The ball of his feet. Synthetic material. One toe poking out of the sheet, the other foot pressing lightly against my calf. Things feels strange all the time now. I try not to stir him. The lawyer will call in an hour but we’ll both ignore our phones. We’re having an ‘us’ day. Our last day, together. I wonder if sleeping is a waste of time. He snores softly beside me and I suppose not.Continue reading “Bounce”
I can freely acknowledge that this blog has been pretty depressing thus far, which is an accurate representation of what I’ve been feeling. Not depressed exactly, but definitely out of it mentally, trying to find my way back in and make sense of my identity here, in this place. Sometimes you have to go backwards to do that, right?
Can things that were once bad for you, ever really become good?
This is one the things I’ve had to consider since coming back, recalling how I always struggled to feel like a part of the family when I was growing up. Most of my time was spent plotting how to eventually get away for good; a motivator that propelled me to succeed in certain areas, in order to reach my ultimate goal of living far, far away from the life I knew.
We haven’t seen Nana; not since the fire. I told friends at school it was a blaze, but I lied, like always. It was just a fire, spreading quickly and evenly throughout our kitchen. We inhaled smoke and the next day we weren’t allowed to eat breakfast. No more cornflakes or rice krispies or even the weetabix that I hated. Everything was just black shapes on a black table with black floors and black ceilings.
Black is beautiful. Never forget this.
Nana said this to me once, when she caught me scrubbing my skin raw in the bath in the middle of the night. Only she and I awake as she wrenched the ghana sponge from my hand.
Why would you do this?
Her eyes always asked questions when her mouth was silent. I told her about the girls at school, the way the boys were, the word dirty
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OK, I realise that starting a blog post with the word “oof” sets a very specific and perhaps disappointing tone, but alas, it is an almost perfect description of how I’m feeling as I write this post. It’s not that I don’t want to write this, it’s just that I don’t really want to write it. I know that makes no sense, so let’s go back a few weeks to explain.
The season is upon us! It’s closing in and getting closer by the minute! At the time of posting this, there are exactly two weeks left until Christmas day! And why am I using so many exclamation points you ask? Because I am trying to hide my anxiety by feigning excitement! Join me won’t you.
Nine years ago the Hoover family took a road trip to a beauty pageant and gave us all a front row seat to their shenanigans. No, this was not a half-baked reality TV show, but instead a wonderful mirror image of the American family and what it means to really go through some shit. For those of you that still have no clue what I’m talking about, let me introduce you to the 2006 film Little Miss Sunshine.
Change is hard, what a surprise. You know what isn’t hard? Staying exactly the same and doing what you have always done. Even when you hate it. Some might refer to it as a ‘better the devil you know’ mentality. And I have known some Devils in my lifetime. Yesireebob. One particular devil that I always hated was routine. At least, that’s what I would tell anyone that would listen, from my teens into early adulthood. I hated the regularity of things, the sensible mechanism of doing the same thing over and over again, getting life insurance, thinking about mortgages and investments for the future etc. etc.