Stone Padded Green

Its beauty lies within the indecisiveness of its elements. I can’t decide if life is trying to reach out to it or if it is trying to desert it, leaving it in the middle with no closure. I was left once in the middle with no closure; left to dig out my way, my path, out of it all. These brown, dry branches hanging down, reaching to the stone building, seem to grow little leaflets. The building has this mystical mischief sense of grandness and dismay; a part of a grandeur that was taken away from it, when it was taken down from the fortress to which it was assigned to be part of. The maybe old, high-tower-chamber surrounded by these thick trees, a forest maybe, tickles my sense of danger, yet I feel tranquil.

It’s the green that’s crawling up these ancient stones like venomous vines, still padding the harsh edges of the paving rocks in the entrance of the circular edifice with softness; inviting me in, yet keeping me out. The stone fence surrounding the trees is keeping land and water intact; water to water and ground to ground, like ashes to ashes and dust to dust. It’s the deadly liveliness in this scene that bewilders me. The slight turbulence in this greenish water surrounding the only thing that stands up right seems so still, adding beauty to the curios composition.

It sounds like I’m describing me more than describing the scene; projecting my tired and restless soul on a deserted stone-cold tower chamber, cut off magnificence to swim down the static stream of life and desolation, seeking to reach a land that it can call home.

A stone of green padding at its feet

A grandeur stolen, yet clung to fiercely

A sense of impossibility

A soulless projection on a lively death

A contrast of black and white

Dark and light

Water encircling sharp edged rocks

Standing up straight between the twisted branches

Of brown decay

As little green life

Trying to escape them

It’s a gate, a hollow shape in the center

As dark as night

Fighting the mist pushing it down to the ground

As dark as night

Under the burning, rising sun

Dear February

Last year I wrote a letter to you, in which I expressed my need in sustaining my love relationship. It was the only time in which I really felt secured. It was the one love I really thought to be mine; the one love I really thought would last for eternity. I was happy, maybe even a little bit more than happy. On the 25^th of March, however, I discovered that it was all an illusion that my mind deceived me into believing. It was fake; the promises were fake, the love was fake, and the attitude was fake. Maybe it was my fault at a point and maybe I miss-chose the person with whom I am going to spend my life with, or was to be exact. Now with him gone, I do not know if it is a good or a bad thing for me. I cannot feel the flickers anymore. I do not get any butterflies anymore. I am unable to breathe the way I used to. This smile that was once drawn festively on my face, when I used to see his name on the phone, is all gone. This feeling that I used to get is not there with any other person.

I had a new love after my breakup with him. It was no way near love. I was null. I was way crushed to feel anything. I couldn’t believe a word I said. It is all about me now; a repetitive, dismal “I” that is very bewilderingly bewildering. I saw him everywhere I went. I dreamed of him sabotaging every kind of happiness I might ever have with this new person. I was chocking in this new relationship until it was over. For the first time in my life I was happy that a relation was over. I was ecstatic. It was like I hoped for it to end but I was too scared to end it because maybe it would have been the best thing that would ever happen to me after this diverged train of my emotions hit a concrete wall. I was suffocating and everything seemed impossible.

I am sorry; I know that I kept on talking and speaking about my mess. I know that I got so self-indulged like I did last year. Last year it was a similar case but now I am way done. This time was a wrecker. I do not want to feel any more wrecked or jeopardized. I do not want to feel naked like that. I want to feel safe again with a person, my person.

I am writing this year to save the habit of writing a letter to you every year. I do not want to feel alone and since you are “The Month of Love” I’m writing to you as a pen friend. You became my pen friend three years ago, when all of my turmoils started, and my heart started bouncing on a rod.

This year, my dearest February, I have a request. I am requesting an easy, comfortable mind, a loved lovable heart, and relaxation. I need those more than anything else. I need a new love that would mend all of my wounds and would help me stretch my broken wings and teach me not to be afraid of flying anymore. I need you to support me and to love me and not to leave me alone.

I know I made this message too long this time but this is only a portion of my heart that I poured here on paper. I wish if I was able to elaborate more on how I really feel but I am so tired to even think about what I am feeling. It consumed me too much that I am not aware of the person that I have become. Please feel free to write back to me and share whatever your heart tells you. I hope to hear from you soon.

