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In all the ways that a person can mean it, I have been waiting for better weather.
We await better weather, and this is highly uncomfortable.
We feel highly uncomfortable. Some say this is the making of us. It is the making of me each time I remember that where I am is the result of the way I feel or have felt,
but then the way I feel seems to be based on where I am or have been, which seems like a loop; a trap, a traumatic riddle, completely incomplete. Hopeful or hopeless, you feel me?
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It was Sunday morning. It had rained the day before, so everything was fed and perfect. Most of the people in the South London park were riding their bikes - there was some kind of something happening. From the left side to the right, we were flanked in obstinate green. Our surroundings were so verdant; they seemed almost electric. Because of the bike race, all the regular footpaths were cordoned off, and when we were trying to leave the park, the way out was not so obvious. We got a bit lost, but we were bathed in green, you know, swimming in it. From your rucksack, you produced a flask of bitter black coffee. It was the best thing for the moment. We found a bench, stared deep into the green.
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Nourished, we soon found our way to the finish line, where the people not on bikes were applauding the people on bikes, who were sweaty and endorphin-drunk. You and I were happy for them. We were happy for everyone. This felt appropriate.
Most of the structures we are operating in daily are are set up to force us out of enjoying each others successes. We living out a joy deficit and the age old doctrine that there can never enough good to go around. We can think of a thousand reasons why we would make better use of the things that come so easily to others, can we not?
Anyway, back to enjoying the park.
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When we got home to the flat, because of the green dose, nothing felt, you know, too difficult. We bought groceries for the week ahead. You didn’t get the string of bad thoughts. I hadn’t come unstuck. There was no anxiety for miles*
* well, apart from the dark cloud around the corner that we always kind of know is there, but on Sunday it was hardly in view. It wasn’t even - what do you call it -
imminent.
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