A woman’s notebook: journalling and some very dramatic poetry.

When I left home for university at nineteen, packed among my possessions was a journal. “A woman’s notebook, being a blank book with quotes by women” would become my first official diary, though not my last. If I’d been choosing one myself, I’d have picked something different: this one had half-size pages and a glued binding. I like spiral notebooks that don’t cause hand cramps … Continue reading A woman’s notebook: journalling and some very dramatic poetry.

Not what I want.

it would make a scene, I suspect, if I caused among those who are surrounding  me the kind of pain I carry (not to brag, she said with false humility, but there’s a fair bit trapped inside)   (and honestly, they own much of it).   the blood spatter, however, would make extra work for our waitress, and service workers are overworked, underpaid, borderline-slave labour. … Continue reading Not what I want.

Mould, mildew, and anxiety.

I’m not sure that combining an anxious nature with a creative imagination is a good idea. I think I’d do better at managing my anxiety if my brain couldn’t create elaborate, albeit improbable, scenarios. It’s a nice thought. I like it. It’s probably not true: I had three panic attacks yesterday without much in the way of inner-ugly movies. I woke up panicking: don’t do … Continue reading Mould, mildew, and anxiety.