Complaining.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I’ve become sensible, rueful and nostalgic all at the same time.

This is a backward step, only we can’t go backwards, can we? Time doesn’t allow it. It drives us ever onwards to the grave without so much as a pause. It doesn’t allow us to stay the age we want to be, and it doesn’t allow us to revisit old scenes except in our imagination. Time is the ultimate tyrant, the ultimate abuser, the ultimate victimiser. Being victimised isn’t nice, but victims is what we all are and I can’t escape the notion that there’s something wrong here. Maybe I’m just becoming a rebel.

I don’t think we’ve gone more than 24 hours without rain in the last two weeks. I’m becoming irritated by the sogginess of everything.

And a young woman I assumed to be from America read one of my YouTube comments recently and thought I was a fellow My Little Pony fan. I haven't a clue where she got the idea from, but the ensuing conversation was fun. I wrote lots of my best purple prose and she replied with such things as 'o.o' and 'aw thnx.'