And some of us get to sit there with notebooks.

Ladies, You Don't Have To Smile.

I've been catching trains a lot lately. I like it. My local train station has a makeshift library and you just borrow a book with no card or anything. A few weeks ago I was on the train headed to Sydney airport and a young woman was sitting behind me - really pretty, brunette. Polite. Too polite - WAY too polite. The guy across from me kept looking at her, scoping her out, trying to catch her gaze. Finally he started speaking to her. Saying hi. What's her name. Where does she live. Where was she going. Where does she work.

AND SHE WAS ANSWERING. Because she was polite, and you answer people when they ask you questions, right? Especially when you're a young woman alone on public transport and you're being basically interrogated by an older charming guy.

I grew more uncomfortable in my seat because I used to be the woman sitting behind me. I'd answer all the questions demurely, not wanting to be rude or cause trouble. The one thing a young woman gets told in public more than any other thing is to "smile." I grew up being told to smile. I smiled on demand. I knew the drill. To this day I can produce the biggest most beautiful fake forced smile in a matter of seconds ... blinding in its fabulousness. The dickhead on the train pressed this female on her whereabouts and who she was and I just wanted to stand up and punch him in the head. I could tell she was clearly uncomfortable. JUST as I'd had enough and turned my whole body around to tell her she didn't have to answer this guy's questions, she stood up and walked off.

I noticed it was a long time before the next train station. She'd gotten up and left simply to get away from this fuckwit. He starts sizing me up and I'm thinking please dude, try talking to me. Try it. But he didn't. He started talking to this other guy behind him and soon they were having a really loud conversation about the woman who'd just left, the chicks at work, and how big his dick was.

Seriously this guy started talking about the size of his penis and how every chick he met just wanted a piece of it. His new friend started laughing. I sat there like a stone. There was only the three of us on the whole carriage. I wasn't scared or intimidated just really fucking pissed off.

Because we were sitting on the quiet carriage. You're not supposed to have loud conversations or talk on your phone on the quiet carriage. I just wanted to listen to Sia through my headphones. I always get on the quiet carriage. Because it's quiet. You're not supposed to brag about the size of your dick on the quiet carriage but this guy missed the memo and it was my duty to inform him. Because I'm not a shy quiet polite timid young woman anymore. I'm older, wiser, crankier.

Perched my sunnies on top of my head and looked him straight in the eye.

"Hey dude, we're sitting on the quiet carriage. You're supposed to be quiet on the quiet carriage. Your conversation is really loud and actually it's offensive. And inappropriate."

Both guys were shocked. I wasn't scared but put my cowboyboot feet into a position where I could balance my weight on my back foot if he got up and did something unpredictable. He didn't, he was full of apologies and bluster. Then there was silence. You could hear a pin drop. I have officially entered cranky old woman territory and I do not care. Nobody cares about your big dick, shut the fuck up, stop harassing women who are too young and polite to stand up for themselves. I was so outraged I took a photo of myself outraged.

#outraged

I used to be way too polite. In my early twenties I worked as a barmaid in a succession of dubious establishments, each more shadier then the last. During my tenure as beerwench at one of Penrith's busiest drinking holes, I "made friends with" the entire clientele very quickly. They all loved me. I'd go from one to the other to the other some days and every time I'd take their order they'd ask me if my lips were naturally this red and I'd laugh and say yes. And they'd all laugh too but I wasn't in on the joke? Something felt a bit yucky? During my break I'd get Gus from the bistro to make me a burger and I'd duck upstairs with my schooner and ciggies to play Sonic the Hedgehog for an hour in the manager's bedroom. Kicking life goals right there. After my lunch break the guys would be more drunk and more outrageous. They'd stand there smoking, watching the races on TV, pissing in the trough, pissing their lives away. They'd outdo each other in repulsive witty banter. They asked me if I had a cat. They asked me how old I was when I lost my virginity. They asked me about my red lips again ... one day I realised they weren't talking about the lips on my face. I just smiled.

Ask the nearest woman next to you right now about the times they've been harassed in public. They'd have at least ten examples straight off the bat without thinking. I have hundreds. In year six at grammar school one morning getting off the train (popular harassment place) ..  this old guy looked me up and down in front of everybody and yelled out "I'LL GIVE YA FIVE BUCKS FOR A GOOD ONE." The laughter. Boys in my class would say it to me over and over, in the exact intonation of the old guy. I felt ... flattered? Seen? Embarrassed?

