Wake up from a coma. Pretend to forget the last ten years of your life. Start again. That is how you travel backwards through time.
You think what you hated most about the party, though you would be hard pressed to settle on just one thing, was the endless parade of new couples.
They showboated their untested relationships as they walked around the room, smirking as if their lives were complete now this person had decided to put the weight of their arm, on the back of their neck.
They seem to drip with each other, melt into each other, screaming to their exes and estranged parents, ‘see I told you I was loveable,’ and once in a while they would summon you over, invite you into their private world, to drop hints about their new possessions, new sleeping arrangements and all the new vulnerabilities they had shared that morning. You would smile, nod, remember how lovely it had been at the start, then look for an exit. Continue reading “Showboating”
I read some poetry and prose out on at a short story night. This is the first time I have done such a thing, and it was terrifying.
My hands were shaking. I was wearing too much grey. I had torn a bit of my paper off to put chewing gum in without thinking. I read too fast. People were sitting in intimidating chairs. I started with a poem. I didn’t know how to write poetry. It didn’t rhyme. I had drunk some wine (lots of wine.)
But it went okay! Like, I think. I don’t know. No one punched me afterwards. Continue reading “Hands”
If all the framed portraits and certificates that my mother put up really represented my achievements in life, then wouldn’t they mark the moment I learnt my afternoon naps were due to a vitamin B deficiency and I wasn’t actually depressed?
It’s everything in her house. Handprint drawings. School reports. Merit certificates. Sports day medals. Diplomas. Degrees. Marriages photos. Trampolining certificates. Nothing exceptional. My two sisters and I, we were fairly also ran but at the same time, content. None of us had ever conquered Everest or been the absolute best at anything. Continue reading “Dating Average Men”
What is the end game of a date? Please tell me, I am an urban legend, and have forgotten about sex. I keep getting invited in for coffee and when they open up cupboards devoid of caffeinated beverages and I ask why they lied, their expectant smiles turn upside down.
It is difficult to be truly original within the confines of a modern relationship, especially if your memory is as appalling as mine.
I want inoffensive conversations with inoffensive women over bland food.
What dazzled me today?
A woman with a handmade t shirt declaring ‘only regret what you have never done – not what you have,’ in large purple letters.
But it’s written in biro, and the letters are unevenly spaced. Continue reading “What dazzled me today?”
I visit the Memento Mori shop on Sundays after church. I go to church because I’ve yet to make up my mind about religion. I don’t know how I feel about God. I don’t know whether he exists and watches me masturbate or whether he is an old habit of mine I have yet to shrug off, like smoking or the fear of everyone I love dying in a house fire. Continue reading “The Memento Mori Shop”