Yours sincerely,

Rana

Sleep The Day Away

Sleep and let it all go away

Sleep in the sorrows, in the guilt, and the dismay

Let it all be washed out

Let the pain be vanquished

By the tranquillity of your night

As you sleep your day away

But before you go to sleep

Remember to wipe the slate

As there will always be a new day

Waiting for a place in your memory;

A new love, a new life

A new February that will bring you affection!

Be happy for the small portions of peace you have

Because bigger portions are coming ahead

If you were only strong enough to wipe the slate clean

Sleep the day away

Let it all walk down the hill

Then leave it down and ascend

To your rightful place; the summit

Drown you pains and your tears

In the dreams of a better tomorrow

Because a better tomorrow is coming

Only if you have the guts to let it

Take over you

All Kinds of Love

And it took me long enough to realize that not all kinds of love can be sensed at its first glimpse. There are just kinds of love that you have to work your ass off to attain, and actually when you do, you realize that it’s been all worth the shit you toke for it! You have to bleed for it, breathe it and consume it as you let it consume you. Dissolve in it and let it devour you up, in a good way. All of the loves you've been through, the freaking, crazy butterflies that you've prayed to have and you wished you’d never lose are just a myth. There are butterflies, but not that idealized! There are butterflies and Goosebumps and pain; a whole shit of pain that breaks you enjoyably! There is a kind of surrender, a surrender of a winner, a surrender to the waves that take over you. There is a kind of surrender that you delve in; a moment of anxiety and madness that can only be described by happiness within its toughness and torture. Celebrate the break-ends and the loose ties that your complex personality and your complicated relationships has lead you to. Celebrate every break and break through! Celebrate the failures and “the loves” you lost because they are what made you who you are. Acknowledge the goodness of every bad decision you ever made, every wrong thing you knew you were doing and did anyways, every road you took that led you to the wrong path and made you lose your goal, as you thought was the case. Just breathe and believe that everything was meant to happen the way it did. Connect the dots to draw the path of the greater plan, the greater good that you were being prepared for all the past time, without noticing. Appreciate the love you have in your life now and count every moment and feel blessed to have it in your life. Be happy and be in love; with your lover, and most importantly, with yourself. Accept what is and just breathe!

31st-1st Hallucinations

Two years ago, when I used to think of myself, I never saw myself the person I am now. I don't know if I'm a better or a worse person, or if the person I wanted to be is the person I am now, or if the person I wanted to be is the person I should be.

Today, I look at the person I am now and I see shattered, broken, confused pieces, trying to get together but so disfigured that they do not know if they can fit together anymore. Their edges have worn off that they do not match each other!

I can't see a person two years from now, I don't know if I could, what should I see!

All I know now is that there is a track, drawn or being drawn, it doesn't matter. There is just a track and a plan that each is following yet doesn't recognized, and doesn't know where it leads!

عن هيبتا

كتابة: رنا خالد

تحرير: محمد هشام

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إنها تلك اللحظات المأساوية التي تُصاحب كل طية ورقة في كتاب مؤلم بلذة ساحقة. ذلك الشعور المرير بكل إحساس ينبعث من كل كلمة مطبوعة علي ذلك الورق الأصفر الرقيق رخيص الثمن. تلك الحروف و الوقفات و علامات الترقيم التي تعتصر قلبك في كل مرة تنتهي فيها من قراءة سطر قصير جدا في كلماته ، سهل جدا في معانيه و مشاعره و لكنه طويل جدا في مُخيلتك. إنها تلك اللحظات التي تري فيها نفسك مكتوبا علي سطور أوراق كتاب يتحدث عن علاقات حب قد فشلت فقط لتعطي فرصة للعلاقة القادمة، الدائمة، في البداية. تلك النهايات التي تري نفسك فيها كل مرة و تبكي علي مدي كرهك لنفسك و عشقك لذاتك في نفس الوقت. كرهك لوجودك لأنه ليس بجديد ، عادي جدا ، تتنبأ به الكُتب و مُخيلات الكُتاب الصغار، الموهوبين. لكنك مع ذلك عاشق لذاتك لأنك قد وجدت أنك طبيعي، تحب بجنون مئات المرات و أنك لست بفاقد للحس أو بخائن لمشاعرك السابقة تجاه شخص ما. تلك لحظات "السقوط الحُرة" التي "تتأملها" في عشق مجنون لكيانك المفقود في قيود العمل و قيود وجودك المادي الحقير في جسد يُشعرك بالأسر و ذلة القوانين و الخضوع. إنها تلك المشاعر التي تغمرك في بأسها و شدتها و جنونها، فتقهرك تحت أمواجها الشاهقة الإرتفاع و سريعة الإرتطام بجسدك الهزيل، فتحطمه بلذة و سعادة بالغة في حين أن تستقبل أنت ذلك الإرتطام بصدر رحب لأنك تعلم أن ذلك الإرتطام هو المؤشر الوحيد علي حياتك. ذلك الهبوط المُفاجئ، ذلك السقوط المُؤلم، اللذيذ، هو ما ياُهبك لإستقبال الحياة كما يجب أن تكون؛ جميلة، مجنونة، مُجزءة و غير متوقعة. إنها الحياة التي تغمرك بعد قراءة كتاب كنت تظن في بدايته أنك ستمل منه سريعا و تضعه جانبا مثلما فعلت مع غيره من الكُتب. إنه "هيبتا"، سبع مراحل، سبعة أحاسيس، سبع أشخاص في أربع حكايات تعود لشخص واحد، كان مُمزقا فقط ليكتمل مرة أُخري عن طريق موته كي يحيا.

