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ROSIE Rushton-Stone

An improvement

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Today I feel a little better.  Not much, but a little.  In terms of actions, better enough that I'm writing this blog post from the sitting room, not bed, and that I have drunk tea as well as water.  I slept for a long time last night.  I knew that I wouldn't without the aid of a sleeping tablet, and I'm so glad I made the decision to take one, despite the fact I pretty much have none left now, and with the return of concussion symptoms, am unlikely to get more for a while.  Doctors are terribly sensible about these things.

I had a reasonably bizarre set of junk mail in my inbox this morning, all with subject matter seemingly directly related to my debauched behaviour of late.  Obviously that is not the case.  I haven't joined any mailing lists whilst I've been away, nor are any of the mail I mention in any way similar to anything I regularly receive junk from.  So, on the junk side of things, I had one about binge drinking and the regretful circumstances it unquestionably brings about; one from 'Christian Mingle' and how perhaps I should meet people in a safer environment, away from the terror of our current society (*I am not a Christian, but it is the content of their e-mail that made me see some sort of a link); one for a boots voucher, suggesting in no uncertain terms that perhaps I was looking a little older than my years due to 'lifestyle' (not so when it comes to ID-ing me, but certainly so when it comes to looking into my eyes and seeing what's gone on over the years); one from an accident claim company (I loosely related this to the slightly disturbing bruises I seem to acquire where-ever I go, in both the good and the bad states, and finally, to counteract all that these chance e-mails had made me question, an invite from a friend to another festival.  There's no such thing as a spiritual spammer.  There is such a thing as good friends, and there are definitely no festivals I can imagine I would turn down.  At least not any of the ones that people I know would suggest to me.  So there it is.  I would say that I have learnt nothing from the experience, but that is not so.  I've listened to the spam world, analysed what they are saying, and after some fairly long winded mental summation, I have concluded that I'm still happy as I am.  Of course, I don't really believe that they were sent to make me think.  The point is, is that they did.  The other point is that I saved some fictional money that I wouldn't have spent anyway reading my stars in some mildly offensive newspaper.  If something makes me think, whatever it may be, about how I live my life, then I welcome it.  If I hadn't spent the amount of time that I have analysing myself, I doubt I would have come out of things as well as I have.  Which could be considered a tiny bit frightening.  But let's not go there, as I have no more time for day dreaming today.  The real world awaits, and I have no choice but to face it again today. 

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Hi Rosie

Just be yourself and be happy smile!

KitMarlowe-Grafton

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I had a crazy ex gf once who was T-total but believed that she could talk to trees and that they would talk back!  Anyway, after we split up I was inundated with junk emails with weird messages at the bottom.  I just used the spam filter to chop them out.  She was a total babe, really intelligent to (like IQ 180 odd or something, I'm like 139) but mad as a March hare!
ROSIE Rushton-Stone

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I do tend to Sue, thanks.  I just concern myself with how being myself impacts on others from time to time.  There must be a happy medium!

I have to admit to being a sceptic about talking to trees, but I have known of (though not experienced) several people of sound mind (I'd even go so far as to say boring) telling me of plants received as gifts from close friends, suddenly dying at the same time as the friendship, and then even coming back to life if the friendship was rekindled.  I do find an element of the crazy in most people who make such strong associations with the plant kingdom in general, but then I have to think, if I can go crazy just hearing the musings of the human population, imagine what would happen if I could hear the trees and the plants as well... that constant jabbering could be where the very madness began.  Talking to trees in terms of sanity is a bit of a chicken and egg situation in my mind.  Add to that the fact that madness is in the eye of the beholder, then surely no firm conclusions can be drawn.  The madness other people see in me is born of the same stuff that puts the twinkle in my eye.  I could never complain, not really big grin