Something frozen on a train

I find it near impossible to write about things I don’t know. And Pinterest tells me that writing only about what you know makes you a very dull writer indeed. Every month, the Australian Writers’ Centre holds a short story competition, Furious Fiction. They post a set of criteria about which you have to write... Continue Reading →

The subtle art of knowing everything is fucked

I usually leave book reviews for my book club meetings but I’m going to make an exception for Mark Manson’s follow up to The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck, aptly titled Everything is Fucked. I’m about two-thirds through but something I read has cut to my core and I can’t seem to get... Continue Reading →

A diagnosis for dating failure

My doctor told me I need to stop giving parts of myself away to people. I thought that was a pretty insightful observation from a man who was checking out my tonsils for infection. The appointment had been made several weeks earlier for a time after work, but as it turned out, I came down... Continue Reading →

I am not myself these days

I’m procrastinating today, which is often the case when I write. I’m avoiding uni work, ignoring my looming deadline to complete my ethics application and research proposal. The fact is my research topic bores me. I mean, I can see the merit in it, but it’s less interesting to me than drinking coffee in the... Continue Reading →

Game of cat and married

He and I have been chatting for three months. He is married and should know better. Don’t be like him. And don’t be like me. It wasn’t my intention to chat to a married man after the disasters of a couple of years ago. Lies, affairs, secrets, bruises – of a physical and mental nature.... Continue Reading →

Zapped by lightning

There are not many times in my life I’ve had a conversation with someone for the first time and been zapped by an instant connection. The kind that makes my voice go high and girly, where I find myself playing with my hair and smiling while nodding at every word they utter. ChrisNotChris was one... Continue Reading →

Thinking of me, thinking of you

It took me days to realise I was actively not thinking about you. I could feel the mania setting in – the insatiable need for distraction, to be busy, to be occupied. I spent hours on social media, trawling the same stories again and again, refreshing apps impulsively looking for a hit, a rush, something... Continue Reading →

Hope is a dirty, not a mother, fucker

The problem with people, is that we hold on to hope when there is none. Hope is so much a part of our psyche, that to give it up entirely would be to give up on humanity. That is to say, to give up on hope, we need to be dead. But having hope when... Continue Reading →

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