Matrix

Does it really matter if you’re half dead or half alive when you’re lying down the streets, with frost bitten fingers, with no food, no shelter, in a rainy day that has gone so bad?

Does it really matter if you’re half dead or half alive when you don’t know who you are, what you are, or where you should be, in a grey day with no sun shining, after a rainbow stream that has gone so dim that now it can’t be seen?

Does it really matter if you’re half dead or half alive when your heart fails to beat, your lungs fail to breathe, your body fails to slide down the road so steep, just to feel alive under the rays of a rare January sun?

Does it really make that big of a difference when you realize that you’ve been beaten to death, thrown out of a speeding car, down a hill that is paved with rocks at its bottom, with no aid to be provided and no help to be sought?

Does it really matter if you know if the cup is half full or half empty, when you’re half way dead thirsty, and the cup is just out of reach?

Does it really matter to know if you’re half dead or half alive when you’re scrolling down the news feed of a social media network, of no remarkable significance, through a tiny screen of an internet page, and posts of children getting butchered, limbs getting obliterated, houses getting bombed off; some people existing in some place, far far away, being massacred by the money you pay to your government in the form of taxes that you cut out of your salary and you deeply need, come along, yet you act towards the posts, the pictures, the news, and the cartoons, showing the irony of the matter, as if they are not even there. You just scroll down, push a button, come along another post that makes you laugh hysterically and you leave your post, your laptop and the news and pictures, which are crying at your idiocy, their insignificance and disregard!

Does it really matter when you realize and believe that your heart is dead, your emotions are dead, your humanity is dead, what makes you you is all dead and you’re left with fragments of pain and misery, disguised in the form of money and dreams that you beat your fucking ass off to achieve and you suddenly awaken from your delusions to find yourself sleeping under 6 inches of mud, covered in concrete and granite, left alone with no regards to your cries for help, to rot and be food for the parasites that celebrate their new food factory, gifted to them?

Nothing really matters when you’re entrapped in a body that has no function but to imprison you, yet deceives you in the illusion of freedom that it creates, and makes you believe that it really does exist, then makes you fight for it till you die and realize that it was never there, and being free is the ultimate prison that you think you’ve broken out from the more you get lost in its maze.

Routine

Another bell ringing

Another day ending

Another day waiting

For the beginning

Another story not told

Another pain foretold

Another evening to be spent

Waiting for the beginning

I go home again

My mom serves me dinner

I sit, I eat, I say thanks, then I leave to my room

With my head bent to my chest

My mom asks, "How was dinner?"

I reply, "Delicious, thanks"

My mom says, "Are you ok?"

And I reply, "Yes"

I go to my room, 

Get my books all opened

I sit and I bend my head to my chest

I'm singing the melancholic melody of derision hopes

"Another day ending,

Waiting for the beginning

Khawater

I can’t imagine myself with a man. There is no one who is good enough. I have loved so many men, but I’ve never been in love but once and it’s broken me.  At the moment, I’m not broken, but I am recovering. I don’t know what I’m recovering from. Maybe my hallucination?! Maybe my hectic imagination? I think that’s the problem, my imagination!

