I feel like a coiled spring that is about to be released at any point, to go cavorting into the stratosphere with no hope of return.
The stratosphere here, is a poorly used metaphor for 'insanity'.
Usually, when I feel like I am on the edge of- excuse my french- 'Losing my Shit', I walk, or read one of the books on my shelf, of go and punch the shit out of something hard but padded at the gym-
Am I sounding like an ansgt ridden teenager, yet?
I am writing this listening to Bauhaus and Peter Murphy's droning, beautiful voice; clutching a mug of the most beautiful drink known to man, Cadbury Fudge hot chocolate- and yet I am more angry and pent up than I have ever been before.
This means one thing, and one thing alone.
I think it is time for me to return to the written word.
How I have missed it, so.