Day 33: I am one convulsing nostril

It is 21:58 and all around me I am surrounded by chaos. Boxes that contain my life, my loves, my infinite passion for vintage dresses and bombastic patterns, trinkets that sit somewhere between sacred relics and culturally appropriated junk and the thousands of books and journals I am perpetually on the verge of starting, finishing,… Continue reading Day 33: I am one convulsing nostril

Day 29: Mamma Mia, here I frigging go again

Approximately two weeks into our lockdown - thus now almost 756,000 million years ago - middle sister introduced us to TikTok. By 'us', I mean myself and my parents because every other family member - including our cats - was aware of this phenomenon and I am now within their generational bandwidth in terms of… Continue reading Day 29: Mamma Mia, here I frigging go again

Day 20: Things I’ve cried at in the past 24 hours

Oh, hi there. Nothing to see here, just a woman now sort-of in her late twenties but still very much under the impression her age, looks, and penchant for terrible hair cuts paused at 22, crying into a supermarket trolley, improvised buddha bowl, chocolate pavlova. Whatever happens to be close-to-hand and weirdly inappropriate. Thankfully, salt… Continue reading Day 20: Things I’ve cried at in the past 24 hours

Day 18: She sleeps alone.

Pros of lockdown: No longer having that feeling, as you fall asleep celibate and alone, that every other twenty-something is out there having passionate sex with all and sundry. Cons of lockdown: Falling asleep, celibate and alone. Pros of lockdown: Sisters being legally prevented from seeing their boyfriends and love interests, making them seem every… Continue reading Day 18: She sleeps alone.

Day 12: My level of fear does not correlate to the amount of alcohol I drank

Here's the deal. My sister and I have nominated Friday as fag* night or, more alliteratively, Fag Friday because imagination and any soup├žon of political correctedness and/or fear of ridicule went out the window with coronavirus. By doing this just once last week, we've now created a whole tradition that feels as old and inherent… Continue reading Day 12: My level of fear does not correlate to the amount of alcohol I drank

Day 8: The Day I Shall be Born Again and/or Lethargy Though

Hello, old friend. This is the past, writing the future. ...This is the sentence I find awaiting me in my drafts. I have no recollection of writing it or the completely paradoxical title which clearly I did at some stage in the past 48 hours. However, I believe the basic gist is this: This Sunday… Continue reading Day 8: The Day I Shall be Born Again and/or Lethargy Though

Day 7: Self-Care is not a euphemism for hair removal.

The truth is I've been trying to write this for five minutes but a piece of toenail got stuck in my keyboard. I tried to get it out but in so doing instead aided it in its escape from my newly-manicured fingers so that now its rump is lodged under the '@' key - which,… Continue reading Day 7: Self-Care is not a euphemism for hair removal.

Day 6: Thursdays are for solo candlelit dinners and flirtations with classical music

Allow me to set the scene. I don't believe I've done that before. What a terrible narrator I am. It is 20:51, I sit alone at my desk in the activewear I've been wearing since what feels like 2003 but is really just whatever day I arrived home, hungover - god, remember hangovers?! - to… Continue reading Day 6: Thursdays are for solo candlelit dinners and flirtations with classical music

Day Four/Five: The cesspool of social media has me drowning

I find myself looking forward to random people's morning stories. Hah, call my sleep-deprived but that reads as morning glory to me and I am at the stage of housebound, recycled-air inhalation insanity which makes that veeeeeeeeeery funny. Anyway. Pretending I'm not a nine-year-old boy who's just had his first erection - I follow one… Continue reading Day Four/Five: The cesspool of social media has me drowning