Wednesday, September 19, 2018

Rings of grief

“Draw a small circle and put the name of the person closest to the tragedy in the middle of that circle. Then, draw a larger concentric circle and put the name of the person closest to the center person–for adults, this is usually a spouse or partner, but may be children, parents, a colleague, or closest friend. Keep drawing larger circles around the other circles and add the layers of people–close friends, more distant friends, members of the community, etc. Here are the rules: The person in the center circle can cope any way he/she wants. The job of those in the larger circles is to listen and support. When talking to a person in a circle smaller than yours, remember that you are talking to someone closer to the tragedy. Your job is to help. You are not allowed to dump your anger, fear, or grief to people in circles smaller than yours. Express these emotions to those in your circle or larger circles. The concept is simple - comfort in, dump out." 

I was looking for this a few days ago. It's funny how these things crop up after you've been thinking about them.

Wednesday, June 20, 2018

Cats n Nazis


"I only have two, but I'd much rather be surrounded by cats than Nazis. Go figure."

"They both want to murder you, but cats don't have opposable thumbs. Nor do they whine about how that one girl in high school ignored them."

Waking with you


You move close, behind me

Warm

and hard against me and your palm brushes over my breast and your breath is on my neck we are skin on skin and heat and flesh

I light up

Every nerve awake and singing
I resonate, I amplify
I am taut and trembling beneath your hand

The world spins and shrinks
It contracts and blinks
'Til there is only you

And this.

My senses flood a tug of desire so strong it's sickness and it clutches and squeezes and we are surge and breath and pulse

And I vibrate, I chime
Every muscle quivering
And awaiting your next touch.

4am


And my heart is bumping thumping
Banging in my chest
Like a fist
On a door
And my stomach's in a twist.

It's jumping pressing
Thrusting at my ribs

Like Nicholson
In 'the Shining'
He's going to burst through
Or Alien,
Motherfucking Alien!
I'm the damn Nostromo crew!

...

That.
Is. Not.
Helping

My mistake


My mistake was coming out of the public loos before my friends. I've never been the kind of girl who chats in the loos. If i hadn't come out first, maybe he wouldn't have fixated on me.

My mistake was replying pleasantly when he spoke to me. If I had ignored him, told him to fuck off, known to run then. But I didn't. (He didn't have a 'fucking thug' label on his forehead.)

My mistake was me and my friends starting to walk back to my friend's house. We'd decided to walk beforehand, it wasn't far, there were three of us, it's a small town. I should have known to go back to town and get a taxi instead. Cos I should have known he'd follow me.

My mistake was to be polite though i was uncomfortable. He kept walking with us: I was telling him he should go back into town, to the taxi rank, he's going the wrong direction.

My mistake was when we hesitated which way to go - my friend wanted to go the backways, try to lose him - I wanted to stick to the main street where it was well-lit and traffic going past.

My mistake was not knowing to run or fight the instant that he realised I was trying to ditch him. So next thing I knew he punched me to the ground and banged my head repeatedly against a post, and one friend was trying to pull him off me, while the other went running for help.

My mistake was being stunned and just crumpling instead of fighting back like The motherfucking Bride.

I don't know if had I reacted more strongly earlier whether he have gone away or kicked my shit in sooner. I rather suspect only taking him home and fucking him would have been enough to placate him. But I certainly had nothing to lose by being rude. At any point.

And fuck that guy, and fuck the second guessing, cos the only one guilty of anything there _was_ that guy.

There's no magic formula for dealing with someone like that, and you can't tell who is like that. I certainly didn't have the life experience at that age (19) anyway. You can only do what seems right at the time.

Story


"I'm still not sure about this, what have I let you talk me into?" he said, eyeing the massive box.
Joe slapped him on the arm jovially: "Man, you're going to love it, absolutely love it - come on!"
He took a blade to the tape binding the package and started pulling it open, pulling out bubble wrap and polystyrene, all the while chattering about how top of the line the model was and how many features, and how Callum was really really going to love it, some more. His friend watched for a moment, felt his enthusiasm catch and soon was like a boy on the floor as well, unwrapping feverishly.