Having so many expectations, very high ones, only lead to wreckage! I don’t know If I’m wrecked or if I’m only cracked and I can heal, or if I’m totally damaged beyond repair. I don’t know!

My sister today told me “how come he loved you, what made him interested in you?” she was joking, she didn’t mean anything. Her joke cut so deep into me that I’m crying from the inside for two hours now. I don’t mean to be rude, neither do I mean being so harsh with others. I’m only scared! Under every hard shell, there is a very tender flesh that is being protected. Inside of every shell, a pearl that is entrapped by its fright! Turtles and shrimps are proof of that! I’m not comparing myself to them, but I’m only trying to make the image closer to what I am, how I am!

I don’t want to be the harsh and dull girl. I'm also unable to be the girly girl. It’s just not me! I’m not that kind of a girl. I’m the one who builds a fortress around herself and fire fucking hell fire on whoever and whatever tries to breach the walls. That’s what I am, how I am!

Chain (A Short Story)

It is this stone hand that squeezes your heart and strangles your veins, blocking your vessels and chocking your airway; suffocating you. It is this tremble and this shake that prevents your heart from beating, as if you’ve been electrocuted. You’re breathing heavily, if you’re breathing at all, and your eyes are watery as you lose control over yourself; over your body and soul! You’re losing sense of time and getting lost in existence as everything is put on fast forward, they are going very fast that you think they’re being played in slow motion. You’re entrapped in an illusion, which is created by your hallucinating mind, which is providing your body with an excessive amount of adrenaline, making your state of hibernation a state of euphoria! You’re transcending, yet bounded to the ground. You’re dying slowly and being skinned with no anaesthesia, yet you’re numbed, cast out of sensation! You’re crying, screaming with pain; soundlessly! You’re broken, torn apart, shattered, combusting, and bursting; all of them yet nothing of them at all! You’re chained, but you can’t see that you are. The chains are being stretched, pulling you apart, like a stiff log of wood that kept burning for months by a fire generated from its interiors that it is now standing as a mountain of burnt out coal. It refuses to break, although it is already a pile of ashes. You’re so strong yet so fragile!

Fractions

DISCLAIMER: The quotes inserted are written by my friend Rou'a Nafea. This piece is dedicated to her and to all of those who has lost loved ones.

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"الالم و الجرح و الوجع و الحنين و الشوق و حاجات تانيه كتير فوق بعض بتبان و تجرح في القلب لما الناس تنام و تفشل محاولات الصبر!"

The pain, the nostalgia, the yearning, and so many other things, hurt in the heart and manifest when people go to sleep. That's when all trials to be patient seem to fail!

Every night is a fight now; it is a war. I am afraid to go to sleep that I’d die out of desperation. Every breath I take, every move I make is just another blow from my gun towards oblivion; towards me. The thing is; this war, my war, can never end until I die. You cannot survive without your mind and you cannot keep fighting it unless you lose; the mind never loses. I know what my dreams will be. I am scared of them. I’m fighting in the morning the monsters I never kill at night. I may wound them, may overcome them by interrupting my dreams by sudden shakes and wide open eyes. But still I sleep again, and I dream again, and I’m in this war again; a war I’m dragged into. 

It’s just a blast of memories that I try to repress all day long. What I kill in the morning is what is killing me at night. Every toss in my bed is a reminder of what I’m coming up against after perhaps, if I’m too hopeful, a couple of seconds! Every blink is an eternity of misery and every breath is a mile towards either desolation or salvation. 

Most nights I try to lay awake, so as to recover from those hellhounds; ripping me. It is either I’m too strong that I get pass them or they are too persistent that they bind me to their underworld. It is not their fault; I created them. I created those memories that got torn apart from me so suddenly that now I’m just too lost without them. Every day in my life is a reminder of what I lost forever. There is no going back, there is no way out of it, and there is nothing but this fight that I’m dragged in. I miss everything about him, about her, about everyone I lost along the way. I’m now even scared of another loss that I try to either enjoy every part of the second and make new memories that perhaps would wipe out the old ones, or I just disconnect myself from everything else to avoid getting attached to something so much that I lose another part of me if I ever lose them, like I lost their counterparts. It’s a never ending cycle, a genocide in which I’m the attacker and I’m the attacked.

