I wish that every place looked and sounded and smelled like this. There is a robin redbreast just there in front of me, and I can hear its wings as it takes off. I’m surrounded by trees and shrubs and other forms of greenery. The floor is littered with leaves shed from the trees high above – the sunlight shines down through their naked branches. I can hear the birds singing and calling to one another. The odd rustle as some creature moves in the woodland. The traffic noise in the background can easily be waved off as a waterfall or quick-flowing river, if you want it to be (and I do). I can smell earth and mulch and life. Smells like childhood years in Ty Coed, with not much but the woodland to amuse myself with.
The world would be happier if it was one big copy-paste of Williamson Park.
I wish I was a writer. I have neither the skill nor the dedication required to do something so big, so daunting as to write a novel. I can barely even compose a short story without getting side tracked. And my poetry is abysmal. I also wish I could paint or draw. I’d love to immortalize the moment I’m sat in, the greens, browns, yellows, reds and greys of this scene.
I wish I had decision making skills. They don’t need to be big decisions, just everyday ones. What to have for dinner, whether to go swimming or not. I feel I should put ‘The Dice Man’ to real life test and leave my decisions up to chance. I wish that I didn’t know that that would lead to all kinds of other neuroses, like dice probability.
I wish I could keep track of my feelings. One minute I’m convinced I feel one way, but the next I want to revoke all the decisions I made based on the last set of feelings I had. I wish I understood myself. I wish I knew who Alice Rees really was.
I wish it was spring, so I was warm whilst writing this and the breath I exhale wasn’t visible, I’d love to see the flowers blooming amongst the trees and bushes, and for there to be butterflies and the scent of flowers in the air. Everyone is happier in spring time.
I wish I didn’t have to wake up each morning and take two little tablets. Two tablets that turn me into some semblance of a functional human being. Two tablets to stop me from reaching for the knife, the pills, the rope. They do their job, which, as cookingwithwine would say, is to ‘take the edge off’. Yes, they take the edge off. They don’t stop me from feeling guilty and low and self-resenting and worthless and all of the other things I feel, but they do stop me from punishing myself even further.
I wish I didn’t worry my friends and family. I wish I could be a normal, happy, healthy nineteen year old girl, who no one need be worried about.
Since I’m wishing, I wish that squirrel had been red, not grey. I wish it had been on the tree one across, too – I would have got a much better view of it from there.
I wish I could abandon this mess of a life and a person and forge anew. I’d love to just leave my bag, my phone and my shoes right here with this laptop and this text file open for the next person who finds this spot to read. I wonder if it would inspire them.
I wish I was five again. Having problems so trivial that my mum could kiss them away, that one minute I would be crying my eyes out and the next I could be laughing and playing again. Pain doesn’t heal so easily anymore.
I wish I could be a philosophical commentator. Spending my days writing interesting philosophical arguments about my own personal views on various ethical and moral issues. I’d love to do scientific vs. moral debates on issues that catch my eye.
I wish it was October 3rd 2008. The day of Fresher’s fair of my first first year of university. Still time left to change what needed to be changed. Change my course, change my attitude, change my life.