Thursday, 17 May 2018

I change my plans for him. He doesn't ask me to. But I do it anyway. Because I am the one who wants it more. I am the one who spends the day thinking "Oh, I know he has something on every Wednesday so the chances of seeing him tonight are slim. Don't text him." or "He's usually free on Tuesdays and if I don't see him today I won't get another chance until Thursday and that's practically forever away." So instead of working late and going to yoga like I planned I go home early to clean things and wash things and make food and shave things. I do it all on the off chance. On the thinest of hope.
I delay sending the casual text message as long as I can. A message I have been planning and perfecting since 8 am, around the same time when I started wondering what he might like for dinner and what I would have to buy from the shops to make it happen.
I send the perfectly crafted "casual" text and I wait. I wait and I count how many minutes have ticked by and I wonder what he might be doing that would have kept him from looking at his phone for so long. It occurs to me that he might have looked at his phone and not bothered to text back, but giving that thought air is taking the first step down the path to the crazy place. And even this mess is miles better than the crazy place. So I wait and I calculate how much time I might have left to do the things I need to do before he gets here, because of course I haven't done all the things I need to do. I have left some things out. Left myself slightly unprepared so that if I need to I can tell myself that I hadn't really shaped my whole night around the chance of seeing him. I can say I did it all for me. Just a typical Tuesday night vacuuming and food prepping and dusting and dressing up.
And while I am doing all of this he is oblivious. He is going about his day doing the million things he has to do and then at some point late in the evening I guess I cross his mind and he checks his phone. Or he checks it for something else entirely. Who the hell knows. Whatever the reason, he messages. He says he is busy. No sorry for the late reply. No regret that he doesn't get to see me. Just a statement. Just the facts. 
When the message comes through I am a mix of relief and fury. Relief because in the time he's taken to reply I have stress eaten everything in the house and my sexy jeans no longer fit comfortably. And fury at myself for being stupid enough to once again give up my plans for him when he never seems to do the same. I reprimand myself with the memory of the men I have dated before and how it was always vaguely repulsive when they were so quick to give up their plans for me. How pathetic they seemed. I tell myself that I'll never do it again, fully conscious of the fact that I absolutely will at the very next opportunity. And comforting myself in the face of that fact with the sad suspicion that if I don't give up my plans for him, I would see him far less because he probably wouldn't do it for me.
All this is entirely unfair of course. He doesn't know I did this. He doesn't ask me to change my plans. This drama is my own.
It's not his fault. It's not mine either though. It's just how it is. Someone always has to want it more. It's just that in the past that's never been me...

Sunday, 10 September 2017


I'm conscious of the silence. Acutely aware of the weight in my pocket and how it tugs on my heart. The smallest sound sets off an alarm. A false alarm. A roller coaster of hope and rejection in the space of a single heartbeat. It's not you. It's never you. It's been days since it was you. Days since you didn't kiss me in the dark.
Now there is only the silence of my phone screaming how easily I am fucked and forgotten.

Saturday, 17 June 2017

Losing my religion...

I identify as a creative person. I always have. If you ask me, I am someone who draws and writes and paints and sings. I say these things even now, when I have come to a point in my life where these are things I never really make time to do.
Drawing and painting has gone from being a peaceful, joyous, enjoyable activity to something that stresses me out so much that I can't even start something let alone finish. I'm certain that this is a product of my insecurities and need to overachieve in everything. I feel the pressure of performing. I'm too old to draw terribly. I start a drawing and think it's great, but then I can't finish because what if on that last pencil stroke I make a mistake and ruin the whole thing. Insecurity. Imperfection. I fail before I even start.
My blog is testament to how little I write at the moment. I still keep a diary and I write in it most days. It's not creative writing. It's not poetry. But I tell myself that that's better than nothing. I read and tell myself that it's almost as good as writing something myself. I feel so uninspired. My life is so the same. So stable. What is there to write about at this point? I've seen it all before. Uninspired. I don't know how to start.
The only thing I still do is sing in the car...but even that is being replaced by listening to podcasts...A more grownup use of my time. Or something.

I'm losing the will to make time to do things that are a huge part of how I define myself as a person...
Is this depression again? Am I changing as a person? Or do I just need to shake up my life and do something inspiring?

Sunday, 30 April 2017


The sun sets,
and our walls tumble down.
Our secrets spill,
like stars on the ground.

Our minds go to sleep,
and our hearts come alive.
You whisper my name,
and I'm lost in your eyes.

Friday, 20 January 2017

We laugh, we cry,
we fall in love.
We may fall down,
but we get up tough.

Saturday, 14 January 2017

The taste of liquid silver,
dripping slowly past my tongue.
The pain of love remembered,
the smell of battles lost and won.

Just a shadow on the winds breath,
is every day I'm living now.
My soul runs wild through forever,
every moment that I allow.

There is nothing to hold me fast,
to the moment currently passing.
I live completely in the past,
and in the future everlasting.

Fire shimmers in the meadows,
until spring is lost to slaughter,
but all that was will be again,
I am the full moon's daughter.

Monday, 9 January 2017

Damn it 2017!

So in my previous post I mentioned how 2017 was already off to a rocky start and I expressed my sincere hope that this year would get its act together real soon. 
Well apparently the universe took that as an invitation to make one of my chickens sick. 😔
Damn it 2017! 

My poor little chicken has been unwell for a couple of days. There isn't even anything I can do to help her. I just have to make her comfortable and see if she pulls through. 
I'm very upset because as anyone who follows me on Instagram knows, I'm pretty fond of my little chooks. They have such awesome little personalities. 
Here's hoping she looks a bit happier when I get home this afternoon. 

Things like this make it harder to ignore the weight of all the sadness and loss in this stupid world.