Paradise?

This is forced, but nothing else in this secluded hellhole will get rid of it, so I might as well pen a self indulgent blog about it. Apologies in advance.

There are two situations that transform me into a head-spinning, fire-breathing, exorcistic bitch.

The first is when I'm hungry. It's dramatic, but my insides swallow up all sense. They try to swallow up everything around them, too, which is why my friends ready themselves for the short but intense battle by plotting a tactical route to the nearest cafe. It's a manageable rage. Brutal but easily fixed.

The second, I have right now. It's a blinding frustration in my head, above a crushing sensation around my chest, topping a cesspool of lead-heavy ooze in my feet, stamping me to this rain-sodden ground.

Usually it's indecision. An entire saturday yawns before me, yet my ooze-filled feet anchor me to the house, volleying between bedroom, loungeroom, bathroom, frustrated head hurtling problems forward.

What will I do first?
I don't want to wait for the train.
These shorts make my legs look fat.
It's too cold for my shorts.
I want to wear a dress.
It's too cold for a dress.
Where is my fucking phone?
Shut up. You're dribbling shit.

This island is similar.

It's raining.
I can't get out.
It's windy.
There's nothing to do.
I might be happy if there were sun.
I can't read.

My instinct is to lie on the bed and sleep. Well that's no fun! Islands are fun, Hayley! Go and read! Drink! Walk! Draw!

It's not working. There is no flow. It's a persistent state of crippling indecision, where every possible answer draws a blank.

Tomorrow I spend 12 hours getting back to Bangkok. There's nothing to do on the bus, either, but at least I'll be going somewhere.