at the moment in my life so chemistry must have arranged i feel as though i am contained within an invisible box.
A bit like a coffin i suppose but upright, vertical. Not horizontal.
As i witness the antagonism between my son and his step dad
i feel the wooden sides of the box pressing my arms to my side
and as the sun shines into the cold April garden i feel my tongue silenced in my head as
i feel something like sorrow and sadness fill my my heart
and my vision is clouded with sad ghostly premonitions.
like when someone presses your arms down while you resist their pressure and then as they release their pressure your arms float up as though they are flying...
I long to feel a release from this coffin and fly
without guilt or recriminations
or children screeching at me.
father time.
I remember.
i am clearly miserable and long to wake up with eyes unclouded by what must be depression of some sort.
i can't help putting this pen to paper though for all i know it could be feeding my feelings.
i could pretend i suppose that i am a shiny happy person.
though i have tried and the darkness pervades.
Monday, 29 April 2013
Sunday, 28 April 2013
shiny happy people
How to articulate this.
Sometimes in Spring time
I get quite low.
Like the opposite of SAD.
As people shed their outer layers and walk in a more relaxed gait in the sun
chatter and walk and smile brightly
I feel more like dressing darkly
sunglasses on and looking down to avoid the cheer.
since a child living on a big housing estate
I hated summer as people would turn up their music really loud
and then i thought they'd gather like ants on walls and on swings and gravitate towards a centre.
My kids have been taken to a park by their uncle at my request
since i need to do 'housework'
i walked through the paths of new cross passing shiny happy people
all gay in the insipid clouded sun
and i brought looroll and washing up liquid and not sunday lunch
since we are still on a diet of frugality
and i didn't raise my head to smile at passing strangers
or share in the awakening bashful welcome of a sunny sunday.
now housework untouched and children gone
i am left with a guilty blue feeling in my chest
and a historical anxiety that springtime brings to me.
in the fridge sits one can of lager
it is before three
but i pull it open and drink
i cannot face the housework
and i am barely ever alone
i want to bottle aloneness
and drink it from time to time.
not sure i articulated anything.
but there you go...
Sometimes in Spring time
I get quite low.
Like the opposite of SAD.
As people shed their outer layers and walk in a more relaxed gait in the sun
chatter and walk and smile brightly
I feel more like dressing darkly
sunglasses on and looking down to avoid the cheer.
since a child living on a big housing estate
I hated summer as people would turn up their music really loud
and then i thought they'd gather like ants on walls and on swings and gravitate towards a centre.
My kids have been taken to a park by their uncle at my request
since i need to do 'housework'
i walked through the paths of new cross passing shiny happy people
all gay in the insipid clouded sun
and i brought looroll and washing up liquid and not sunday lunch
since we are still on a diet of frugality
and i didn't raise my head to smile at passing strangers
or share in the awakening bashful welcome of a sunny sunday.
now housework untouched and children gone
i am left with a guilty blue feeling in my chest
and a historical anxiety that springtime brings to me.
in the fridge sits one can of lager
it is before three
but i pull it open and drink
i cannot face the housework
and i am barely ever alone
i want to bottle aloneness
and drink it from time to time.
not sure i articulated anything.
but there you go...
Monday, 22 April 2013
my sister
she died. Feb 7th 2012. Charles dickens' birthday.
I miss her.
very much.
sometimes you manage to think things are temporary
for a bit and then as you are sweeping the kitchen floor
you realise that some things are not temporary and that some things
are really permanent.
Like death.
Unless you chose to temporarily believe in heaven
until then it is permanent.
I miss her so much
here is her song
https://soundcloud.com/loveforlifelondon/a-brighter-day2-1
if you can get it via this....
she was too cool for school!
xxxxxxxxxx
I miss her.
very much.
sometimes you manage to think things are temporary
for a bit and then as you are sweeping the kitchen floor
you realise that some things are not temporary and that some things
are really permanent.
Like death.
Unless you chose to temporarily believe in heaven
until then it is permanent.
I miss her so much
here is her song
https://soundcloud.com/loveforlifelondon/a-brighter-day2-1
if you can get it via this....
she was too cool for school!
xxxxxxxxxx
Tuesday, 16 April 2013
This is Anonymous Thank Ford
'I thought we'd be more.....more together here - with nothing but the sea and moon. More together than in that crowd, or even in my rooms. Don't you understand that?'
