Life is like a bowl of chocolates and this is where the pain is.

I was going sit on this for ages. I have been sitting on it for about 13 years now so a few more minutes would not seem to make any difference. 

But they have. Ever since I bounced out of my therapy session this morning I have not been able think about anything else. I have waited years to make this connection.

Sometimes therapy is really mentally draining, I know I want to get somewhere but “the ghost” is digging it’s heels in and is mentally exhausting.

Kind of like when you have a 2 year old child who won’t walk in the right direction and only hangs off your arm when you try to guide them. Like that, but for 1000000 miles.

Life is like a bowl of chocolates.
Sorry there is no killer line here. I just needed to say something fast that made sense with the photo.
Like Forest Gump’s saying “Life is like a bunch of chocolates, you just don’t know what you are going to get.”

My Chocolate Box
My chocolate box is very good, I’ll bore the arse of you with more details in later posts.
However, it is fair to say that I am certainly not the most hard done by person in the world. No one kidnapped me as a child, my parents did not drink and they were certainly my parents – just take one look at my Dad next to me – I was cared for, my sister is no more annoying than any other sister and is exceptionally good in an emergency situation.

In the beginning. 
So I have a crap time at school, somewhere there is a thread of dyslexia or another one of the DADAH dxy things.
It seemed everyone in my family was a lawyer, doctor, solicitor and / or had been in the army at officer level and if you were vocational you became a teacher.

I’d rather drink bleach than be any of those things so was already off to a shit start. In fact if the internet had not come along I am not sure what I would have done. (Yes “We are all weird” by Seth Godin certainly spoke to me.)

As I have had the privilege of reflecting on my life over the last year any thought of finishing school and obediently scurrying off to college and then University to just because that is what you had to do filled me with remorse, even before I knew what it meant. (Sorry if that is what you did).

Make no mistake – I think education is vital, Jo Peat at Roehampton introduced me to so much about education I went right off the idea of working in the sector, well the state sector anyway. A.S. Neill founder of Summer Hill School  quickly became a hero for me. While at University the middle happened.

The Middle
On the 5th of May 2001 my sister woke me up crying, she said that “She’s gone” I walked into my parents bedroom and there was my dead Mother. She’d had cancer for about a year or two, her and my friend Helen would often meet at “kemo” together. She had developed a skin condition that prevented her having certain types of cancer treatment.

I think I have only woken up to this in the last year, as #Babybernie has started to become more active memories of childhood have come flooding back at 1000 miles an hour.

Anyway we were due to race up the country to as my Uncle was due to marry the lovely Sue that day, one of the weddings I would have liked to have made but your Mother dying is a pretty robust excuse for not showing up to something.

The End
I am still thinking about the end.
I did write a looonngggggg few paragraphs off the cuff, they seemed to me to be a bit self serving and indulgent. Probably where my head is today. I am tried, burnt out and procrastinating on some very important work.

Often writing here “TAMES MY MIND” today I have got this far and I am frazzled. More later. 😉
Thanks for reading.

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