In my time as a female walking the earth I've been shouted at, whistled at, grabbed, fondled, violated. Over the years I've slowly learned how to deal with it and now I do not put up with any of it. And the next time I ever witness a young female get harassed like that I will say something straight away instead of holding my tongue. If I ever see my sons displaying any kind of this behaviour towards women I will grab them by the ear in front of all of their friends and teach them a thing or two about respect. I've already said to my eldest that I want him to be the kind of guy at parties who, when he sees a passed out drunk girl ... and he will ... to be the guy who calls a taxi and makes sure she gets home safe. My brother was that kind of guy. So many guys are that kind of guy. Guys are great. I love guys. I have nothing against them. Just the douchebags among us.

Teenage boys look at my tattoos and get confused because I look old enough to be their mother. (Because I am old enough to be their mother.) I tell all of my friend's daughters that they do not have to smile. They do not have to do a goddamn thing. To stand up for themselves and other people. To take no shit.

The older women get, the more invisible we are in society. Isn't that wonderful?

Cool Story, Bro.

Occasionally I scroll back my Instagram feed to search for this photo.

I'm on fire when I find it, always with the number of weeks shown since I took that snap.

One hundred and ninety weeks ago my bro came up to visit me and we happened to both be happy at the same time. A rare occurrence - look at our smiles! The caption is a reference to one of our favourite movies we watched as kids, Stripes. Hey maybe that's why I love Bill Murray so much. My god Cam had the sparkliest smile in all of Sparkland. He stayed five hours and we talked non-stop like we always did. We talked until I said "Shit I have to pick the boys up from school!" And he laughed. I was never supposed to be together enough to have children but there they are, my two shining lights.

The intense pain that always burns inside of me since Cam's suicide can vary from a hot ember to a blazing furnace. My life took a sharp and jagged turn after he left. Life is ABSURD. I talk to him a lot because I love saying his name out loud. I love it when other people are brave enough to say or write his name to me. Cam was so smart, so fucking funny ... a wit that rivalled no other. He had a huge beautiful sensitive heart. He was kind, respectful, beautiful. He was a sensitive Soul.

Once on holiday in Hawaii Cam was about four years old and caught his reflection in the mirrors in the Royal Hawaiian's fancy hotel room and was fascinated by a long line of himself. "Look." He said in wonder. "Thirty Cameron's!" 

I didn't just lose Cam. I lost all thirty of him. I loved them all equally. He was one of my best friends. I don't write about him much anymore because I can't. Some things just can't be described with just words. Sometimes I feel like I lose him again and again every day and sometimes I realise he was never "mine" to lose and sometimes I'm jealous because he left and I stayed and sometimes My Higher Self is all, "What can you learn from your brother's death, Eden? From his life? How can you turn this around? How can you make it meaningful, worthwhile?"

Because every life has worth and meaning. Surely. (They do, and stop calling me Shirley.)

We are so many people in one. There's a wealth of incarnations of ourselves we can be in this life. I'm so sad he got stuck in a broken one. I'm doing everything I possibly can to honour him and my children by living the very best incarnation of myself I can be.

Because there's thirty Eden's. There's thirty of you, too .. reading this right now. How are all of you?

I'm doing ok. Listening to Sia on repeat, writing articles for money to pay my rent and keep me out of trouble. Going to the library, going to meetings to talk about Spiritual shit that doesn't ordinarily get talked about in society by the "normal people."

When Cam was a baby his bedroom was up from mine and sometimes in the middle of the night his cries would wake me up before they woke our mum up so I would run to him, to put his dummy back in, soothe him and make sure he was ok. I didn't like him being upset or sad or troubled. Maybe if there is an afterlife he keeps running to me. Maybe it's his turn to help .. maybe he doesn't like seeing me or all the other people he loved and left upset or sad or troubled.

That'd be cool, bro. Way cool.

Street Talk: Eden.

What's your earliest memory?

Running around a tree.

Who inspires you?

Dave Grohl, Bono, Maya Angelou, Bukowski, Vonnegut, my mother, Jesus, Mary Magdalene, Russell Brand, my friend Megan's dad Geoff, a person I ate salmon risotto with last week, the train guard at Wentworth Falls station who blasts R.E.M. songs through the loudspeaker, my enemies, Jenny Lawson, Heather Spohr, Rumi, Eminem, my brother Cam, people who tell me the truth no matter how hard it is, my friend Kelly, the readers of this website, invisible members of society who nobody notices, huntsmen spiders, my own self.

