WHERE TO GO WHEN SHORT-CIRCUITING

I've chilled out a bit now. A walk around the lake helped, and as the evening sun winked through the trees, I was able to get a bit of perspective.

I'm still not sure why I get these little panic attacks. It feels like there's something not very well-connected in my brain sometimes, like wires that are flapping about. When they short-circuit, everything flips into anxiety mode and I'm spiky for a while. I'd prefer it if those synapses could wire up into genius formation rather than mild-paranoia. I'm getting better at overcoming it though.

Today's been quiet. I got shot with plastic ray guns again and had to pretend I was dead. I fell full-face into some bits of Lego, which only helped to strengthen the pained face which is traditionally required of recently vanquished aliens.

When my agitators had gone home, I went for an afternoon walk around the village. I watched an over of cricket on the green (more resarch). The fielding team threw the cricket ball to each other in between  balls, then the bowler scuffed the crease, walked off behind the umpire and ran in to the pitch to bowl. A flurry of arms in the air, out came the ball, bouncing firmly onto the bat which punted it away to a tree in the distance. One of the fielders sprinted while everyone clapped and shouted, and then the man who'd reached the boundary threw the ball back to the bowler. I've got no idea how to throw something that far. The last thing I threw was an apple core, and that only just made it to the railings on the other side of the road.

There was a young tree growing there by the lake, planted in memory of Jeff Hunt 1930-2015. I stood by the plaque and watched the little sapling catch the evening breeze between its green leaves. It all seemed quite poignant - an old man returned to dust, and a sapling with thin, tender branches and green leaves lapping up the sunshine. This is how life is supposed to be - the memories of the past and the hope of the future. That's why, I guess, I don't mind getting blasted with plastic ray guns and I'm not all that bothered about having the shape of Lego bricks imprinted on my forehead. Life finds a way to remember backwards and hope forwards.

A deer bolted out of the bushes and pelted away from me into a cloud of midges, and then it leaped into the undergrowth next to the lake. The trees rustled in the evening sunllight and the birds twittered and squeaked and squawked as they splashed across the glistening water. I've got to remember that this is the place to go whenever I have one of those little meltdown moments - even if it's just inside my head.