'I don't understand anything,' she said with decision, determined to preserve her incomprehension intact. 'Nothing. Least of all why you don't take soma when you have these dreadful ideas of yours. You'd forget all about them. And instead of feeling miserable, you'd be jolly. So jolly,' she repeated and smiled, for all the puzzled anxiety in her eyes, what was meant to be an inviting and voluptuous cajolery.
He looked at her in silence , his face unresponsive and very grave - looked at her intently. ....
When Bernard spoke at last, it was in a small tired voice. 'All right, then,' he said, 'we'll go back.'
Bernard Marx and Lenina in Brave New World Aldous Huxley
Am reading Brave New World to my fifteen year old son at the moment- he is doing it at school. It is damned hard to get into but it is brilliant once you do.
Ford is the new God.
Today is horrible for me. Utterly horrible.
First I wake up thinking my finances are in order only to discover the new Electricity and Gas supplier I changed to in the hope of getting some free shopping have raided my bank account into the minuses and I am yet again penniless. Hilariously, I think the tariff is higher with this new supplier but I was lured in by the free shopping.......... roundabouts and swings. What a Dodo. An extinct Bird.
I have about three rolling cigarettes worth of tobacco left and am raiding the internet to find a soda bread recipe that doesn't involve buttermilk as we are out of bread for the near future.
The shoes I brought my daughter for school yesterday were actually too big this morning...these things happen. So we put faith in Ford and dashed to the supermarket before school on an empty tank of no petrol to swap to a smaller size...one success.
We are not paying rent this week. It has been a bad week.
Then I get a text from my son at school. He wants me to make a doctor's appointment now cause little shits in the shit hole called school are 'teasing' him about his hair which was plaited during the school holidays.
I want him to come home.
I hate school and all the nasty pieces of shit in it right now.
I half don't blame him if he chose to punch the whole load of cretinous 'teasers' off their chairs and resign.
School just aint the place for everyone.
It can be lonely and cruel where you have to just take shit on the nose and toughen up.
How hard is that when you have a bunch of malicious school uniformed cretins of all shapes and sizes and shades winding you up and goading you till you are fit to break.
Not to mention the teachers half of whom are virtually still in nappies, flirting with the boys who smoke and chastising the ones who are still caught between childhood and adulthood....A rock and a hard place.
Most schools are so full of shit, in face they remind me pretty much of a brave new world. They don't give a toss about the individual child, and a child that is not one of these ones that meanders through with confidence and acumen and all that damn crap, just hate it there and get shit results probably to boot.
Since my boy was small i have considered home schooling him haha, but seriously now I just think why not?
What the f did my GCSE's get me? nothing.
Perhaps it would be best to just throw in the towel and try something else. University is priced out for most kids anyway and the schools are government slave cults run by corrupt bully bureaucratic teachers.
Bad Day.
I hope it gets better.
Actually, first thing this morning I woke up to a very distant thought in the recess of my brain how time passes and erases (i need some suma) and how shit it is that i am always moaning about stuff when one day i will look back and wish i could visit my mum, or have my little ones with me (now grown...i am really old i guess in this distant thought) or all sorts of hypothetical regrets and longings.
But it just don't seem to change my mind.
I 'wake up' when I think of how I want to be............then i walk back into this giant invisible wall of survival and i still can't embrace my prison. I know if i could it might be ok. But i can't
Oh Bernard come find me in the savage garden i will talk with you all night and we can make plans.
'I don't understand anything,' she said with decision, determined to preserve her incomprehension intact. 'Nothing. Least of all why you don't take soma when you have these dreadful ideas of yours. You'd forget all about them. And instead of feeling miserable, you'd be jolly. So jolly,' she repeated and smiled, for all the puzzled anxiety in her eyes, what was meant to be an inviting and voluptuous cajolery.
He looked at her in silence , his face unresponsive and very grave - looked at her intently. ....
When Bernard spoke at last, it was in a small tired voice. 'All right, then,' he said, 'we'll go back.'
Bernard Marx and Lenina in Brave New World Aldous Huxley
Am reading Brave New World to my fifteen year old son at the moment- he is doing it at school. It is damned hard to get into but it is brilliant once you do.
Ford is the new God.
Today is horrible for me. Utterly horrible.