How old were you when you lost your virginity?

Nineteen.

How old were you when you had your first orgasm?

Fourteen. I discovered orgasms accidentally one weekend while reading a stolen Harold Robbins book. That was a day.

How many dead fathers do you have?

Three but none of them were really a dad. Owie. 

Why do you write?

To connect with other people's Souls.

Why did you purposely run your website into the ground after it gained such notoriety and attention?

Because I wanted to.

Do you collect anything?

Souvenir spoons and cowboy boots. I have about six pairs of cowboy boots all worn according to how I want to feel, for example the red ones I bought in New York make me feel powerful. The Mexican mustard-coloured ones I bought off eBay make me tough and grounded. My brown and aqua pair I've been wearing for the majority of this year .. they're my poetry slamming and also "stay alive" boots. My black boots with white stitching I got from San Diego - I took those ones to Africa with me. They remind me I can do big things. 

Who broke your heart?

So many people. I'm getting to a point where I'm grateful for all of them. The best thing you can do after a broken heart is to open it back up again.

Do you like being 43?

No I fucking hate it, I knew I would hate it as soon as I turned it, it's been a shitty fucked up year and I can't wait to turn 44. When I turn 44, I'm going to have the biggest celebration with spoken-word artists and different bands throughout the night and invite all of the people I love and respect the most and get them to write one anonymous secret about them down and put it in a huge glass jar to be read out intermittently throughout the night. 44 is a master number. My son Max's name adds up to 44 .. I did that on purpose. He's a strong young man. 

Why do you find life so difficult?

Because life is difficult. We all instinctively know this, and we all deal with it in our different ways. Sometimes the mere existing is excruciating and I can only find real relief from a few words from the pages of a special book, or at the edge of the Edge's incredible guitar strings in that one long note opening With or Without You, or realising I had the Tree of Life in my backyard this whole time which is a metaphor like the ruby slippers. Finding healthy and non-destructive ways of dealing with life and my relationships with other people? My biggest goal right now.

What do you do?

A really drunk guy asked me that at a party once when he was trying to crack on to me and I was so pissed off I answered: "Exist. Piss. Shit. Eat. Breathe. What do you do?" He walked away. I prefer to be asked who I am.

What do you have to say to people who heap shame and stigma and blame onto people suffering from mental health issues?

I say, suck a massive dick. Yes I have accepted the label of Bipolar II. I also have huge anxiety, PTSD, compounded grief, incredibly horrific depressive episodes, cumulative trauma, agoraphobia ... and more that I can't remember right now. And when you wrap all of those things up into a big burrito tied with a red bow you can diagnose me with a huge case of AWESOME because I also have enormous spiritual depth, a beautiful and delicate heart, hardcore motherfuckerness, a Soul that no man has ever truly seen, empathy, love, a sadness almost too much to bear, and deep bitterness that I keep trying to shoo out. I'm quite fucking amazing and if you want to use my own shit against myself grab a ticket at the deli counter and sit the fuck down with the other people. It'll be a long wait. Lucky I have a whole host of other beautiful people with rich hearts and souls who got my back.

What's the first joke you ever knew and understood and laughed at?

Why did the orange stop in the middle of the road? Because it ran out of juice.

Why did you cut your own hair off in the middle of the night a few months ago?

Because I was doing a Britney, bitch. I hadn't had my hair cut since my brother died because he would have seen that hair, you know? But hair holds memories and it was time to move along and stand back up again. And again. And again. (And again, etc.)

Do you have anything against flamingoes?

No.

Should you have become a mother?

Look I'm doing my best but I fuck it up. Being a mother has all these expectations of being an all-giving, nurturing, self-sacrificing, gentle, unconditionally-loving, understanding patient generous and pure saint. No-one can do all that, not nobody not no how. But my god I love my children. I love my children. I love my children. 

Are you a feminist?

Yes however I prefer the term "humanist." After my brother's suicide I have realised the patriarchy damages us all. 

What's one of your favourite ever pieces of advice?

Bono says that often the best place to be is right in the middle of a contradiction. 

Where do you see yourself in ten years?

Hopefully alive. At peace inside my own skin. Writing writing writing, words pouring so thick out of my veins I got ink for blood and a thirst for life marrow that will never be entirely quenched. Wouldn't that be glorious?

Who is your best friend?

