you lost my scarf,
Or the fact you forgot the milk again
You forgot again. 
But I don't mind

I going now before you're back
I guess I just thought you should know
That there was nothing you could do to change things
I just, kind of, needed to go.

Tuesday 17 September 2013

Hypochondriac

I am a hypochondriac. A catastrophiser. A constant prophetess of my own doom and demise.
Every itch, or scratch, or ache; a sudden pain, and unexplained lump, a mole that looks fractionally bigger. My mind creates deathbed scenarios, tearful hospital scenes, shocking test results, hands held and tears squeezed out. I imagine huge obstacles to overcome during recovery; physio, hair regrowth, learning to write, recovering memory.
While my mind concerns itself with all the drama that could come with the most unlikely of scenarios- all the dangers that could be posed by a sneeze, or an itch, or a sudden sharp sting -my immune system works away and all is well.
All but the sickness where my brain cannot stop creating danger from the daily.