Castle salvation

I don't have a religion. I think life would be easier sometimes, if I had one. I could pass over difficulties to a Significant Deity. Then wait for life problemos to be sorted in mysterious ways.

But then I thought, if I aspire to another worldly mind blown experience, really I should drink myself into a stupor. But I don't like headaches. One headache lasts a lot longer than three glasses of wine, and aspirins make me nauseous.

I wondered about smoking, or drug taking of various forms, but I can't be bothered. And deep druggies are boring. They go on and on and on about the impact of various chemical substances until I could knock myself out.

Indeed I have wondered about various forms of self harm as coping strategies. But I do not like pain. Or explaining why I routinely have gashes up my arms. There is also the awkward explaining that makes you feel like a criminal. That time I fell off the ladder, then had to visit the nurse for a smear? Definitely awkward. She spent half an hour with a shovel up my doodah becoming distracted by the six-inch purple-green leg bruising and demanding to know whether anyone was smacking me about. She did that while excavating the bit of me near my eyeballs with her doodah shovel.

I do like history, so today I choose that. I know it's a little tediously academic. But it seems to do the trick.

I can imagine all the people of all the centuries that walked through Framlingham Castle. Then I'm grateful my head's still attached to my body, my limbs aren't plague ridden, no-one set me on fire, and we have reached the point of civilization that offers a flushing toilet, a hot water shower, and washing machine. Better still, from the top of the castle towers, I can laugh at the chimneys perched along the battlements, and feel the wind in my face.

There. For a few brief moments, all sorted.