At some moments I really do miss each and every little thing I used to do with him. I miss those things so much that I even miss those things which used to make me disgusted. At other times, when I go through the photos, yearning for those old, sweet times, I feel like "what the hell was I thinking when I first loved him?" I feel like I miss even the way he used to run his fingers through his soft, brown hair. I miss the way he laughed and the way he got angry at me for overthinking about things that he told me before. I remember every photo we took, every second we spent together and it’s just too hard letting it all go so easily. It’s just too hard to forget. I’m too indulged in our memories that I can’t remember to forget him!

The same goes with her! I miss how she used to tuck me in bed and sometimes cuddle me until I fall asleep. She used to stand up for me; she loved me and showed it every time she took me in between her arms. I remember her smile, her illness, her laugh, and her yelling at me when she wanted me to get something done and I find it too nagging that I yell back at her. I even miss when I used to yell back at her! I miss her smell, even when she smelled all like medicine, her hand sliding down my hair when she used to brush it, when I was a little girl, and the conspiracies that I used to make with my dad just to get her a little bit mad at us to have something to laugh at later in the evening. I miss it all too much that now it’s gone; I miss the bad memories before the good ones. 

This is what happens when you have so much going on in your life and then suddenly you just have it all taken away from you. I’m not grateful to those memories, neither am I ungrateful. I can’t imagine that I would have come that far without them in my life. Similarly, I can’t imagine that I would go any further with them in it. I can’t let go and I can’t keep on holding on to the emptiness they left in me, after they are all gone. No one will ever fill in the gap that these people used to fill in my life, yet now they are not here, I have to find someone else with whom I can continue living. 

"Death is an integral part of life. It enhances it, so appreciate its significance. It is a slap; a warning. It says “Life is too short; it ends so suddenly, grab at it, work on it, and try your best every day.” Give people their due NOW! If you're mad, tell them and fix it...If you love them, tell them...people should realize their importance in your life! SPEAK UP! You never know what may happen next, so tell people how you feel about them; speak from the heart, take chances, trust more often and love more deeply."

This war can only end when I realize the necessity of living with and without those memories I’m carrying around all the time. My mind has to function for and against these fractures in the same time. If I lose them, I’m lost, and if I keep my life only for them, I’m also lost. The only thing I can do now is to appreciate them, then move forward. Any other option will just be a negligence spell that will backfire! Appreciate death, understand it and live with it!

Photo Day (Stream of Thought 9)

Talking about connection, photos bring people together; they freeze the moment. It is like you cut out a memory and you freeze it in time. You save it with its smiles and happiness and each time you go back to see it you remember the smiles, the conversations, the memories, the teasing and everything else. Even if you were crying in these photos, you will remember why. You will remember how happy or how sad you were and your emotions will be regenerated. It’s this immediate connection that happens between you and these photos, remembering how you felt back then and how it was deadly, freaking awesome taking these photos and enjoying them. It’s re-living the incidents over and over again just by keeping a memory saved on our Laptop or in your photo album. Photos are a manner of communication.

Yesterday, I was having my photo day with one of the most marvelous people I have ever met. We laughed, we cheered, we enjoyed. We hit each other, we ran after each other, we sprayed each other and we were triumphing and enjoying every second. We had group photos, individual photos, crazy photos, photos with poses and kisses. There were the funny captures and the snap shots. There was every kind of craziness ever imagined.

I saw my friends, how happy and sad they were. I saw how we were laughing with teary eyes when we were writing to each other on the t-shirts. I saw the memories being documented with every snap shot, with every click on the camera button, with every smile and cheer and cry. I was in this, and no matter what I’d say, I’d never get out the feeling correctly. There was a click between us. There was love in the air.

I also saw the representatives being so tired and so energy drained yet enjoying our smiles. They saw in our eyes the happiness and we saw in theirs the sweetness of the feeling to have achieved something, to have been the reason of happiness for more than a hundred person. These people took from their studying time, their energy, their rest time and their leisure time to help execute the most perfect photo day and the most organized one I’ve ever seen in four years.

Sana, Nehal, Reham, Kareem, Merihan, Yara, Mo’atasem, Mariam, Hoda Menna and Eman, thanks to all of you. And a special thanks goes to Mahmoud for an amazing, creative, very catchy t-shirt design. Thanks to have drawn a smile on our faces. Thanks to have given us the chance to remember each and every corner in this Department and in this University with joy and laughter and happiness along with the nervous break downs and cries. Thanks to have shared each moment and thanks to have given us the opportunity to share back.

