Two weeks ago I pushed the Master up the hall. Pushed him with all my might as he resisted me with his.
"Wake up!" he's said in the past. "You can do better than that!"
Two weeks ago, he went for a different tactic as I struggled against his weight.
"Give it some love! Put all your love into it!"
I pour my hate into Bazza's Boot Camp. I pour my fear. I pour my fury.
He's right. If we take our own power, rejoice in our own power, use our own power, what can't we achieve?
I haven't gone this week. Again. There is no love. None that I can harness to shift the weight of the obstacles I see before me. Or there is, somewhere, but over the rainbow maybe, not anywhere I can reach. Nico Teen is love of a different kind; not healthy.
If I see you though and you're having a bad day, I will tell you you are special. I will tell you to value who you are. I will tell you to love yourself a little bit. I will tell you to believe. I will tell you to have hope. I will tell you not to give up.
I will mean what I tell you too.
I'm funny like that