Winter Lover : Day 4 #100daysofwriting

Hi all
 

My earlier attempt at a post was awful and it deleted rather easily... So here are some of my late night musings.
 

Winter time is good. I think of layered clothing that narrows the gap between hipster chic and hobo. We all end up looking like little hobos in Winter. You disagree? Look at yourself in your over sized beanie, are those fingerless gloves and a long trailing scarf? In cold desperation did you ignore all concept of matching? Your only option is to stick to neutrals - grey, black, brown, cream, navy and a pop of burgundy. Really, now we all match - uniform hobos.
 

The next aspect is romance. I'm even guilty of sniffing out affection in the cold months. Romance is built next to fires, with layers hiding your hot cross bun rolls - am I the only one who feels that Easter marks the end of carb restrictions? In the Southern Hemisphere at least, I would imagine that Thanksgiving rings in the end of diets in the North?
 

The prospect of romance may even encourage you to brave the rain to hit a yoga class. You may even feel compelled to tame your leg hair in their undercover months and therefore making the Springtime grooming less of a lawn mower affair.
 

Is this post about to romance? Goodness me. Old flames and discarded Summer Loving Prospects are popping out of the woodwork at a rate directly proportional to the dipping mercury. What to do? I've pledged allegiance to rusks for the last two months and I'm starting to look like a traditional Ouma Buttermilk rusk - pale and chunky. Mmmm, I actually sound like the perfect thing to curl up on the couch with; blankie and cuppa as my back up singers. Could I, with my rusk-like physique be the perfect winter companion?
 

(I need to break into a grin here)
 

I will keep you updated on my search for the perfect winter companion - don't be surprised it just turns out to be Arizona.

xxx

Free Play : Day 3 #100daysofwriting

In a way I shouldn't even address the fact that sometimes I write dark, twisted, sad things. I'm writing, expressing, twisting words and enjoying it. I have frustration in my body, mind and soul - I do not have romance... So it would be contrived to write a love poem. I am tired of the romancing of love. Love songs sound hollow. Am I depressed? No. I'm just not in a romantic dream world. Things around me are not miserable, but they are hard and practical. Pain and exhaustion sit on my shoulders.

But to please some people I will now attempt a nice poem, although not in iambic pentameter.

NICE POEM

A little frog
Sits upon a log
Contemplating love
And the sky above

The rolling fog
Covers his bog
And hides the dove
His symbol of love

Now little frog
From the bog
Has lost his love
The gorgeous dove

OK I tried, it still came out dark.

Crash. - Day 2 #100daysofwriting

Crawling up my bonnet
Boots crunch
Gravel against glass
Face up
Back down
Scream out
Rain pelts down
Soaking me to my soul
Wet dissolves fabric
Flesh to metal
Freezing
Shivering
Screaming
The sky is a horrible colour
Drained of love
Drained of purpose
Stars are hidden
Rain falls
Face up
Back down
Screaming
On the top of my lungs
Top of my car
The edge of my world
My mind
My tether
Missing you isn't even it
I loathe you
My blood screams
I want you
I hate you
I need you
Both comforter and executioner
Crawling
Screaming
Soaking
Lying
Words pound
Worlds crash
Blood screams
Boots crunch
Rain pours

The Cat's Meow - Day 1 #100daysofwriting

There is something about a blank page, blank screen, flashing cursor, naked line screaming for content. Break the seal, crack the glass, rip the bandaid off and write. So on with the first of 100 daily posts.
 

I have a cat, Arizona, who I haven't written much about on the blog, although she is one of my favourite photographic subjects on Instagram. She is my baby, my daughter, my comfort, my companion and my little muse. Yes, muse in the sense of I can't stop taking photos of her but in another way too. I got sober on 5 October 2013 and Arizona was born three days later. She is a type of symbol, talisman, and my new vice. I run up the stairs to my flat when I get home to scoop her up in my arms. She has the softest fur I've ever felt and I bury my face in her warmth.
 