My Department, My Professors, My Friends, I have so much gratitude inside that I can’t speak of and I have that happiness that you gave me. Thanks for making me the one I am now.

And to my circle of friends…شكرا انكم استحملتوا جناني كل ده و تقبلتوني زي ما انا

شكرا لكم كلكم

 April 27th 2013
A day to Remember <3

Connecting (Stream of Thoughts 8)

Connection is what makes us humans. From my point of view, it’s a human trait that we cannot give up on. I can’t imagine not communicating with others. I make whatever possible to communicate; I talk, I jump, I dance, I hit my buddies and we click. I share my insanity with them and they share theirs with me. Sharing makes us humans; it makes the others know you and you know them. It’s a whole different life, a new world to excavate; living in the smile of each other.

For the first time in three years, I communicate with a very dear friend to my heart. For the first time he talks with me, he opens up to me and we share. He already knows me, I mean we’ve been friends for three years, and I know him, or at least I thought I did until today. When we talked today I felt that for the first time we started sharing something. By sharing I don’t mean we have common things that we share, no. I mean by sharing here that we both opened up to each other to let each of us read the other’s mind. For the first time in three years I finally feel a connection between us. There is hope to save our friendship after I thought that he will never be sharing with me and he is shutting me out. He is not the talkative type, I know that. I just refuse to accept that when you have so many things to say you choose to stay silent. He never talks with anyone. That’s why I felt happiness and an overwhelming feeling of ecstasy when we both talked together.

We sat together for like an hour, in which we talked like never before. We talked like real friends. It’s not anymore the kind of friendship of him teasing me and I accept the challenge and I run after him and swear that’ll be hitting him and blah, blah, blah, No! It was a real humanistic connection on a deeper level of emotions. There was love, there was affection, and there was compassion. For me, this was the first time to connect with him in that manner. We connected as humans do. I wasn’t insane, he wasn’t teasing. We were like how people should be when talking; we were happy.

My friend, my brother, you’re one of those people who I would never want to lose. Today for the first time I felt like we are connected only because you opened up to me. We only talked and that for me meant the world. I loved it, you can’t imagine how much I did. Please don’t stay silent for so long, please connect, not only with me but with the world. There is a whole big world out there full of life and full of compassion and emotions. Open up to others and let others open up to you, believe me, you’ll be much happier and life will be easier.

Thank you to have given me such an opportunity to know you better. I love you brother.

Dream Park (Stream of Thoughts 1>>>7) 06/04/2013

10:04 AM

I've pleaded to be here, now that I'm here I want to go back. Now I'm in the phase of detaching myself from them...silence please!

10:08 AM
I'm here with so many people, so much noise, so much energy and I'm so sick of everything. STOP! Get me out...I want a let out...Please drop me back home. I want this all gone. I'm in a dream, NO! It's a nightmare and I want to wake up!!!

10:14 AM
It's all a lie. Keep up the pretence; MINGLE! You'll do it perfectly!

01:40 PM
Feeling rage and eating out of anger. I can't catch my breath cause of the rage...I hate him!

06:00 PM

Too personal to be published_censored.

06:16 PM

Someone is so where I don't want him/her to be. They're so enjoying their time and still somehow hopeful. I don't like it.

06:36 PM

The day has ended. It wasn't quit as I've expected. The rest is too personal to be published_censored.

My Comeback (Stream of Thoughts Preface)

After a very, very long time of abandonment, I decided to have a very strong comeback. I never stopped writing, I just stopped posting on the Blog. I don't know why I did so but now I really do feel like I'm missing the world. I want to write, and write and write. I want to scream and shout and say I'm here, I exist, I am something, I am someone so please acknowledge my presence.

I'll be writing my diary, that's the name that people call it. For me, it's more like a stream of thought being updated a second by second just for me not to forget that at this particular moment, on this particular day I felt something. I felt this particular something and because I felt it then it should be special and because it's special then I'll write it.

I'll be writing from now on everything that I feel or cross my head. That's why I created the Blog anyway, to share me on a written paper.

Whether anyone is to be reading this or not I won't be bothering, it's about me sharing. So if you read it or you don't it's your choice as well as it's mine to write and let my head break through its clouds.