Sunday…

Sunday morning white sheets and music…brown eyes and smirking.

Messy hair and moisturiser. No rush. No pressure.

Family feasts, laughs and jokes.

Quiet, unsaid and silent love. Laying next to a soul mate…reminiscing for the future you don’t yet have.

Tears for Monday. I’m glad it’s fucking Sunday…

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50…

There’s 50 of you who follow my thoughts. There’s 50 of you that read my words.

Just as there’s 50 states in the US or 50 extra points awarded for using all 7 letters in scrabble!

50 readers feels like an audience made up of fifty states. And I promise to use as many of my scrabble letters as possible for my 50.

50 may be a busy post office or a long cue to some…but to me the weight is much heavier.

I hope to catch a moment or two from 50 more of you.

Jumped…

Laying in the dark all alone, only the cold white light of my laptop precariously balanced on the edge of my bed, keeping me company. My face is buried in my pillow…the same mustard yellow pillow that gave me so much joy the night before.

It’s back. The dread, the lump in your throat, the tears that just won’t back down. It’s like a fast-paced walk down a dark alley, the start of a scary movie or the blurred objects in the dark. I’m being jumped. Not by school bullies, not by thieves, but by my mind. My own mind taunts me in the night. Yet, this is the same mind that comprehends a smile and remembers your birthday and your favourite colour…Yes, it’s not my choice.

And this is my mind… it is threatened and surprised by anxiety. Tomorrow I may be well and calm and full of love and joy and hope. But at this time I’m caged in the moment and for now, I’m being jumped…

Auntie…

29th of December 2016. Grey Pajamas, peppermint tea, and Netflix originals. An unexpected facetime call from the sibling that paved the way for my younger feet. Perched on her bed like an excited budgie. A new set of little feet was going to arrive in 9 months time…

I’m going to be an auntie. What kind of auntie will I be? How will I spell it? Will I spell it will a ‘y’ or an ‘ie’…’ie’ definitely ‘ie’ it’s more youthful and easy going. What advice will I give this little human? How can I be better just for her?

Rubber ducks, Stripey tights, Backbacks so small they hardly have a purpose and little cardigans with animal ears woven onto the hood. This is what I’m meant to be.

9 months felt so long. The awaited text message creating a domino effect of sleepless excitement and what can only be described as roller coaster tummy. I scoured around for pink roses and for anything that may win the love and affections of a 4-hour old baby girl…with my arms filled with roses a day after deemed ‘fresh’ and a second-hand stuffed dog I jump in the taxi and make my way.

What will be the first thing I ever say to my niece? will it be simple? funny? profound? will it even impact her or me at all? No. Stop. There she is. She’s perfect.

I’m an auntie…

Happiness…

Happiness used to be my freckles coming back for summer, sleepovers, book club, and Sunny D.

Now happiness is being warm, cosy and safe indoors when it’s raining, documentaries on a Sunday night and being hangover-free after 12 hours of being young, reckless and free.

Happiness feels like fresh bed sheets, a deep breath and the sugary ending of a hot cup of tea. It feels like fluffy towels after hot baths, gin and tonic with a lemon slice and a good hair day.

Happiness was never a designer handbag that held the keys to an expensive car and a bulging purse. It was never a roar of adoration that came with fame or even contentment that comes with a consistently perfect life.

My happiness is a coffee and a long chat with my sister, white wine and laughs with friends and inside jokes and forehead kisses with a soul mate…and feeling content on my own. So as I sit here solo and sound my happiness is now fluffy pajamas plucked from my radiator, a steamy bowl of ramen, and the process of selecting a new book to lose myself in for an hour or so, and the thought that today I made me happy.

Today I found happiness…

Being Grown…

Waking up my vision is blurred. I can see the squiggly outline of a very comfortable and childish place. I see the bear I got for my fourth birthday, the T.Rex lamp in the corner softly glowing and a hot pink quill still packaged on my desk.  My eyes are less tired…my mind drifts back to present time. I am an adult. I am 21 years old. I’m grown now.

I study the room for proof. A bottle of white wine stands on my dresser, childishly selected because the label looks like a vintage postcard. Yet I chose it with the awareness that red gives me migraines. It’s stood tall next to the night cream that will stop my age in its tracks…but also next to a plasticine figure of a pineapple I made when I was bored.

Then it hits me like a red wine migraine…I’m just a young girl learning to be grown.

 

High Expectations…

This notebook used to be a pretty book. It was a notebook with a hardback cover and an intricate spine.  I ripped off the cover because I didn’t like the way I wrote my name. Pages upon pages scrumpled and torn. All because of false starts, failures, miseries and high expectations.

I wanted this notebook. I wanted it to be my smoke and mirrors. I wanted to document consistency, perfection a happily ever after in motion. Every day this book would be filled with completed exercise regimes and skincare routines that I ALWAYS stuck with! Truthfully, I was too tired for a walk that I knew would clear my head…Exfoliating made my tears sting a little more than usual.

Truthfully, sometimes I get out of bed too late and sit watching other people live. Sometimes, I constitute a fistful of Maltesers as breakfast and won’t give a fuck. Often, I won’t let go of the past or the future because the present is too immediate to handle.

I made it through the day and through the week and through the year…to the age of 21.  I waited for the new year with the prediction I was going to be perfect this time. Really really perfect. New Year came and I just needed to feel better. I get up no later than 9:30, I moisture in the morning and at night and I try my best to live, just a little bit.

And now I know that my expectations were just too high…