The blog was going to be taking a break today, because I have a unicorn wines post in the queue but I haven’t finished writing it yet. Then I logged onto Twitter and saw that it’s Teacher Appreciation Day, so I thought I’d share a poem I wrote about the teachers at my old school, who were utterly fantastic and without whom I’m fairly sure I wouldn’t be alive. Continue reading “SGS (a poem)”
On March 4th 2014, my friend Jo killed herself. She wouldn’t have understood how much we’d miss her, because when you’re in that kind of state of mind you don’t get it.
I do miss her, though. If you’re thinking about killing yourself, you probably have people who will miss you too. They won’t even know before you die exactly which things they’ll miss about you. Some will be obvious, of course, but others not so much. Continue reading “A Special Post For A Special Person On A Special Day”
Katy, Adam and Audrey have been BFFs forever. They know everything about each other – all their shady secrets, all their likes and dislikes and stories of lost loves. Even now that they’re adults, their lives still intertwine – a friendship that stretches across the years and binds them together for all time.
So when Katy suddenly kills herself, it punches a pretty big hole in Audrey and Adam’s lives.
I’ve never really been into reading biographies. With the exception of pretty much anything about the life of Kierkegaard, I generally stay away from true stories and read either academic non-fiction, or novels.
But this year quite a lot of biographical accounts have ended up on my reading list, and several of them were amazing enough that I decided to do a whole new Reflections post for them.
I’m defining ‘biography’ quite loosely here, to mean anything where the author draws on personal experience (either their own or someone else’s) to discuss the central premise of the book.
the world is hard today
but there is still
there is still a person smiling at a stranger in the street
still the trees of summer wafting in the breeze
still the light of a warm golden evening slanting through the park
still dust motes dancing in its wake
there is still
I was sitting on the platform at Brighton station, waiting for a train. It had been a bit of a frustrating day: the trains had all not been running on time, and I’d only needed to go down there to pick up a single envelope. In total so far, the journey had taken me three hours for a five-minute conversation and envelope handover, and I still had the journey home on a stuffy train to look forward to. And the announcement boards weren’t working, and the train man had told me the train would “probably” be arriving soon, on platform five.
So there I was, sitting on a bench waiting for a train. I’m a patient person and had resigned myself to the idea of spending all day on public transport. I’d finished Augustine’s Confessions on the way down and was now in the first few pages of Jenny Lawson’s Furiously Happy.
Some time ago, I broke my foot in a boxing class. I’m not even sure how I managed to do it – I wasn’t actually boxing at the time, just doing the warm-up exercise, which involved sprinting from one side of the room to the other when the trainer yelled “GO!”.
I tripped over something (myself? the floor? air?) and landed crumpled-up on my foot. It broke. I spent some time at home, not walking on it and keeping it strapped up and elevated, until it eventually healed.