Sparks Of Eclectic Madness, II

Extracts from a writer's diary, February 2026

1/2/26

What is a story but someone expressing how something feels to them whilst wondering whether it feels the same to others.

This week I have seen there is something quite remarkable about the human endurance. Something remarkable about how we remain human by recognising one another in the dark.

2/2/26

The art of nothing working out how you thought it might but everything working out how it's supposed to. A reminder that not being ready but doing it anyway will carry you further than perfection ever will. Oh, and not being ready is merely a feeling. We are always more capable than we believe.

4/2/26

A lot can happen in a day. You don't have to feel positive, prepared, peaceful, all the time. These are all privileges. They will come and go. So enjoy them whilst these feelings are here and remember that when they're not, like the sun, these feelings will rise again.

5/2/26

I was speaking with some dear friends today about reincarnation. I said, as a woman of science, that if energy can't be created or destroyed, we must linger in some capacity, but I don't personally think we come back as something or someone. I feel content with the idea that this is the one shot I've got at life. It means this matters.

I believe in the universe and as I say, I believe we must linger, but in cloud formations and the vocabulary of friends. In brushstrokes of paintings and the lyrics of songs. We linger in how we made people feel and in the stories we told, so, I will endeavour to tell good ones. Perhaps then I will never leave.

8/2/26

I think it's important that we all have something to believe in.

I believe that if you're paying attention the people that we love, never truly leave us. Our tastes, our annunciation, our looks, our sense of humour, our camera rolls, our thoughts. We are all mosaics of those who leave fingerprints on our souls. Who knows what happens next but what can happen now, is love. Always.

9/2/26

The trees are bare, my garden full of the echoes of life once blooming. There's something about these darker months, a reminder of endings, death, moments fleeting. But also there's a reminder of, in the face of everything ending, everything beginning again too. There's hope in that. Beauty in the ripples of life not everlasting.

10/2/26

I had a coffee with future me this morning. She sat across the table from me at the café. She wore a kind face and a navy sweater vest. She wrote scripts. Drank mochas. She was in no rush. She knew the story was something to find, not simply tell. It was within her.

15/2/26

The idea that we can never return to the past. Ephemerality all around. One must cherish the now, feel the ground in contact with every toe, the sunlight on their face. One must make peace with the fact that you will never go back, else we would have been visited by thousands of tourists from the future, holidaying on the waves of nostalgia that had long since broken.

21/2/26

I've been tired recently. I've thought of what to say but lacked the energy to do so. That's not like me and very like me. It's probably ok. The trees at the bottom of my garden do not bloom all the time so why should I?

My flowers shall return soon. I believe.

24/2/26

Finding pockets of time to be present. Things that are in the past are of no concern to me. I am here. I have dreams. That is enough.

26/2/26

I always say good morning to the pigeons and the ladybirds, hello to the wildlife. It always feels like they say something back. That's not called madness. I don't think. I reckon it's called being alive.

28/2/26

I am learning to become all the space I require. I laugh. Often. At my own jokes? Always. There are moments of increasing frequency where I am unhaunted, unburdened. I find myself twinkling with whisps of eclectic hope, like the light from long dead stars. Luminosity. Everlasting.

LM ★