Hey conscience, have a nice holiday?

Sometimes i let my brain get away from me. Its almost like my conscience goes on a little holiday, goes and lays on a beach for a bit, chilling out while my brain runs riot. And man, what a mess my poor conscience comes back to when it returns. But i could not be more relieved when it comes home. He spends his day picking apart my little mess ups, working through each one piece by piece. Coercing my heart to play nice with my brain like a small child not wanting to share. Conversing with my limbic system deep within the depths of my cerebrum, kindly requesting they keep my emotions on level ground and off the trampoline and to please keep the drama queen at  bay.

When he returns its as though my head stands still, stunned while at the top of his lungs screams WHAT THE FUCK as it sees the mess, like a house party gone bad - my brain is in disarray. But when you treat your head like the dormitories of a frat house, what more should you expect really?

By the end of its first day back, i have my head in order. With the sun shining, my world is back to looking fine. While the ocean is in view from where ever i am, beer in hand with friends who leave tracks in your heart like fossils, i realise that no matter where i am i can make what i want of it. That i am (borderline) healthy, i am happy, and while i'm missing someone to crawl into bed with at the end of it all, i'm lucky.