I don't want to be a Harold anymore I want to be a Maude.

It's saturday morning, well technicly it's 12:42 pm but in my household this is still classed as morning. I have been cleaning my house like a mad woman ( that's a lie slightly more tame and procrastinaty than a mad woman!) listening to reggae and the Harold and Maude soundtrack. If you haven't seen Harold and Maude you most likely need to watch it. I won't try and blurb the film here I am simply going to put a still from the film to tempt you.

I am digressing from the point, or am I? I don't know. I don't write anymore haven't written with the passion or regularity of my early adulthood in 2 years. Passion left me , it abandoned me like those husbands who go out for a pint of milk and never come back. Nothing terrible has happened. Ok, Life has been hard, but isn't it always for everyone? Initially hapiness, a good relationship, a stunted spiritual soiree halted any written creativity. Most of my past writing came from passionate betrayal, heartbroken ramblings or absolute depression but when I found myself content all writing was dull and beige and everything that permits me to stop reading others attempts.

Then after the said spiritual soiree came crashing down a mediocre long lasting depression came around again, an old friend who visits once in a while to allow me to pass go and not collect £200 or non metephoricly to stop living. To hide and hibernate and hate myself to my hearts content. So this is what I have done been doing for the best part of a year now with brief stints in to old me living e.g. getting drunk,not giving a fuck and laughing till I pee myself.

I didnt want this to be a catch up written down for no one but myself to anaylyse, it sounds boring so far a flat unintresting self pitying post. It's not intended to be, time for change. Pick myself up and start again.

I'm going to Live again.

Anyway, watch Harold and Maude. You might know what Im trying to get at.