Feeling like my life is an almost toppling tower of books (quite literally) waiting patiently on my nightstand hoping to be picked up and feeling increasingly ignored when my head hits the pillow instead. So many books, so little time. Is it acceptable to say that even when I’m out, opening the next bottle of wine and laughing obnoxiously with friends, that a tiny part of me would rather be curled up on the sofa with my nose in a book instead? Not sure if I’m turning 25 or 75.
In my old lady defence, there are SO many books out that require devouring at the moment! I was so excited for April to swing around (although the months can now SLOOOOW down please) because I’d finally be getting my hands on Hannah Witton’s Doing It, Daisy Buchanan’s How To Be a Grown-Up and Laura Jane William’s Ice Cream For Breakfast. I love all three of these ladies and their work so I was thrilled to finally have copies of their books in my hands.
Apparently I was so excited for How To Be a Grown-Up that I pre-ordered it twice. (more…)
They say you shouldn’t speak too soon, and obviously I did when I wrote about my experience with coming off the Pill and how breezy it’d been, because after five days of realising my cycle just kind of does what it wants now, with my tracker app checking in every morning like “Has your period started yet?” (we are both as nervous as each other, app), along period came with cramps coming back with a vengeance. Like all the cramps had saved themselves up over the years that I had tried to diffuse them and unleashed hell over one Monday when I had so much to do.
Once upon a time I would have ditched the to-do list. I don’t take pain killers, so I would have succumbed to the hot water bottle and thrown myself back into bed in the hopes of sleeping it off.
Lately I’m just trying to be better, and do better, and give it all a little more. Sometimes I don’t even know what I mean by being better.
So I chose not to quit the day just yet…maybe in a couple of hours.
I took my vitamins and gulped back a couple of green teas. I forced myself to work out – rumour has it a little exercise does cramps some good. I tidied up the mess I’d made over the weekend. I dealt with my eyebrows. The tiny things that form my Monday mornings. Tiny, irrelevant, ten-minute-if-that jobs. But I didn’t put them off. (more…)
(Don’t ask. I had a point to prove.)
Earlier this week I shared a post on a list of 10 things that are more important than a man’s abs, as beautiful as they may be.
Which got me thinking about the importance we place on our own appearances. I feel like I drum it relentlessly down the ears of people who don’t care. I say it every time a woman berates her already beautiful body; YOU ARE MORE THAN YOUR BODY. Reeeally how our bodies look needs to be so far down on the level of significance in comparison to who we actually are. Last week’s post on our insisting that a man’s personality matches up to his abs was inspired by my shouting at a friend in a quiet coffee shop “You can’t make his body a defining quality, he’s an ass, that’s his defining quality. The best thing about him shouldn’t be his body!”.
And I don’t want the best of me to be my body (fortunate, cause apparently you don’t get abs eating cake & drinking wine?). I think there’s much too much emphasis on #bodygoals and not enough focus on how we ought to be smarter than we are hot, and practising being compassionate, and generally wanting to be better as humans every day. (more…)
To my mother, who would probably rather read the entire works of Shakespeare than read some of the ruder thoughts I share on this blog;
We rarely share affection, but I might show you this. Our displays of love do not go past buying each other coffees and always writing in the annual Christmas card that we’re glad we have each other to go for coffee so often with. Between me and you and the brother, the musketeers, we have a mutual and silent appreciation and closeness that comes from what we call ‘our old life’ that we left behind almost a decade ago now. Can you believe it’s almost been a f**king decade?
We rarely talk or behave seriously, because we had more than enough years of serious. We inject some element of laughter or taking the piss in every little thing because for years we rarely got to laugh. (more…)
Hello hi there I’d like to talk about the Pill today. Approaching 25 I have only just learned what I’d consider to be vital information about the contraceptive pill, and ja darling I could have looked it all up a long time ago, but I’m kinda pissed off that when I joined the club at 17, the only fillers I was given was that I should still use condoms, I might gain weight and I must take the pill at the same time every day.
The cancer risk rumours, the oomph in anxiety theories and the by-the-way-you-might-not-actually-feel-like-having-sex-at-all-now-that-you’re-on-this-thing-that-was-supposed-to-make-your-sex-life-easier hush hush that nooooobody mentioned, was all just information that sporadically swam my way throughout my 7 years on the Pill.
In fact, over the 7 years I made perhaps only two repeat prescriptions that required me to check in with a nurse about how my Pill of choice was working for me. At 17 I’d actually started taking it cause I would get such horrendous cramps that I’d have to adopt the fetal position clasping a hot water bottle for two days every month.
I was very lucky. I gained no extra weight and I didn’t think I had any problems with the first Pill I was put on, so Cilest and I formed a long friendship. She also gave me really good skin. What a babe.
When I was younger and sitting in the doctor’s office awaiting my repeat prescription and the nurse asked how it was working for me, the idea of whether I felt anxious or tired or cranky or completely not horny at all didn’t enter my mind. I haven’t gotten pregnant yet, Debra, so I’d say it was working pretty well.
But how, actually, was it working for me? (more…)