I have been writing since I was a child, for me back then the only thing better than writing was to read. I continued that escape as an adult, took Creative Writing at university, joined writing groups to hone my abilities, wrote for pleasure and for business.
Now I write for me.
Tomorrow is June 1st 2020. Tomorrow marks eleven weeks since I went into work. Tomorrow, according to the government, we can ease lockdown.
It’s too soon.
I have just bought my first vinyl album in many years, I had forgotten what a ceremony it could be to listen to music.
Reminder – isolation does not have to mean isolated.
It’s a week since isolation started, well, “social distancing”. Not been a full week as went to work on Monday, in fact last weekend I still thought the events etc planned for this week would be going ahead.
Currents gently, insistently tugging me further downwards to the cavernous gloom where I cannot see or feel.
explore: travel through an unfamiliar area in order to learn more about it
On Saturday, while cutting up a potato I experienced a squirming, wrenching, very agonising pain in my upper back to the left of my spine and just under the shoulder blade (a sure sign I should have a chef or eat take-outs!).
leaving dreams behind
Kevin Bacon on the TV screen, slowly removing the white bandages unveiling the void beneath… “Can we talk?”
So many changes in the last few years, finally looking beyond the horizon to my next adventures.
(inspired by the lyric video for Hammock “The Night You Caught Fire”
A thorny issue, this forgiving business. I can’t speak for other faiths but I know from my upbringing that christians are taught that to forgive is divine. Yet how many of us approach divinity?
Sitting in a Starbucks, thinking about fear. It’s a strange thing is fear, it tugs at your sleeve constantly as a reminder that you’re talentless, imperfect, a blight that the perfect tolerate with amusement.