She really was beautiful, pale creamy skin, soft to the touch. She lay where they had placed her, on the bed, long hair streaming over the pillow, a sigh of breath escaping her lips. Callum stroked softly down from the line of her throat, over her breasts, her stomach and down to her glistening cunt.

"I'll leave you two alone," grinned Joe from the bed room door, and closed it.

Callum started to play. He ran through all the settings. He thought he would enjoy some of it more than he did - he had been excited about the 'play-rape' button, but she cried too much and he felt bad. Which felt strange, because she - it - was just a thing. But I guess people get attached to cars and inanimate objects, he told himself. He dried her tears, her flecked blue eyes staring back at him like mirrors - and he held her. Soon it turned into kissing and fucking, her little cries of pleasure driving him on as he reached the peak, coming hard inside her. He lay with her, breathing hard, warm, content.

After a while he started to feel uncomfortable and started to pull out of their cuddle. "It's alright, this detaches" she said, speaking for the first time.

And she dropped her arm off the side of the bed for later.

Dear Me (a letter to my younger self)


I know what I want to tell you, but it won't make a tiny bit of difference, even if the me from the future was standing right there in front of you and you poked me in the guts. And you would. Ow.

You are as stubborn as hell.

If I could, I would give you more tools in your life and relationship toolkit, but I've only lately found them myself, and if I gave them to you you wouldn't grow into me and then how would I go back to give you them? Eh? This is not Bill and Ted. (Time paradoxes are fun, tho.)

So you won't learn by my experiences, only by our own, and sometimes not even then... and I'm not going to tell you not to feel your feelings, or not to do what you're going to do, because that's how it was, at the time, and that's how we got here. I'm not about to invalidate myself.

(This is turning out quite convoluted.)

I would ask you though, please, remember what Granny told us about doing right. Not by some external morality, religion, or hers, or anyone else's, but your own internal one. And crucially, expect it for yourself. Do right by you. Stick to your guns. Never surrender. (If you want more clich├ęs, I've got 'em.) Those are the only mistakes you ever regret making in the long run.

That's all.

Love me

Ps Stop worrying about your thighs, you have no fucking idea how pretty you are.

Pps I KNOW I said it was pointless telling you anything, but how could I resist? You know me. :D

3 pieces of advice


First:

“When someone shows you who they are, believe them; the first time” - Maya Angelou
It’s harder than you might think to follow. We’re supposed to give the benefit of the doubt and give chances… and hope is a wonderful thing. But hey, moderation in all things: even hope.

Does it mean run like hell the first time you see something you don’t like? I don’t know, but it’s certainly take it into consideration. I don’t know if it’s a lesson I’ve learnt, it’s a lesson I have had demonstrated to me repeatedly in different ways with different people and apparently it didn’t stick. But there’s time.

Second:

“Do right” - my granny
I come from a line of strong women. Domineering women. Admirable women. Flinty women.

My gran was one such. She was formidable, a stereotypical Yorkshire horsewoman, hard as nails and stonily judgemental. (She had some flaws too!) Carved from granite, brittle as ice.

She combined an outspoken harshness with an oddly passive-aggressive treatment of us, her family, and an aching sweetness rarely glimpsed. My mum is like her sometimes - but deathly afraid of that side of her character.

Me too. Me too. That fear at least helps control it.

But what she had was grit. She was the kind of woman who would break bones hunting, but finish the day out nonetheless. I don’t agree with fox-hunting so let’s not get into that, but believe me, she would have, and would never concede an inch on that (or anything).

She taught her daughters and grand-children to ride - and to have grit.

I was taught that you never ever let go of the reins if you fall from your horse, no matter what. The only time I can remember her being truly proud of me was after I was dragged halfway up a country lane, my pony having shied at a plastic bag. I should have been paying more attention obviously, but by god, I had grit.

Literally. Embedded from knee to thigh.