First I wake up thinking my finances are in order only to discover the new Electricity and Gas supplier I changed to in the hope of getting some free shopping have raided my bank account into the minuses and I am yet again penniless. Hilariously, I think the tariff is higher with this new supplier but I was lured in by the free shopping.......... roundabouts and swings. What a Dodo. An extinct Bird.
I have about three rolling cigarettes worth of tobacco left and am raiding the internet to find a soda bread recipe that doesn't involve buttermilk as we are out of bread for the near future.
The shoes I brought my daughter for school yesterday were actually too big this morning...these things happen. So we put faith in Ford and dashed to the supermarket before school on an empty tank of no petrol to swap to a smaller size...one success.
We are not paying rent this week. It has been a bad week.
Then I get a text from my son at school. He wants me to make a doctor's appointment now cause little shits in the shit hole called school are 'teasing' him about his hair which was plaited during the school holidays.
I want him to come home.
I hate school and all the nasty pieces of shit in it right now.
I half don't blame him if he chose to punch the whole load of cretinous 'teasers' off their chairs and resign.
School just aint the place for everyone.
It can be lonely and cruel where you have to just take shit on the nose and toughen up.
How hard is that when you have a bunch of malicious school uniformed cretins of all shapes and sizes and shades winding you up and goading you till you are fit to break.
Not to mention the teachers half of whom are virtually still in nappies, flirting with the boys who smoke and chastising the ones who are still caught between childhood and adulthood....A rock and a hard place.
Most schools are so full of shit, in face they remind me pretty much of a brave new world. They don't give a toss about the individual child, and a child that is not one of these ones that meanders through with confidence and acumen and all that damn crap, just hate it there and get shit results probably to boot.
Since my boy was small i have considered home schooling him haha, but seriously now I just think why not?
What the f did my GCSE's get me? nothing.
Perhaps it would be best to just throw in the towel and try something else. University is priced out for most kids anyway and the schools are government slave cults run by corrupt bully bureaucratic teachers.
Bad Day.
I hope it gets better.
Actually, first thing this morning I woke up to a very distant thought in the recess of my brain how time passes and erases (i need some suma) and how shit it is that i am always moaning about stuff when one day i will look back and wish i could visit my mum, or have my little ones with me (now grown...i am really old i guess in this distant thought) or all sorts of hypothetical regrets and longings.
But it just don't seem to change my mind.
I 'wake up' when I think of how I want to be............then i walk back into this giant invisible wall of survival and i still can't embrace my prison. I know if i could it might be ok. But i can't
Oh Bernard come find me in the savage garden i will talk with you all night and we can make plans.
Thursday, 4 April 2013
and then the police were called
Sometimes when she walked to the shop after dark she felt momentarily free; the black sky above her, the headlights of the oncoming traffic. It seemed to her a ridiculous thought that a walk to the local off licence after-dark could denote to her a freedom, but it did somehow. She would leave her house by the front door and the opening of the gate; the lifting of the latch; the silence of the dark street... it would feel a dash to freedom as she quickly loosened the fact of what left inside.
In that short walk alone to the shop her head was cleansed and she became a body of the other bodies going about anonymously.
To the shop she went, drinking in the black sky and the charging headlights and the chicken shop and the Polish shop and the off licences and the men smoking their cigarettes in the doorway of the pub and the man fly tipping unnoticed on the corner of the busy street.
The shop itself was another matter with it's narrow doorway and garish lighting. Today it was the unfriendly one who did not speak or smile. As she gathered together her shopping in order of priority: bread, milk, four cans of lager and a packet of tobacco she decided not to make the effort of even talking or smiling as she might with a more friendly staff member, and the exchange was silent and unsmiling with no hello, goodbye or thank yous in sight. sShe had not the effort .
Glancing in the black reinforced glass of the door she caught an impression of her reflection and saw a woman removing her alcohol and bread and milk and tobacco from the counter and putting it in the bag. She looked tired and sad. She didn't look how she felt when she stepped out through the gate and walked to a brief freedom.
There were four knocks at the door this morning after the rage had ended. Sharp knocks. Police knocks. Like gunshot, it may not be a sound you should recognize for not hearing it regularly, but when you hear it you know it is a gun being shot, or the police knocking. It is plain and characterless knocking, not threatening like a bailiffs knock, but just cold. She was actually glad they had been called. She had wanted to call them herself when the two were fighting entwined with desire of hatred. Step father and stepson wrestling with intent, knocking the cooker against the wall and splashing extra virgin olive oil onto the ceiling that she would have to clear up later, she couldn't help but think, whilst struggling to separate the passionate containers of sudden condensed hatred.