Megan Daley. And Mary Canning. These two women did not give up on me this year - they nearly had to. I nearly stepped over the edge. The richness of friendship has finally made its way to me after all these years and I'm so grateful and humbled I also very much like my school-mum friend Naomi C and fellow spoken-word artist Zoe Beaumont. And my sponsor. She found a funnel web spider in her kitchen yesterday and her first instinct was to karate-chop it I mean come on. 

Do you believe in soulmates?

I believe in soul people. I believe that when you align yourself with the Universe, you expand and attract all of the right situations and people at the exact moment you need to. When you're not doing the right shit in life, it just doesn't happen and you get lost. When you walk through the fire and face yourself, magic and joy appear. My brother was my first soul person. Still is ... death cannot take that away from us. I don't know that I believe in the traditional institution of marriage anymore. Not sure exactly what I believe in but it's going to be nice to find out. I want to always remain teachable.

Why don't you go on TV anymore?

Because I don't want to. Just because you can do something doesn't mean you should.

Do people hate you?

Fuck yeah. You're not living properly if you're not pissing people off.

Why are people attracted to you?

I got something. Some kind of spark or some shit .. still figuring it out. At this point in my life I'm sitting back and waiting for some people to come forth and illuminate me. I'm tired of doing all the illumination.

Will you win the Australian Poetry Slam Nationals one day?

Fuck yes. I'll keep going back and entering, year after year after year, carving my words out of stone, thinking and feeling and realising and making other people do the same. 26 letters, man. The alphabet only has 26 letters in it. So much to say and read and learn and grow from just twenty-six letters.

Were you born a writer?

Yes. Write on, right on, ride on, right through. Step into this. Keep fucking going motherfuckers stop killing yourselves you're ending your chapters too early and it's making me sad and pissing me off. 

When you go quiet on your blog does it mean you're going through a hard time and you're all fucked up?

God no. Sometimes my most treasured and special moments happen entirely off social media. That's how things should be. 

How can this be a proper Street Talk when clearly you're interviewing yourself?

Don't get saucy with me, Béarnaise.

Anything else you'd like to add?

No. I abhor adding. And subtracting. Fuck maths. I dream in colour and galaxies and worlds of words. Always with the words.

Previous Street Talks:

1. Noelene the Young
2. Megan the Mouse
3. Harpal the Australian
4. Darren the Artist
5. Jo the Interesting
6. John the Telstra Guy
7. Michael the Photographer
8. Peg the Lady
9. Jeff the Preacher Man
10. Andres the Cobbler
11. Honey the Prostitute
12. Mark the Masseur
13. You the Blog Reader
14. Jo the Podiatrist
15. Casey the Uni Student
16. Dream the Horse and Carriage Driver
17. Tamas the Hungarian Accordionist
18. The Dignified Trolley Ladies
19. Alex With The Studded Hot Pink Belt
20. Leaf The Fallen
21. Bel Of The Library
22. Jay And His Big Issue
23. Emma The Adult Shop Cashier
24. Teena, Saver Of Dogs
25. The Luna Park Face
26. Gary The Missing
27. Kristen at the Elephant Bean Cafe
28. Uncle Paul
29. Jess The Mama
30. The Two People At The Checkout
31. Alfie The Pourer
32. Breaking The Rules With Captain Starlight!
33. The Woman In Line At The Bakery A Few Weekends Ago
34. Dog The Dog
35. Julia Gillard The Person
36. Nancy The Badass
37. Bruce From The Psych Ward
38. Jeremy The Costumeless
39. The Women in the Morgue
40. The Lady Whose Name I Didn't Quite Catch.

You Took It All, But I'm Still Breathing.

This is my anthem of 2015. God it's been a year .. and it's still going.

Do you have an anthem, to blast in your car over and over so loud your ears hurt so you turn the volume up more? Have you ever had your heart cracked open on jagged rocks in a sea so black and stormy you thought the crashing waves would never, ever stop? Ever been ignored and betrayed to the point of almost losing all faith in human nature? Ever had all of your sins hung out on the washing line for the entire world to see but you can't complain because you're the one who hung them out to begin with?

I read recently that the human heart is the only thing whose worth increases the more it is broken. That's a stupid fucked up quote, why does life have to be so difficult for some of us and not for others, and who wants to buy my heart it's worth a billion dollars?

Ever walked outside at night to take the garbage out and looked up at the night sky to realise there is so much more to this world than you will ever know and you wish you could find out but you don't know how and if we're all so connected why are so many of us so lonely in crowded rooms?

