I’m sitting on my bed with my knees up, pen in hand, and a cup of tea, looking out of the window at the beginning of another day. I call it the beginning but don’t know why.
All I see right now is right now.
No beginning and no end. No start and no finish. Nowhere to be. No, ‘over there’. No, ‘when I get there I’ll be (fill in the blanks)’. No, ‘I’m not there yet’. I’m right where I’m meant to be with love in my heart and words in my hand. …
I cancelled my day.
I went back to bed after my run. I retreated which is something I’ve not done in ages. I’m tired. I’m writing though which is a life line. I’ve pulled on my treacle combatting boots and am holding my pen straight. I feel alone but know I’m not. I’m scared about feeling tired as I can remember a time when I wasn’t. I’d run 10k for fun most days and work 10+ hour days without a break. The extreme swings like an old clock pendulum.
Full on. Full stop. Full on. Full stop.
It was all…
Help me find my way out of the darkness and confusion
That trap my memories
Like the sound of a padlock and a setting of the sun.
No standing in the shed
But with you I can be tall.
Hear my screams.
Hold my hand.
Tell me everything is going to be ok.
Engulf me with your beauty.
Share my pain.
Be my friend.
Hear my whispers.
Chase the monsters away.
Lie on the soft grass with me after a long day of stargazing.
Laugh at the funny way I’ve grown my hair. …
There’s a sob trapped behind my eyes.
I’m sat on the bed with the sun to my back. The window reflects on the picture on the opposite wall. I can see a tree mass of green through the glass.
There’s a sob trapped behind my eyes.
I feel sad today, a fog of misery and defeat. Someone stole my favourite toy and buried it in a deep dark hole. I feel lonely. I feel out of sorts. I feel like I don’t belong in my skin. I feel caught in time like scratched vinyl that keeps jumping.
There’s a sob…
I’ve written a book.
It’s a small book, less than 100 pages, but it’s a book. The time, blank pages, words, and surprise are mine. I edited it, formatted it, designed the cover, sent it to the printers, and drove to collect it.
“Is that my book?” I said to the Printing Manager as I greeted him in the carpark. My arms were outstretched like they were touching the edges of the World. His work-worn and ink-stained hands held a plain brown cardboard box, a white receipt poked out from the lid. The Industrial Estate was quiet. Huge wooden pallets…
I remember my first car. It was old, battered, wouldn’t start the first time. I hated that car. “Need some help,” my drug-dealing neighbour said. I was parked uphill on a dimly lit street on a frosty December morning. It was dark, early, an orange streetlamp caught the ice in the footwell reflecting a jagged pattern against the worn seats. My exhausted breath hung in the air, tears frozen to the cheeks of my mascara-stained face. I wore my work uniform, black knee-length skirt, bare legs, not fit for the weather suit jacket. My only protection was my black gloves…
I’m amazed by the quirks of life. I’m amazed by how much is the same. I’m amazed by the differences. I’ve felt different. I’ve felt out of place and like I don’t belong. I’ve felt overwhelmed, like I’m taking a test. An exam that I fail over and over again. I didn’t live up to my high standards. I didn’t measure up to the image I’d created. I pretended to be comfortable with who I was. I wasn’t. My skin itched, I was uncomfortable in my own skin. I was uncomfortable with the pressure I put on myself. I wanted…
I went for a walk this morning, had breakfast, and got ready to leave for hospital to get an answer to a health issue I’ve been worried about for some time. The sun was shining as I made my way into the City. The roads that were usually congested were quiet and there was an eerie ease to my journey. As I walked into the building and towards the Clinic, I was struck by how nervous I felt and how much I was speculating on an unknown. Was the fact I’d walked past the Radiotherapy Clinic a sign? Did it…
It’s weird how we’re having to adapt to home working and moving around the flat like we’re playing chess. I guess in that analogy I’m the Queen and hubby is the King. I guess it’s our job to protect the King. I guess it’s the King’s job to stay out of trouble. I guess I’m good at playing games. I guess I’m good at following rules. I guess I’m no good at making my own decisions as I don’t trust what looks right the first time. I don’t trust myself. I look to others for approval and want to please…
My daughter is studying for an Acting degree. She’s been interested in drama since the age of 5 and loves the excitement of performing. She’s also really good at it. She attends a Performing Arts College and told me a cool story about one of her classes. She and her fellow students were working on a scene, embroiled in the dialogue and immersed in the characterisation. Suddenly, her teacher shouted, “and we’re back in the room…”. In her words, it was his way of bringing the class back to the present moment after acting outside of their real selves. My…