On the way back from the shop she felt heavier and flat approaching her house. She didn't know who had called he police, a concerned neighbour said the police man. Sorry about the noise she'd said to one earlier... Noise?I haven't heard anything she had replied...........
She had cried a bit, exasperated. He is under a lot of stress she said, he works and works to pay the bills, he is not bad. They were fighting. He was not fighting, he was shouting and my son grew angry. They fought.
My daughter was crying, it felt Victorian, she thought the police would take away her daddy.
But they left unworried about our safety but warning that next time this happened they would involve social services.
She just felt slapped hard in the face.
It was rubbish having the police come.
It was rubbish having a situation where the police had to come. She was glad they had come it was a warning, but she was sad that she had to have a life where the police needed to be called.
What about the daisies and the daffodils and the happy things.
Fields of yellow and blue?
Everything seemed so complicated.
She wasn't sure of another way of things where she'd needent even buy the lager and the tobacco with the bread and milk, where a walk to the shop wouldn't be the pinnacle of her freedom.
She wondered how the other her was doing right now the one that got away and who didn't buy beer and tobacco with her bread and milk and who didn't have neighbours call the police because of the noise.
The other she's brother didn't become horribly unwell when she was 15 and be taken from the house sectioned and stolen from her; the other she never pretended she'd lost the key only to discover it when she saw her fate was sealed.
The other she didn't have to bear with anger from people she knew or brittle cold conversations with her son when he was angry and in a mood with her.
The other she's sister was still alive, singing and published and happy with her little boy and giving her advice at times like this, breaking it down, ahhing and sympathizing really?ing and offering useful nuggets of wisdom about it all whilst planning a next adventure of sunny days and rose wine and children playing in the secret garden or a fine egg on toast.
The other she didn't stop dancing and pretend to lose her key.
She was out there somewhere in a parallel place doing things just how they were meant to be. All suntanned and confident and cosy with life and doing it all just right and everyone she came into contact with were well formed with no issues and she was the best mother ever imbuing everything just right for the best always.
The floor was dirty where the hurricane had broken and the salt bowl had spilled and the bowls had smashed and tomorrow she'd have to start all over again and clear it all up.
The other she lay down comfortably and happily snuggled in her bed and went to sleep.
In that short walk alone to the shop her head was cleansed and she became a body of the other bodies going about anonymously.
To the shop she went, drinking in the black sky and the charging headlights and the chicken shop and the Polish shop and the off licences and the men smoking their cigarettes in the doorway of the pub and the man fly tipping unnoticed on the corner of the busy street.
The shop itself was another matter with it's narrow doorway and garish lighting. Today it was the unfriendly one who did not speak or smile. As she gathered together her shopping in order of priority: bread, milk, four cans of lager and a packet of tobacco she decided not to make the effort of even talking or smiling as she might with a more friendly staff member, and the exchange was silent and unsmiling with no hello, goodbye or thank yous in sight. sShe had not the effort .
Glancing in the black reinforced glass of the door she caught an impression of her reflection and saw a woman removing her alcohol and bread and milk and tobacco from the counter and putting it in the bag. She looked tired and sad. She didn't look how she felt when she stepped out through the gate and walked to a brief freedom.
There were four knocks at the door this morning after the rage had ended. Sharp knocks. Police knocks. Like gunshot, it may not be a sound you should recognize for not hearing it regularly, but when you hear it you know it is a gun being shot, or the police knocking. It is plain and characterless knocking, not threatening like a bailiffs knock, but just cold. She was actually glad they had been called. She had wanted to call them herself when the two were fighting entwined with desire of hatred. Step father and stepson wrestling with intent, knocking the cooker against the wall and splashing extra virgin olive oil onto the ceiling that she would have to clear up later, she couldn't help but think, whilst struggling to separate the passionate containers of sudden condensed hatred.
On the way back from the shop she felt heavier and flat approaching her house. She didn't know who had called he police, a concerned neighbour said the police man. Sorry about the noise she'd said to one earlier... Noise?I haven't heard anything she had replied...........
She had cried a bit, exasperated. He is under a lot of stress she said, he works and works to pay the bills, he is not bad. They were fighting. He was not fighting, he was shouting and my son grew angry. They fought.
My daughter was crying, it felt Victorian, she thought the police would take away her daddy.
