Say that ten times fast. It's one of the tongue twisters those of us from the other side of the Atlantic learn as kids. A Lorry is a truck. (Luar-ee). That's sometimes how depression feels. Something you can't quite grasp. Like you're nearly able to comprehend, to get a hold of, but never completely. You … Continue reading Red Lorry, Yellow Lorry, Red Lorry, Yellow Lorry…
Quack Quack
So this morning is the best morning out of the last three. Not stellar by any means, but okay. The kids were fifteen minutes late for school. I'm starting to worry the school will call DCFS soon. I need to get on top of this soon. Or now. I woke at 06:30 without an alarm. … Continue reading Quack Quack
Sneachta Bán
If you want to hang out, You've gotta take her out, cocaine If you want to get down, Get down on the ground, cocaine - Eric Clapton - Cocaine A friend of a friend of a friend showed me to you tonight... An Sneachta Bán, I tasted you before I felt you, Excited before the … Continue reading Sneachta Bán
Boy Girl
I am dressed like a teenaged boy again today. Baggy sweatpants, gym shoes, comfy hoodie (go Bulls), baseball (or should I say basketball) cap (go Bulls), and a backpack. Are people judging me? Yes. No. Maybe. Some are. Some aren't. Does it matter? Yes. No. Maybe. Should I care? Yes. No. Maybe. Am I … Continue reading Boy Girl
What a Fuckin’ Day? (Part I)
What a fucking day! I've called this part one. I'm sure I will have many more parts, assuming I haven't topped myself first that is. I sure have had part zero and several negative parts before today. What started off as a normal shitty day just got worse and worse. Mood wise anyway. I woke … Continue reading What a Fuckin’ Day? (Part I)
Arms Glorious Arms
I'm looking at my right arm. It is so much prettier than my left, so much more damaged, more scarred. I cut it better than the left. My work was more precise, maybe accurate, certainly deeper, than the other. I am jealous of it on behalf of my left. It is a shame my left … Continue reading Arms Glorious Arms
FUCKING KNEES
I sit here, in Starbucks, again. My head in my hands, again. Trying not to cry. Trying to remember to breathe. Does it really matter. If I cry? If I forget to breathe? I don't think it does. Right now it would be a relief. Maybe not to my fellow customers and staff, but to … Continue reading FUCKING KNEES