Ever give a stranger money just because they asked for it and you didn't even care what they used the money for you just wanted to give anyway? Ever laid in a fetal position on one side of a king side bed breathless from crying and thinking you could never, ever get up again and convinced yourself that nobody in the whole world could ever feel the intense pain you were feeling right at that moment ... that your pain is unique, that there must be something wrong with you, that you may actually die from the pain?

Ever sent somebody you love so deeply a text because you were so worried about them and they never read your text because they were already in the morgue and their phone would have beeped at the police station?

Ever had a newborn baby placed into your arms and had a full Spiritual transformation in 0.03 of a second and promised to yourself you would love this baby forever and ever and never ever let this baby down and always be there for this baby then suddenly this baby is a teenager and you wonder if they will ever know how much you truly love them?

Ever laughed so hard you wet your pants, just a little bit? Because sometimes people are SO FUNNY and generous and warm and loving and in that moment you laugh so much a little bit of wee escapes as a testament to the pure joy of being in the moment with other people and feeling thoroughly free?

Ever hated someone so much you wanted to kill their dog and burn their house down? Ever roller skated down a hill over and over again with red and white boots lace-up roller-skates and never not once wore a helmet and fell over so many times and always nearly got hit by cars but you loved it because it was so dangerous?

Ever really lived? Ever really lost? Ever moved on? Ever stayed stagnant and wasted your entire existence? Ever got so pissed off at your neighbours green green grass that you spray-painted yours bright pink and threw glitter all over it just for good measure because there are no real rules in life and you can do whatever the hell you want?

Ever been so shy and beat down you could hardly talk but then grew up and stood up and carried more power in your voice and you just wonder shit am I even *allowed* to have this much power in my voice?

Ever wanted to die? Ever looked at freight trains going the opposite way and cried for no reason? Ever read a little boy a book about trying, trying, trying again? Ever looked up at your Angels and said "You better protect him. You owe me." And the Angels let you down so you're all fuck you Angels and the wings you rode in on.

Ever thought nobody in the world could think the things you do, feel the things you do, want the things you want? Did you ever realise we are more alike and wounded and hurt and beautiful than we could ever admit to each other? Ever know what it's like to be a warrior?

This is my anthem of 2015. God, it's been a year. It's still going.

I was born in a thunderstorm 
I grew up overnight 
I played alone .. I'm playing on my own 
I survived 

Hey I wanted everything I never had 
Like the love that comes with light 
I wore envy and I hated that 
But I survived 

I had a one-way ticket to a place where all the demons go 
Where the wind don't change 
And nothing in the ground can ever grow 
No hope, just lies 
And you're taught to cry in your pillow 
But I'll survive 

I'm still breathing
I'm still breathing
I'm still breathing
I'm still breathing

I'm alive
I'm alive
I'm alive
I'm alive

I found solace in the strangest place 
Way in the back of my mind I saw my life in a stranger's face 
And it was mine 

I had a one-way ticket to a place where all the demons go 
Where the wind don't change 
And nothing in the ground can ever grow 
No hope, just lies 
And you're taught to cry in your pillow 
But I survived 

I'm still breathing
I'm still breathing
I'm still breathing
I'm still breathing

You took it all, but I'm still breathing  
You took it all, but I'm still breathing
You took it all, but I'm still breathing
You took it all, but I'm still breathing

I had made every single mistake 
That you could ever possibly make 
I took and I took and I took what you gave 
But you never noticed that I was in pain 
I knew what I wanted; I went in and got it 

Did all the things that you said that I wouldn't 
I told you that I would never be forgotten 
I know that's part of you 
And I'm still breathing 
I'm still breathing 
I'm still breathing 
I'm still breathing 
I'm alive 

(You took it out, but I'm still breathing) 
(You took it out, but I'm still breathing) 
I'm alive (You took it out, but I'm still breathing) 
(You took it out, but I'm still breathing) 
I'm alive (You took it out, but I'm still breathing) 
(You took it out, but I'm still breathing) 

I'm alive 
I'm alive 
I'm alive
I'm alive

There's Just One Equator.

Three years ago I travelled to Niger in West Africa for World Vision to see and report on the severe food crisis that was happening over there at the time. Before I left a few people said, "Well, isn't there always a food crisis somewhere in Africa?" Yes, there is. A lot of memories stand out in my mind. The little boy wearing a yellow collared shirt being held by his grandmother in the middle of a refugee camp. Most of the children wore torn clothes. Some wore no clothes at all.

