I don’t know where this went

Mum says I shouldn’t write this. She said that I will write bad because I’m tired, or at least that’s what I’m guessing. She used a word starting with the letter P. I don’t know what meant, I can’t pronounce and I can’t spell. Sometimes people assume I have swallowed a dictionary, because I occasionally use words that sound like they have come straight from the Victorian era. This can be both annoying and charming.
Unfortunately for my mother, at least, I am stubborn and am really bad at doing what I probably should. I wanted to make this post about writing but I seem to of gotten off track. I can’t say that this is a particularly unusual thing for me. I start out thinking about something really important and then it’s gone. Vanished the thing you were just holding and all I am left with in the knowledge that it was really important.
I am sitting on the deck and it is dark and cold, but I am wrapped in a blanket that has green and red and matches my crimson headphones and the porch light in looking down on me. I can see the streetlights going over the bridge in the near distance. Mum’s ikea birds are sitting in the tree in our back yard like bird shaped stars. They are illuminated by little bulbs that look like little glowing hearts. That is both a clichéd and whimsical thought. Dad’s prayer flags that he brought back from Nepal are gently swaying in a breeze I can’t feel. The sky is not yet black but I doubt that colour is far away in the distance. Night is here but it has not yet taken us. One day dad brought home little disco balls to hang on the deck. They are twinkling happily at me. The bamboo wind chime is hanging a little ways a way from me as I sit. It sways like the prayer flags.
I always root for the underdog. Always. I don’t know why and I am always disappointed when they lose, but I can’t help it. It isn’t a voluntary thought. While I really don’t care for winning when I’m personally involved I can’t help but wish other people happiness and if winning is going to make you happy, go for you life.
I’ll root for you.
Something I have leant while going through cancerous period in my life is that I am completely indifferent to death. I believe that it is far braver to suffer than to die, but to be brave there has to be something painful to be brave against. Don’t get me wrong here, I don’t take death lightly. I just don’t care for the idea. My mortality is, as far as I’m concerned, only my business of I make it that way. I’m going to die. My family is going to die. My friends are going to die. Yes, this topic can be incredibly morbid, but fuck. There is so little we can do about it. As an atheist I don’t believe in heaven or hell, nor do I think there such fabulous ideas and in general I choose not to speculate about the great beyond, but I do ponder death. Not because it is morbid and scary, but because it is interesting. I’m much more interested in the ways of which we go than the even itself. In the end the same damn thing happens, the reasons why can be tantalising, but naturally sad.
I view cancer as kind of internal terrorism and that suck shit balls, but hell, it’s in my life, there is nothing I can do about that so the best thing I can do is figure out why.
Once again my thoughts have strayed from their original course, but I doubt I would have gotten far with my initial topic of choice. I wonder if I am writing in the way Mum said I would. I can’t tell but if I am I apologise, but if I’m not they I hope that this piece of writing does something good. I can’t think what but as long as it has a good effect on something I really don’t care.
When I was in year one I had a year of wandering. The teacher was really into talking to us about the most mundane things like why our parents might serve us veggies or why we shouldn’t go to the bathroom on our own. In general this was how we spent our mornings and afternoons. The other kids were happy because, well, we weren’t really doing any actual work, but I was seven and bored shitless. After a little while of almost falling asleep with the boredom of things I already knew being spelt out to me I did what bored seven years olds do I snuck out of class. I realise now that this probably wasn’t one of my wisest moves, but I never got caught, so what the hell? It wasn’t actually as difficult as you would think. All you had to do was back up while the teacher was chatting and sneak out to door as quietly as possible. I doubt the teacher even knew I was in her class by the end of the year. I never went out for very long, just long enough to gain the courage to come back in. Sometimes the teacher would ask where I had gone and I would tell her I had gone to the bathroom. She never questioned that. I don’t think I learnt anything that year. My year of wandering.
Last year my school held one of its many plats. The play was ‘The king and I’ naturally I went along because it meant I would get out of geography and science. All who have seen the play will know that the king dies at the end and while the king is on his death-bed he asks his eldest son who will be king after him what he will do for the new year ceremony to which the son replies “I will hold boat races” when the king asks why the boy answers “because I like boat races”. While watching this I thought ‘yup, that how I’m going to live my life, because I like it’.
Once again I have noticed that I have let this go one and perhaps I am droning but whatever. I will publish this anyway and see what happens.
When ever I think this it never ends in a good place.
Oh well.

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