This may well be the cyber-equivalent to a “Song Without Words”.
Pictures are so much a part of my blogging, that I tend to seek out a fitting picture on the internet, rather than have no illustration whatsoever. I wonder if this is because I fundamentally doubt my ability to write good descriptive prose?
That may be part of it, but I do believe that a pictureful blog helps you, the reader, to engage more fully with what it is that I am saying. That said, because you nearly always see a picture with my blog entries, perhaps this entry will stand out for precisely the same reason. I am forced to conclude that it doesn't really matter, whilst falling short of an outright apology for writing this gumph to start with.
I went to church on Sunday, and it was a pretty universally disastrous experience for all concerned.
For a start, I was all but 30 mins late for the start, due to oversleeping, and then having to get things ready for my post-church activities. Add to that my being very short indeed of sleep, due mainly to stress, but also the very late nights might have something to do with it.
In a state such as I was in then, life takes on a kind of depressing surreality. I notice things I do not normally notice. For example, the building that our church meets in is a welfare centre in Ashington. There is no sign to say that a church is meeting there, unless you happen to know.
I mused a while, trying to decide if this was a cool, laid back thing, or a massive missed opportunity to declare our presence. I'm verging towards the latter. Also, there are a great many other people at the same venue for different purposes. Included in this number are some energetic looking people in martial arts attire, complete with their many different coloured belts. With their aggressive grunts and well-balanced lunging, the church folk rarely notice the sounds of the martial arts group.
Then, just as I was about to enter the main door, I noticed that, in a flurry of EEC money and worthy grants, the roof of the welfare centre is covered in a type of grass, or small grass-like plants. No need for slate here, the roof is a living thing. I bet they got excited in THAT committee when someone pitched the idea. Heck yes.
The thinking part of me was asleep, though, and my body soon followed as I sat and listened to a succession of people say things which did not really interest me.
I don't know whether I snored. Fiona told me I had snored loudly during the night, so maybe that continued into my daytime repose. All I can say is that not one person greeted me that day. I departed, no wiser than when I went in, and paused only to look up at the grass on the roof swaying gently in the breeze.
Later, over a steaming mug of tea, I told Jason how depressed I was, and how hard I was finding life at the moment. He smiled and nodded, as every good friend should, before filling me with chillie-con-carne and crisps.
Textbook.
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