I guess this is where we move on to the blogs about my feelings, right?

So how do I feel?

A little bit grumpy and scalded. Try pushing a wheelchair over a small bump while carrying a cup of tea and see how it makes you feel.

Other than that?

Fine. Well, I've been told that my 'fine' is far from the 'normal' fine, but I'm fine.

Angry, frustrated, confused, scared, excited... both happier and sadder than I have ever been before.

Have you ever felt homesick, but homesick for being away from home?

Does that make any sense?

Who am I talking to?

I have. I do.

I think I need to get out of here for a while. Or maybe a long time. See the world and let it see me. On one hand, I'm desperate to go back to France to see my loved ones over there, but the idea terrifies me. Firstly because I'm scared I might go and not ever want to come back. Secondly, I'm scared it may not be as magical to return as I have been imagining it for the past three years. And thirdly--ho, thirdly--well, frankly I'm afraid I might wind up in bed with a certain someone. Actually, after three years of playing with each others emotions the way we do, I think if we were given the oppurtunity, we might not even make it as far as the bed. Wow, blogging really does open you up, huh?... 

We'll go into this in more detail later, but basically there is a boy who sends me very nebulous messages about giving me his heart and soul and running away with me, and I might, at one stage, have reciprocated and now no longer know whether I reciprocate or not.

Pathetic, I know. But in my defence, he is French. And a guitarist. Ah, you see? Be not so quick to judge. 

So, I either stay here, feel bored and even trapped and mope about one person, or I go to France and possibly wind up desperately poor and most probably unhappy with another one.

OR

I get the best of both worlds. I could just try being enough for myself, translating some of my stuff and running off to the French theatre of Melbourne. 

I have been in a wheelchair for ten years, so would you think me crazy if I told you I swear that sometimes I can still feel, hear myself running?

I think we can all hear and feel that, if we let ourselves. Maybe it's just a bit easier for me because I don't have to fight to hear it over my 'real' footsteps. 

It's a dream, it's fate, whatever you want to call it, trying to pull us back to it.

It's our hearts, isn't it?

That's how I imagine it.

Imagine if the sound we've come to recognise as a heartbeat was in fact a 'heartstep'

Yes, it's my heart. And I think it knows where it's going, even if the rest of me doesn't yet.

So I'm have to give it that  little green flashing light that says 'WALK'

Maybe if life were a traffic light, it might look a bit like this:

fear

indecision

faith