But they left unworried about our safety but warning that next time this happened they would involve social services.
She just felt slapped hard in the face.
It was rubbish having the police come.
It was rubbish having a situation where the police had to come. She was glad they had come it was a warning, but she was sad that she had to have a life where the police needed to be called.
What about the daisies and the daffodils and the happy things.
Fields of yellow and blue?
Everything seemed so complicated.
She wasn't sure of another way of things where she'd needent even buy the lager and the tobacco with the bread and milk, where a walk to the shop wouldn't be the pinnacle of her freedom.
She wondered how the other her was doing right now the one that got away and who didn't buy beer and tobacco with her bread and milk and who didn't have neighbours call the police because of the noise.
The other she's brother didn't become horribly unwell when she was 15 and be taken from the house sectioned and stolen from her; the other she never pretended she'd lost the key only to discover it when she saw her fate was sealed.
The other she didn't have to bear with anger from people she knew or brittle cold conversations with her son when he was angry and in a mood with her.
The other she's sister was still alive, singing and published and happy with her little boy and giving her advice at times like this, breaking it down, ahhing and sympathizing really?ing and offering useful nuggets of wisdom about it all whilst planning a next adventure of sunny days and rose wine and children playing in the secret garden or a fine egg on toast.
The other she didn't stop dancing and pretend to lose her key.
She was out there somewhere in a parallel place doing things just how they were meant to be. All suntanned and confident and cosy with life and doing it all just right and everyone she came into contact with were well formed with no issues and she was the best mother ever imbuing everything just right for the best always.
The floor was dirty where the hurricane had broken and the salt bowl had spilled and the bowls had smashed and tomorrow she'd have to start all over again and clear it all up.
The other she lay down comfortably and happily snuggled in her bed and went to sleep.
Sunday, 31 March 2013
hey flying bar :)
Hey flying Bar
I am good
it has been an eventful Easter of chocolate, booze and the such like.
March was a crazy month of birthdays...my baby's on 24th Feb, daughters 3rd March, mine 8th March, my bro's 7th March, my dad's 16th March and my big sons 25th March.....whoa I am surprised I am still standing since each was a celebration ..........Especially the last!
Right now I have put away quite a few bevvies and am still going strong.
Listening to River Deep Mountain High and other sixties classics and just relishing some time alone............
.............fallen out with him indoors (again) not hard to do right now!
.......and kids chocolated out and not quite in bed, though quite late.
Felt quite desperate yesterday with motherhood and it's perimeters but today has been quite peaceful for me- had a whole blog post of my miseries I could not possibly post...
Did some creative writing recently on my blog(Pleasant Valley Sunday on now) under title: Writers block... and felt I started to find a writing voice which was nice for me.
How's life there across the Atlantic do you eat chocolate...I like your cartoon images...boobs or bums....
The rippling waves in the middle of the ocean must be very cold right now. And Black.
I once had a dream where I was fleeing a dark shadow and as he (I do believe it was a he)
chased me like a swift black shadow of fearfulness, I only had a wall or the Ocean to escape to.
I ran and leaped to climb on the wall but I leaped to late and could not get a grip and could not make the leverage to climb it.
So I had no choice but to chose the Ocean, the Black Dark Ocean.
Of course I gained flight and flew,
but so did this cloaked thing behind me.
I flew and swam through the air and this cloaked shadow gained on me.
I am not sure why, but the dream me decided to turn and take the hand of the shadow cloaked thing advancing upon me.
As I took its hand
The Black Ocean
Gained Light.
We alighted Upon a sandy part in the depths
out in the Ocean where the moon shone
and shells of beautiful shell colours lay twinkling in the moonlight.
I embraced my shadow
We alighted and were able to stand in the middle of the ocean by the light of the moon and the stars with the shells reflecting their light.
The fear was gone and so was the shadow, but I still had company, I was not alone.
Pah!
I bet the Atlantic is cold and stormy tonight.
You are across its wave's
I am in New Cross
A little place in South Eat London
In the rain
In the grey
where sometimes , like today
the sun shines on the cold floor and we dream for a minute of life again.
I am ok but how are you?
xxxxx
I am good
it has been an eventful Easter of chocolate, booze and the such like.
March was a crazy month of birthdays...my baby's on 24th Feb, daughters 3rd March, mine 8th March, my bro's 7th March, my dad's 16th March and my big sons 25th March.....whoa I am surprised I am still standing since each was a celebration ..........Especially the last!
