I am so tired. So tired of friends asking how I am, and then if I tell them, saying “Well maybe you should go to the doctor.”
Tired of going to the doctor and not being believed, having my symptoms dismissed, because… why? I’m a woman? I don’t know why, but all I can say for sure is that I have never been to the doctor about something which has turned out to be nothing, and yet that’s what they expect to happen every. fucking. time. Read more
The third instalment in an ongoing series which was born of me not wanting to keep dealing with people’s incredulous looks when I tell them what I do. Read more
It’s Monday morning. I wake up to the sound of seagulls screeching outside the window, sun straining through the blind.
I work for a bit, perched on the edge of the single bed in the hotel room with a bright pink laptop on my knee and my feet resting on the chair opposite, tapping out replies to emails and deciding on my Out Of Office message.
By 10am I’m on a bus through the countryside, familiar places passing by the window, invoking memories that have lain dormant since I last returned almost three years ago.