So “do right”. Do right, do right, do right. That’s more of an admonishment than a piece of advice, and so so hard, especially when you’re sometimes almost cripplingly aware of your own weaknesses of character.

Stick by your principles, whatever they might be.
Strive to be better than you are.

Thirdly:

“Never give unsolicited advice” - I forget who

All the things that go unsaid

I wonder what they are.

Snurk.

OK Fishie


Urrggh choice feminism.

Feminism isn't about airy-fairy fluffy-wuffy choosing choices rhetoric: feminism is political ideology.

Down with the patriarchy!

The choices we make are not made in a vacuum.

For a time I chose to be a stay-at-home parent. This was not a feminist choice. it wasn't an anti-feminist choice either.

It was a choice made in a context of social, financial and childcare pressures. I genuinely wanted it too, to be at home with the children, but just cos I'm a feminist doesn't mean it was a "feminist choice". Unless it was also an atheist choice, a bleeding heart leftie choice, etc etc. I mean, what the hell?

Choosing that didn't make me a bad feminist: let's not get hung up on what makes a bad feminist.

But when you're choosing the conventional roles/ways of performing femininity, recognise the water in which you are swimming.

OK, fishie?

10 words

I know I'm "supposed" to be, but: still not sorry.

Tuesday, January 30, 2018

Plenty of wrong ones

Looking for the perfect formula of words that will support and lift and there is no 'right' thing to say that I cannot turn over in my head and say 'trite', 'too easy to misconstrue' and 'trite' again. No, no perfected sentence that will ease, comfort or empower.

But plenty of wrong ones.

Opportunities to stand foot in mouth, or rather, wobble on one leg.

Appropriate poetry


From Stevie Edwards' book, SADNESS WORKSHOP, winner of the 2016 Button Poetry Prize. Found on Facebook.

Friday, November 24, 2017

Wilfully misunderstood

"My husband was like this for years. I worked out in the end that he is a huge narcissus"


If only.
Bit of round-up and job's a good un.

Wednesday, November 22, 2017


Quite pleased about the 2nd series of Glitch coming to Netflix. I enjoyed the first series and want to know where it's heading.

I used to think that Netflix would be a waste of money, but I do watch it a lot.

Really love The Expanse. Was so happy that the second series was shown. Need moah.

Smaller

Ann Widdecombe is smaller than you think. She got on my train today. That's the joys of first class. Ahem.

Sunday, November 19, 2017

Friday, November 10, 2017

Read me some books

Catch up on reading -

I read Grotesque by Natsuo Kirino recently. It left me,  needing to digest for a while, which is a good sign. It really held my attention and I love an unreliable narrator. Oh yes, she confesses rewriting some of the other characters' narratives because, basically, their handwriting is poor. This was a recommendation by an online friend.

Then I read the Charles Stross, the Nightmare Stacks, which moves the series on an important stage. Always good fun. My boyfriend turned me onto the Laundry series.

Just finished Stone Cold Bastards by Jake Bible, which cannot be his real name. It was very bloody and violent, but enjoyable. I found this one through recommendation on John Scalzi's blog.

It's good to be reading again, I was in a slump of internet scrabble and sleep.

Wednesday, July 05, 2017

Huh

Once recently, when I was pootling along on foot, minding my own business, an elderly chap on a bike swished past and made an obscene mouth gesture at me. I didn't have time to react, it was really fast. (I am obviously scarred for life by it).

 I am puzzling over it for some reason today, and my question is, how does someone have that gesture on hand (on face), as it were, in their daily arsenal of facial contortions? Did he see me specifically and think "this is the face I shall show her"? How is it that's his split-second go-to face-pull, tho?

Maybe he does it a lot: I guess he could have been riding with intent to pull rude faces at women in a perpetual perplexing stream of unpleasantness. Oh agony, I am not his only one?!

 Huh. Baffled.

Wednesday, June 21, 2017

Yay

I'm divorced, I'm divorced, I'm divorced!!