"Sitting in the station, contemplating looks on people's faces wondering why they are smiling or what troubles they are facing. I don't know why I'm thinking it but I just take the time to sit and wonder what their dream is and how they're trying to chase it when an old lady comes and sits next to me. She says "next birthday I'll be 83. I fell in love with the world when I was 24, I've lived in Mexico, Columbia and Ecuador. Sat next to the Taj Mahal while the sun was rising, spent a year in Australia chasing the horizons. So take your guitar and do what you have to do. I know what you're scared of, I used to feel it too, you're not scared of climbing mountains, you're scared that you can't make them move." - Lucy Spraggan
I'm petrified of waking up one morning and having absolutely no passion, of not knowing how to write or how to express myself through words, I'm scared that I'm not good enough to turn this into a career and I hate that it's the only thing that evokes jealousy within me - not even jealousy, just a horrible feeling of "why should you be reaping the benefits when I've wanted this ever since I was a little girl?". It has the ability to turn me crazy and horrible and bitter. It's the strongest relationship I've ever had, better than any drug I've tried complete with a horrendous comedown that lasts for days after.
I haven't been writing much lately because once I start, I can't stop and I become engulfed by emotions that make it impossible for me to deal with the real world for a little while. It all sounds very dramatic but it's the truth. The best explanation is comparing it to dabbling with drugs - the danger, the high, the low, the feeling you get as you feel it take over your body...it's the best feeling and the worst feeling all mixed up in one.
The last couple of weeks have been the craziest I've ever had; it's been non-stop. House hunting, working all the time, partying, different events, gigs, too much alcohol and some serious laughs. When everything is so lovely, I don't feel the need to drag myself into the mentality I seem to acquire when I write. It's intense and lovely and dangerous and it consumes me. It's the emotion I will always struggle with, because it is so difficult to understand.
I'm going to spend the next couple of weeks trying to understand it, trying to get my head around why a simple task such as writing a review on my new favourite band, can turn me into the most difficult person to be around. I need to move my own mountains.