I can't think.
I feel like a vessel which is filled slowly but constantly, sometimes drip by drip, sometimes a trickle or a tap full on until it cannot hold any more and the substance spills out.
Yes, we have been working when the sun shone; yesterday I fell asleep on the sofa, filthy and exhausted. I never made it upstairs until the first light of morning, woken not by discomfort but panic.
It is not the slow saturation of work which has filled me to overflowing point but the constant drip drip of niggly points, of anxious nights and an escalation in harassment from those who own us. Sadly, this is not a metaphor.
The news which floods in, changing tides so quickly; corruption, human tragedies, riots, mayhem.
We feel so isolated from the world here, cut off from the tide yet ebbing and flowing with the seasons.
We feel as if we are a million miles away from the fear and chaos of the cities in England yet feel raw for those affected.
The news pours in so quickly and powerfully that it is difficult to absorb.
The parents and friends of those who died in Norway.
The famine in Africa
The corrupt echelons who wield the power in this country
The unfairness of it all.
The emotions one feels when hearing the news is so perplexing. You imagine how it must feel yet the depth of the emotion will never touch that of the people who have to survive the reality.
I don't know what to say.
The rain has fallen, tiny spits at first then heavier. Little streams becoming torrents. The swollen streams pour into the river and it, in turn, rushes to find the sea.
The seas encompass the world.
Oh for the world to be flooded by humanity and equality, to wash fear and pain away, to soothe the souls of the suffering.
To find the balance.