I was born in Surrey (England), brought up in Galicia (Spain) and
currently reside in a small town in the North West of England... I've
always enjoyed writing, scribbling away on scraps of paper and
daydreaming whilst the world happens around me.
It seems every year, this time of year, the cold and grey seep into my bones, my mood, my conciousness. It's in my nature to be happy in the sun, bright blue skies, warmth that seeps into your every pore, heat so heady that you can't sleep, that you don't want to sleep. Heat that arouses you and liberates you. Instead I keep suffering through winter after winter, hoping for a release.
Time is slipping by, each day, wished away hour by hour in a dreary job that does nothing for my creativity; so that I can pay the bills, just like everyone else. BUT, there is always hope, right? That's the silver lining, the one positive thing, I suppose. This is my last year of being in my 20s. One last year. And I'm not sure why it feels weird that it feels weird. I thought that it wouldn't bother me, or even interest me, as most things that other people worry about are inconsequential to me... To me age really is just a number. I believe the older you get, by default, the wiser you should be, and I also know this is not an actual fact. This, however, seems to have made me want to plan ahead. By 30 there is a project I want to finish, by 30 I want to have at least thought of and started an escape plan... Because, honestly, I don't know how many more of these winter-things I can take...