Right now I have put away quite a few bevvies and am still going strong.
Listening to River Deep Mountain High and other sixties classics and just relishing some time alone............
.............fallen out with him indoors (again) not hard to do right now!
.......and kids chocolated out and not quite in bed, though quite late.
Felt quite desperate yesterday with motherhood and it's perimeters but today has been quite peaceful for me- had a whole blog post of my miseries I could not possibly post...
Did some creative writing recently on my blog(Pleasant Valley Sunday on now) under title: Writers block... and felt I started to find a writing voice which was nice for me.
How's life there across the Atlantic do you eat chocolate...I like your cartoon images...boobs or bums....
The rippling waves in the middle of the ocean must be very cold right now. And Black.
I once had a dream where I was fleeing a dark shadow and as he (I do believe it was a he)
chased me like a swift black shadow of fearfulness, I only had a wall or the Ocean to escape to.
I ran and leaped to climb on the wall but I leaped to late and could not get a grip and could not make the leverage to climb it.
So I had no choice but to chose the Ocean, the Black Dark Ocean.
Of course I gained flight and flew,
but so did this cloaked thing behind me.
I flew and swam through the air and this cloaked shadow gained on me.
I am not sure why, but the dream me decided to turn and take the hand of the shadow cloaked thing advancing upon me.
As I took its hand
The Black Ocean
Gained Light.
We alighted Upon a sandy part in the depths
out in the Ocean where the moon shone
and shells of beautiful shell colours lay twinkling in the moonlight.
I embraced my shadow
We alighted and were able to stand in the middle of the ocean by the light of the moon and the stars with the shells reflecting their light.
The fear was gone and so was the shadow, but I still had company, I was not alone.
Pah!
I bet the Atlantic is cold and stormy tonight.
You are across its wave's
I am in New Cross
A little place in South Eat London
In the rain
In the grey
where sometimes , like today
the sun shines on the cold floor and we dream for a minute of life again.
I am ok but how are you?
xxxxx
Friday, 22 March 2013
crash
Fuck. How occasions do conspire..........................How quickly can you crash? Why is financial desperation so aligned with general desperation?
I am living on the edge.
I also have a patch of eczema on my left palm just below the little finger which is a constant source of burning. It is red raw and dries out so that when I use my hand it splits and burns some more.
I feel topped up with stuff. My elation is deflated, punctured and currently destroyed though this is probably fleeting.
I have had a dreadful day in monetary terms by mistakenly purchasing the same item twice and thus despite cancelling the item (an expensive birthday present for my son) not having access to the money till some time when I don't need it so desperately...
This is probably a blessing in disguise, but it has lead me to dread the weekend which I hate approaching penniless with hungry beaks for activity open wide.
And my spirit is low so I cannot even imagine a healthy free treat in the freezing park eating marmite sandwiches.
I want to stop today.
My eczema is a symbol direct from god telling me I chose the wrong way..........housewives hand is another name for my type of eczema. You can't just stop making sure the dishes are washed and the floors are clean, so the eczema persists.
I was so happy yesterday. Enlightened. And now I feel half drowned beneath the frothy backwash.
I am hungry and yet I cannot be bothered to eat.
Very depressed this moment.
Come tomorrow.
I am living on the edge.
I also have a patch of eczema on my left palm just below the little finger which is a constant source of burning. It is red raw and dries out so that when I use my hand it splits and burns some more.
I feel topped up with stuff. My elation is deflated, punctured and currently destroyed though this is probably fleeting.
I have had a dreadful day in monetary terms by mistakenly purchasing the same item twice and thus despite cancelling the item (an expensive birthday present for my son) not having access to the money till some time when I don't need it so desperately...
This is probably a blessing in disguise, but it has lead me to dread the weekend which I hate approaching penniless with hungry beaks for activity open wide.
And my spirit is low so I cannot even imagine a healthy free treat in the freezing park eating marmite sandwiches.
I want to stop today.
My eczema is a symbol direct from god telling me I chose the wrong way..........housewives hand is another name for my type of eczema. You can't just stop making sure the dishes are washed and the floors are clean, so the eczema persists.
I was so happy yesterday. Enlightened. And now I feel half drowned beneath the frothy backwash.
I am hungry and yet I cannot be bothered to eat.
Very depressed this moment.
Come tomorrow.
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