Sand-day Notes

I wrote a cryptic note in my phone on Sunday, after getting lost in my own little world whilst sanding away at some bodysurfing hand planes. It reads as follows:

For the most part I enjoy when my brain takes me for walks, I feel like I can sightsee my own thoughts and wave at them as they pass by in an endless stream.

This took me a while to unpack properly.

To disclaim - I enjoy this when it is light and whimsical mental frivolity. But if it's anything more than that, it can become exhausting, sometimes plain frightening when you realise each thought is noticeably heavier than the last. 

Such is the burden of a hyper-analytical mind. It arrived at the correct conclusion a long time ago but continues to process the same information, chewing it like a giraffe in the Serengeti with nothing more to do other than think. 

Think. Think. Think. 

By the time poor giraffe swallows, it is not swallowing reality, but some distorted version they twisted away at and created themselves, over hours of agonising and nonsensical cognitive arithmetic. 

So I was sanding away thinking about something I hear all the time. 

"Oh so-and-so is the last person I ever would have thought to be depressed."

Some of the 'happiest' people you know, or the 'nicest' people you know... maybe some of them seem that way because they are just so relieved to not feel like shit at that moment of that day. They emanate gratitude, "positivity" pours out of them in such a way that they immediately come across endearing, appealing to you as "happiness". 

I feel like a broken record, it's really becoming a catch phrase, but NO ONE REALLY HAS ANY IDEA WTF IS GOING ON IN SOMEONE ELSE'S HEAD. The day I realised that was the day I resolved honestly to try as hard as I can to be nothing but pleasant to other people.

I got death-threatened and called a cunt by some guy in the surf a few weeks ago. The dynamic was simple: he was obviously having a very bad day and watching me have a great one. Despite the physical severity of his threats, what he said honestly didn't bother me. What bothered me was that whilst I could smile in disbelief and paddle away, if that guy has kids, colleagues, jesus anyone who he communicates with face-to-face on land, they cop this raging storm of fucking bad energy head on.

And who has to put up with it the most?! The guy himself!!! Going about his day in a fury, demons relentlessly screaming in his ears any and every reason to be unhappy. What a prison, doesn't this guy deserve pity rather than hatred? Hmm.

I guess Unhappy is a two way street. More specifically, Unhappy is a two way street with four lanes, three northbound and one southbound. Which leaves us with only one kind of person to really avoid, and thankfully I don't think there's many of them around:

1. Unhappy person pretending to be happy = cause for some concern
2. Unhappy person clearly unhappy = cause for significant concern
3. Unhappy person who has given up = cause for major concern
4. Unhappy person who has given up and is rebounding incorrectly, unleashing their unhappiness upon others = cunt heading in the wrong direction, in need of more help than I can give.

Old mate was definitely category 4. Thankfully though, the above model allows northbound passengers the luxury of only fleeting interaction with intermittent southbound travellers. 

So there you have it, officially one stream of consciousness fresh from the always-preoccupied mind of Lucky Rolls. Hope everyone else had productive Sandays too x