Swanstag - Swanstag Productions

A Moment of Peace

In less than a week (three days, maybe two) I’ll be home again. Home isn’t where I'd like to be, ideally, but it’s home and it works for now. I’ll take my first pill on the train back and take another step on my journey to wellness. Mum asked me not to take them until I wasn’t here any more, she worries that I’ll get one of the bad side effects, go to a dark place and take advantage of the solitude to do something stupid. She didn’t need to twist my arm, the idea had occurred to me as well. We needn't worry, the side effects turn out to be minimal and after a month I’ll find myself smiling and laughing more than I ever have before. Of course not long after that I’ll lose my job, but I’m getting off track. It turns out fine anyway, I’m just bitter about it is all.

I only came in here to get out of the rain. It started to drizzle while I cycled over and turned into something heavier while I grabbed some supplies from the village shop.

The problem with camping, I’ve discovered on this trip, is that I can only really do it for a few days before I start getting bored. I never knew this about myself, but it turns out I like having little jobs to do, little bits of busy work here and there to keep me occupied. I’ve read all the books I brought with me, listened to the podcasts, played the games on the 3DS I got for a song a few days before I left. Now there’s just me and my thoughts really, and they aren’t always my friends even after I start taking the pills.

A friend will ask me to proofread their dissertation tonight. I’ll rent some internet from the pub next to the campsite, download it and spend the next day or two giving it a once over. But right now I’m bored.

It’s a nice little cafe, and on a clear day the view from the windows would probably be beautiful. I’m a little too distracted to notice though, the prices are a bit much and I’ve already spent more than I meant to on this trip. Whatever. I’m on holiday, and I order a pot of tea and a slice of cake.

I feel not detached, but untethered if that makes sense. Like I’m just bobbing around, blown or carried by the breeze or currents or whatever best fits the metaphor. It feels like my heart is there, but not where it should be or perhaps diminished. Fuck if I know, I’m just trying to be comfortable right now. Thinking about how I feel isn’t comfortable, but I can’t stop trying to make sense of it. In time I’ll get a clearer picture but right now it’s just loud.

Someone brings over my tea and my chocolate cake. It looks like it’ll sit kind of heavy in my stomach which I don’t really want, but none of the other options really sounded like I’d enjoy them at all, so I’ll settle for enjoying as much of it as I can. That’s what you do on holiday, enjoy yourself.

Without really thinking I pour myself a cup, add however many packets of sugar I think it’ll need (always more than two, why don’t they just make the packets a teaspoons worth) and give it a stir while I deal with what’s floated to the top of my mind. Analyzing anything deeper is pointless, but clearing what’s on top lets something else bob up and breach the surface.

I pick up the little jug of milk they’ve given me and pour some into the cup.I’m here so I might as well try to enjoy it, and at least I can charge the 3DS so I’ll have something to do tonight.

I freeze as I’m about to stir again. The currents I made in the tea have caught the milk, scattering it in patterns that dance and shift before my eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever looked at a cup of tea before, not really. It’s always just been brown to me. The maelstrom in my cup isn’t brown, it’s a whirling shifting thing of beauty. My arm relaxes, gently resting the spoon back on its saucer.

I can hear the rain. My table’s in the very middle of the cafe and I can hear it drumming on all four walls and the roof with perfect clarity. I can hear where it is falling onto glass instead of brick, and how wonderful each sound is. It surrounds me so closely it’s like being wrapped in a blanket as I watch my cup of tea.

There is no pain now, no doubt. No fear or anxiety exists in my head, the churning mass of thoughts and impulses still for the first time I can remember. My whole being is focused on the input of my eyes and ears and it is wonderful in a way that brings tears to my eyes both then and now.

I am present, I am calm, I am ok.

In time the tea loses the inertia I gave it, the patterns fading as they flatten into, well… just brown really. I give the tea a stir, finish the job, and take a sip. It’s perfect. I try a bite of the cake. It’s lighter than I expected, and pleasantly moist on my tongue. I’m glad I ordered it now.

It was only a moment, but it was enough.

Thank you for describing this. Every time I go back to my hometown I see the row of houses they tore down the library to build. I spent whole days in there reading comics and fantasy novels when I was a kid and it just feels… wrong seeing something else where my little sanctum once stood.

The inherent violence of buildings you have known being destroyed. I’m not saying this from an activism perspective, I’m talking about the shock to the system and the incomprehensible nature of a whole building simply not existing anymore. Rooms that you will be unable to visit again or make more memories in. It’s like a death. And we very rarely hold funerals for it. Am I making sense? I feel like i’m going crazy

I don't get the "Oh don't you dare give me 10k notes" posts. They feel very performative to me.

I'm an attention slut and I love shitshows. Reblog this post so that it can get 100k notes and I can bask in its glory

Successfully intercepted [1] braincell

how fucking crazy will the posting be the day jk rowling dies