This little boy had badly burnt his hand in a fire a week before and had no treatment for it. There was nothing I could do for him in that moment. But I remember his pained face .. and when I spoke to some World Vision staff they said they'd keep an eye on him and tend to his burn. I hope they did.

All of the children were SO HAPPY to see us, running around, wanting photos and smiling. I had to smile back even though I felt ... man I can't even explain how I felt. Not like smiling, that's for sure. I stayed a week in Niger and saw so much every single day travelling for hours on roads so dusty I thought I had a lung infection but it was just dust. I wrote a post about Zenouba and I often think about her. Hopefully she's out there thriving, an eight year old by now.

The next trip for World Vision was to India, visiting the work WV was doing with the entire communities of people living in urban slum piles. On top of them, actually. I'll never forget walking on ground so spongey. The people living there not used to people looking them in the eyes.

After sponsoring a boy in Ethiopia with World Vision for ten years, I met my my new sponsored child in India called Rashni. She's three days older than my son Rocco - so she'd be seven now. She was terrified of me at first because of my glasses so I had to take them off. And show her how to take a selfie, surrounded by her whole beautiful family.

We travelled out to Raipur to look at some organic farming practices that World Vision were facilitating to help local farmers with their crops .. to make the villagers stay, to not travel into Delhi and end up living on slum piles. I pieced together how all the work the WV staff do is all intrinsically linked.

This woman - she and I kind of loved each other straight away. We compared tattoos and she was bossy and funny and we could not understand a word of what we were saying to each other but it didn't matter.

They sang and danced and we learnt how the WV team over there were working for years on projects that eventually would be given over to the communities to run themselves. Women's Savings Projects, Tree Sapling Projects, Fishing Projects, Menstruation Cloth Projects. Such varied and life-saving stuff. I was privileged to see them all with my own eyes and understand how World Vision operates, see exactly where the money goes.

Last year in November I travelled to Uganda, holding all the fresh grief from my brothers death in my heart. I desperately wanted to go, take the focus off myself, do something to make a difference. (Most people I know want to make a difference.)

Life-saving outdoor immunisation clinics, schools that cater for special needs students, huge HIV awareness and testing tents set up in the poorest places of town. Education is key. Vital. It was hard to write about all these places because do I put myself in the stories as a blogger or do I write objectively using facts and figures? How can I say what needed to be said in a way that would have the most impact, that would show exactly how vital the work World Vision does is desperately needed and appreciated by people all over the world?

The best way was telling stories of people I'd meet, every day. Like Ryan's mum, sitting in the HIV testing tent. 13 years old, dreams of owning her own sewing machine to make clothes to sell.

Women who have escaped slavery and sexual servitude being trained in World Vision programs to become hairdressers.

Everyday beautiful people on the street who just wanted to say hello, how are you?

I started working with World Vision a few weeks after I turned 40. I'm 43 now. A woman holds a lot of power in her forties .. yet I'm still so ignorant about facts and countries and geography. Often I'd ask the STUPIDEST questions because I failed everything at school except writing.

I actually asked a group of WV staff sitting at a table in Uganda: "So, how may equators are there?" The looks on their faces. Then one of them slowly said .. Eden, you're not joking, are you?

I wasn't. Man we all laughed so, so hard. So ignorant.

There's a whole world out there, begging to be changed. Sometimes our powerlessness makes us frozen .. so much bad news. Can we do anything? Can we change it?

Hell yes we can change it. We can do anything we set our minds to. (Most things - flying to the moon would be fun but not everyone can be an astronaut.)

We can't change the whole world in one day. But we can change somebody's day .. and to that one person, it means the whole world.

One starfish at a time.

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Cut Yourself Out Of Stone.

"I believe in reinvention. To be yourself. To cut yourself out of stone." - Henry Rollins

So it's a Saturday, nearly midday. I've thrown all the windows open, invited in the spring air. There's a fly buzzing around me, continually bashing itself against the window, trying to get out. Keep trying, annoying fly. You'll either get out or you won't.

It's up to you.

I should be doing my washing.
I should be vacuuming.
I should be opening my mail.
I should be busy.
I should be doing all the things I should be doing ..
but I'm not.

I'm laying in my bed, thinking about the world and how far I've come and how every single thing that's ever happened in my life has led me to this exact moment. I feel whole and free, strong.

And maybe - just maybe
I wouldn't change a goddamn thing.