My brother says that cats only meow at humans. Arizona is very communicative. This morning I realise that she has me wrapped around her perfect little claw.  When I answer her meow I am not just a crazy cat lady, I can actually understand her!  There is the "Where are you?", the "Feed me!", the "Let me into the bathroom" and then this little "purp" sound, like a chirp that she mostly uses on my brother which I guess means "what up?".
 

I still maintain I'm not touched in the brain. Promise.
 

Should I?

“You said you would, so really you should,”
 “I should? I should? Why should I do anything?”
 

There’s an exhaustion in my bones. Sometimes I just lie on my bed feeling like I can’t move, but then I get up, and do something big. Big like cooking a ton of food to freeze. Is it a bizarre type of laziness? Being prepared?
 

I feel inspired to write at the most inappropriate times and sometimes consider carrying a little tape recorder around with me so I can dictate my thoughts as I drive. I suppose my phone would suffice. But I don’t and my thoughts often just float away. My creative being is sort of squatting inside me as I get on with the shoulds, until creativity becomes a should, a something to be scheduled and controlled.
 

As I sit on my bed, with a newly discovered cover of “Black Hole Sun” on repeat, I’m tempted to grab a canvas and just drag paint covered hands across it. I want to attack a canvas. I want to lean off the balcony and give out a primal scream. I want the parts of me to realign. I’m even sure that I knew that I was out of line until I typed it right now. I’ve been describing my mood as lonely-antisocial all day – weird, I know that I’m actually just on a depressed wave. A weird limbo of needing rescue without being able to shout loud enough for it. But no means do I need people to phone me or rush over to my flat. I’d love it if someone abandoned a tub of ice-cream on my welcome mat. If someone drove me through the drive thru for a MacFlurry and then dropped me at home. I think I’m also feeling financial strain – I get down when I feel like all my money is for petrol. Food is a drug, spending money is a drug; spending money on junk food is the ultimate relapse… or the closest to a relapse that I could allow. If I had wine, and technically I do, would I drink it? No. Smoking has never been my thing so sinking back into a smoky cloud of herbs doesn’t appeal. I don’t feel like acting whole with a lipstick smile while I pull my tummy in… so I can’t be bothered to indulge my sycophantic needs in the company of men. I feel too selfish to listen to stories about anyone else’s life so that rules out the rest of humankind. So this leaves food and money, and we’ve established those are a no go. So I’m a junkie without a fix.
 

So I’m a junkie without a fix. And in this moment I feel relief. I’m a junkie without a fix.
 

With a wry smile, I remember why I love to write, it's like an emotional purge, and now I can get on with my life.

Goldilocks & The Hangry B*tch

Me? Grumpy?
When I'm hungry?
I'm not a toddler... oh but I am. For years it's been no secret to my family (and friends) that if Sharon is hungry, thirsty, tired and or needs the toilet... you best press yourself against a wall and throw a muffin in the direction of the bathroom.

I've been a little grumpy this week - a combination of earlier mornings and better eating - mostly under the premise that I am not a child but a grown up capable of punctuality and portion control. My natural state is really antisocial hibernating bear with a life supply of cupcakes within arm's reach... but unfortunately it's more socially acceptable to have a job and to not snarl at people.

The last two days I've had to push out my lunch because of meetings, resulting in me being a little feral if someone tries to greet me, let alone tries to ask me a question. I stare wide eyed, weave dizzily and growl. How do I get SO hungry SO fast - I will feel normal and then want to claw someone to shreds to steal their lunch? I've heard it said that carbs cause that kind of hungry, but I find it more likely when I avoid carbs. In a way I feel all the high protein turns me into a slightly less green version of The Hulk. I'm not really asking for an answer, more thinking aloud.

It's crazy how much basic needs can effect our entire mood. The balance is precarious. We need to be not hot, not cold; not hungry, not full... Where are the Three Bears?

