Yes I have spent the last 4 days putting 'le' in front of everything.
I loved le Paris. It's a beautiful beautiful city, and I'd go back soon as.
I did not love the hotel we checked out of after the first night. It was smelly. And dirty. And I'm pretty sure it had bed bugs. I have no idea why I booked it. NO IDEA AT ALL.
We got to the hotel at 6pm and dropped our bags then headed out to the Eiffel Tower. As all good tourists do.
We got back to the room at about 10, and from then on. I didn't sleep a wink.
Well, maybe I slept two winks.
But as we know two winks is not enough to sustain this annoying girl for a day of le Paris in the morn.
We changed hotels. Of course. Because really, it was foul. I'm not sure it could even be classed as a hostel.
I struggled. Bad.
I didn't even take my camera out that second day. Because my shoulders were in such pain, that little Alice would have killed them.
I relied on Frost's eyes and lens.
By the time our 7.30am flight came around the next morning, I had had only another half a wink sleep, and my poor little body felt like it was shutting down bit by bit.
I had the shortest flight of my life, and the worst. I spent it with my head on my knees the whole time.
I got through it by counting every five minutes.
Five sets of 60.
8 sets of five.
And whilst counting all those seconds I was feeling like I would die. And when I feel so ill I get angry.
Truth of the matter is, anger is my go to emotion when anything at all happens.
But when this happens, I know what to do. I know through my CBT how to slow my mind and process what is actually causing my anger, and not what I think I am angry at.
This is all lovely in theory. To be so centred and meditative. So logical and able to understand the patterns and processes of your own mind.
But I was sitting 26,000 feet in the air feeling like I would die with my head in my legs, and possibly freaking out my poor neighbour sitting next to me.
Tranquility and objective thinking were not on my mind.
I wanted to be a normal person who can go to le Paris for two days without killing her body.
I wanted my body to behave like a normal person, and to stop killing me all the time.
I wanted the plane to fly the eff faster. Why did they cut concorde for crying out loud? Why didn't Richard Branson buy concorde out like it was reported years ago? What is wrong with him?! That stupid, rich, bearded fool.
1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10.
And why on earth would somebody create a body that can't eat anything without it causing extreme frustration and awkwardness?
11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20.
Why the eff would somebody think a good function in a body is dairy intolerance? AND THEN LET THAT PERSON GO TO LE PARIS.
With all the croissants, and pastries, and ice-cream that they can't eat! What is wrong with that ridiclous entity!
21.. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30.
It is widely known amongst my close friends, anybody that has taken a journaling class off me, and anyone that has sent me a ridiculous text asking for prayer for sunny weather,
I do not understand, nor do I, pray.
But 21 years of training has made prayer this go-to thing, that even now, I will not be able to stop myself doing. At the most annoying and ridiculous times. I will catch myself thinking.
"Now would be nice for some help."
And then I will realise how annoying and selfish that is. So instead I will think of others.
So 26,000 feet in the air I was ranting incoherantly at Richard Branson, and thinking of how tired and brave and strong my mother is for living with a dead son and PTSD. How intelligent and amusing my father manages to be through everything.
How my brother has survived testicular cancer and can always be counted on to make a joke about balls.
How people in Pakistan are dying and fighting for their lives and homes in floods.
How children in the Philipines go to work at such young ages to help finance their families.
How the worlds poor live on less than £2 a week.
And I remembered how small I am.
How big the world is.
How terrible things are.
How this God is still supposed to exist amongst all this. Amongst all these prayers, and crys for help, and sadness.
And how ridiculous I am for being angry at poor (although not literally) Richard Branson.
Because really I was/am angry at myself.
I know I can not do short trips away where I will feel obigated to spend hours of the day walking.
I know I can not do mornings, afternoons, evenings, and night times without napping.
I know my body needs kindness, yet I am very rarely kind to her.
I am much more often derogatory, and abusive, and downright mean.
8 sets of five in the journey, the wheels of the aeroplane touched down, and I have never been happier to be back in Birmingham.
I do believe my body was being as mean to me, as I have been to her.
But I am not angry at her anymore. She had to be mean to get my attention.
I have to be kind to her, for her to be kind to me. This is what she tells me.
At 26 one would think I would know this. And I do for the most part. But still not well enough.
My CBT kicked in, and I was able to determine I was angry at no one other than myself.
And once again I was convinvced for myself, we must all spend less time contemplating ourselves, and more time thinking about others.
More time doing the things we already know how to do.
And give God, where ever he/she may be, a break from all the ridiculous and pointless 'help me' notes.