Beyond the Edge of Adventure

My aim this year has been to read more, among other things. There's something gloriously delicious about curling up with a fat book and turning the pages as one's eyes devour the words that form lively pictures in one's head! My favourite author, besides God of course - the original and best author of everything! - is Jane Austen. I've read all her novels many times, so it was time to branch out a bit and grow my brain a little further. I'm starting with the Bronte sisters - Emily first. Her only novel is Wuthering Heights . I've only read about one-third of the novel and I have a list of words that were completely foreign to me. Laconic, for example. Penetralium. Lachrymose. Evincing. Physiognomy. It was amazing to have to research prose! Sadly, I've found it hard to get through the novel, so I turned to a TV series . I do this occasionally to help me understand the plot better. That in turn makes the novel easier to read. Previously, I've watch...

After therapy, my thoughts, as usual, churned away. In a healthy way, that is. Without knowing how I came to the conclusion or why, I knew that it was time to revisit the past and make peace with it. It was time to face my father again. The powerful fear of seeing him again needed to be defused and neutralised. I hadn't seen him for 18 years. The last time I saw him, I couldn't look at him. I was 16 years old and he was meant to take my brother and I for a few hours for a meal and catch up. I didn't want to go. I sat in the back seat of our Tarago, wearing my jeans and ugg boots and just shook my head when he asked me if I wanted to go. He wasn't a loving father or husband. He wasn't abusive as such towards me, but he had some creepy tendencies. As an intuitive teen, I was very, very sensitive to his behaviour. I never thought I would see him again - even to have a go at him about the divorce - I honestly didn't care. But I had to face the fear of seeing h...

I flex my hands nervously as I step forward. The spiderweb closes in ahead and is strung back and forth across the tunnel in the middle, not just the outsides. My palms are sweaty and hot.   Walking forward, I start to duck and lean through the sticky mess. It brushes precariously to my arms, legs and head as I work my way through. In a few minutes, I am covered in it and moving forward becomes harder and harder.    Panicked, I struggle forward haphazardly. I shove my arms out and frantically push away the web as I try to drag my body through. It's hard. My heart is beating fiendishly in my ears.   I start shoving forward with my right shoulder, my body now mostly covered in the sticky muck from the spiderweb. My breath is coming out in sobs. Tears are falling from my eyes, but they aren't touching my skin - they're falling on the spiderweb stuck to my face.   I'm about ready to give up. I am hardly making any progress. It's hopeless. ...