On that note... I need a healthy snack.... mmm Rooibos & Honey yoghurt will hit the spot and help the theme. Sorry again for what I said when I was hungry. xoxo

Curiouser & Curiouser

http://fc07.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2010/248/6/4/curiouser_and_curiouser____by_lostcharms-d2y36c8.jpg

 

Excuse me... did you send me this extremely generous Valentine gift?

 

I got a delivery today... a picnic basket for two, with chocolates and a teddy in a heart emblazed jersey.

 

I am thrilled - because someone loves me an awful amount.

I am intrigued - because no one will own up to it.

I am scared - because well... someone loves me and I don't know who.

 

Shut up before you tell me lots of people love me, value me, etc etc. This is pretty huge.... If you're reading this Dear Secret Admirer... Thank you VERY much... and please tell me who you are by Sunday... I mean seriously? You must know me well to know I love Owls, picnics, chocolate and bears... I've wanted a wicker picnic basket for years. You really spoilt me.

 

So much for Hellentine's Day hey?

 

xoxox

 

Oh, here's a photo of the basket...

 

 

Monday - Life Hacks?

Found this on Pinterest, going to try and implement these great tips and thought you might want to do them too!

Wish I'd seen them last night already, a new start to life this week would have been great. I suppose there's no better time than RIGHT NOW to start implementing better life practices?

All credit to http://fundersandfounders.com/

Hellentines' 2015

Valentines' Day… the degree to which I am anti Valentines' is totally eclipsed by how badly I secretly want to be spoilt rotten. Absolutely a case of “I think the lady doth protest too much”. 

I feel like I’ve been brain washed to accept that the men I associate with aren’t romantic, flowers are expensive and die, no one is going to write me a love letter, holding hands is sweaty, and if someone gives you a back rub you’re going to have to reciprocate so don’t even ask.

Through High School I always had someone to send me a rose – we’d gather in the hall to receive roses sent from the boys’ schools. As far as I remember I usually got at least one, never from an actual admirer through!

At 15 my very first boyfriend broke up with me 6 days before Valentines' Day – after I’d planned a very romantic double date at Laser Quest. I really don’t blame him, I’d been a bit of a bitch, but the injustice of singlehood on Valentines' was horrific.
Fast forward to the Vday when I baked heart shaped biscuits for a boyfriend, with great difficulty because I’d been stabbed in my arm a few days earlier, I don’t think he even got me a card. Then the Valentines' where I cooked a lovely meal and bought my own flowers with grocery money my boyfriend had given me.

Now Hellentine’s 2015 I was going to play wingman at a wedding but the plan has changed. So I tried to make plans with a guy friend who had previously expressed the desire to boycott the whole commercial holiday, but he has plans now. So I sit and wonder if I should spend the day with someone random and I wonder why I even care. I’m vaguely “seeing someone” who I have honestly not seen in almost 2 weeks or spoken to this week – I think I need to categorise him along with the Easter Bunny. I’m absolutely not prepared to ask about the status quo.

Bottomline… why do I care? Why do I want the mushy ridiculousness? Why do I want to punch couples who say they don’t celebrate Valentines’?

(Come on) Let's Go!

I feel like I’m standing on a cliff, looking at a smashed car at the bottom of the valley. Someone who looks just like me has their fingers wrapped around my wrist and pulls me gently away from the scene with the words “Come on… let’s go”.

I thought something might be my way out, my salvation, the answer, the change I’d been waiting for… but it’s not for me. This isn’t about a man. This isn’t even about a car. This is a scheme, a dream, an admittedly cushy escape.

It’s really ok. I don’t need to stand here staring at what might have been. I wasn’t in the dream before it smashed. I’m pretty sure I shoved it off the cliff.

So I close my eyes, listen to “Let’s Go!” by the Smashing Pumpkins, turn and walk away.