Post One Hundred and Twenty-Seven: When You Say Nothing At All.

Damn Ronan Keeting and all that he is. Silence to you, sir.

I was feeling decidedly better until I started thinking about Ronan Keating.

This distraction aside, I've realised it's not becoming of me to dwell and depress. Huzzah! I was starting to feel alien, and not in the good John Lithgow/Alex Mac sense. My face is made for smiling, it seems, and I'm just sad-lesson-learning during this part of my life. Anyway, herein is another tip o' the hat to advice well received.

I'm a talker. I like to have a yarn. I don't mean chit chattery, shitty gossip or conversational niceties; but if something is on my mind it feels natural for me to talk about it with the parties concerned. As it turns out, sharing how you feel isn't always the smartest way to go about things. I like being transparent and knowing that the people who know me understand my perspective. Yet is there tact and benefit in calm and restraint?

And I'm back to the same old mind pickle. Do you tell/show/do whatever you need to because of the odd but not impossible chance that you get may get hit by a BCC bus crossing the street to buy a marked down pumpkin curry after 2PM? Maybe. Probably not.

Call me.

Peace,
S.