Demons

Sometimes you have to live with your demons.

Sometimes you have to give them the cold shoulder and pretend they don't exist.

Sometimes you have to give them a good kick in the backside.

Living with my demons isn't an option, and trying to deny their existence hasn't been working out that well for me. So, I'm going all Buffy on them. Metaphorically speaking. Although actually kicking them in the backside could be fun. I'd like to think I look pretty cool doing it, like some superhero with my pants outside my trousers and a funky costume. It is much more likely that I would look a complete tool. I don't think "underwear over outerwear" is this season's new look. I'm not sure what this season's 'look' is to be honest. I think it has something to do with neon colours, judging by the number of people wandering around in poorly matched neon clothing. I don't think I could pull that off. I don't have the right skin tone. 

Anyhow, I have it on good authority that setting fire to the face of your demons is not socially acceptable, especially if your demons include people and places of local interest, and, you know, yourself. Setting fire to yourself is definitely frowned upon. I'm not sure if it's more or less acceptable to set fire to other people and places of local interest. I don't think trying it would be the best way to find out. 

I've decided to take up running. Yes, that's right, I plan to outrun my demons. Stop laughing. I'm being serious. I've been running one and a half times. Go me! 

The first time went well. I went to a place of local interest that harbours some of my demons and I sprinted round it. Turns out that sprinting around something that size does stave of the feelings of sickness and weird flashbacks. It leaves you with a felling of achieving something. It also makes your lungs feel like they want to explode and results in aching muscles. For three whole days. No, I'm not even kidding. It hurt to breathe. Who knew that my ribcage had so many muscles? 

The second time went less well. That's why it only counts for half a time. I set off running. My legs began to complain. I told them to get a grip. Out loud. Whilst I was running. It turns out they were just the start of my bodily complaints. After a very grand five minutes of running, I was treated to a pain across my section scar which I can only describe as a combination of ripping and shooting pains. Fortunately, my scar is still in tact. Unfortunately, 24 hours later, it feels like it did when I first came out of hospital: I am constantly expecting to stand up and see my insides fall out of me. This is probably not good. So, I hobbled home, had a nice hot shower and sat myself on the sofa with my knitting, a mug of tea, a bar of Galaxy and another episode of Buffy, who was actually kicking her demons. Literally. 

But, it's totally the thought that counts, isn't it?