.. how to write!
Happy Monday 💫
.. how to write!
Happy Monday 💫
My shoulders hurt from the strain of my tied-up hands behind my back.
The ropes cut deeply into my skin, my wrists have become numb.
I wait in the dust, watching the motes move slowly through the shafts of light.
This light, it moves steadily around the room, as the sun moves across the sky.
Four days I think. Four sets of shafts of light. A billion motes.
When will you come to save me, to find me. You promised, you told me.
I believed you when I went with them. I trusted you, in your armour.
I don’t drink wine, but I’m still going to by the book!
My favourite author from 2017, Louise Jensen – who wrote The Sister, The Gift and The Surrogate – also likes to maintain a mostly sugar-free diet.
Now how relevant is that to me right now?!
With mother’s diabetes slightly more under control with her four insulin injections per day, and her life saved by the NHS 23 nights ago, I think it’s time I started to really learn how to cook sugar free 🌸
Thank you for sharing this book with us Louise 💫
A couple of weeks ago I met an old friend in our usual coffee shop and was very much looking forward to our obligatory huge slabs of cake.
‘I’m sugar free now,’ she said.
‘Why?’ I tried to ignore the stabbing pain of betrayal as I gazed longingly at the desserts behind the counter.
‘You know why.’ She gave me the look. Pretty much the same one our tutor gave us when we first met on a nutritional therapy course fifteen years ago.
Sugar is bad. We all know that and yet we continue to eat it.
‘But sugar tastes so good!’ I said.
‘I’ve just read Sweet Poison by David Gillespie and it explains everything so well. All that stuff we were taught but we choose to ignore nowadays. Buy the book.’ She said
‘I don’t want to.’
‘Honestly, Louise. You have so much pain and inflammation it could…
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I read this with a) recognition and b) trepidation. Not because I was worried what this blogger was about to reveal but because I fear I may have to tread in her footsteps very soon!
I bought my laptop second hand from eBay; I took a train ride to pick it up and saw it plugged in and shining brightly in the vendor’s home 👌🏼
It has never kept charge for very long, my MacBook of four or five years old and I know people often scathe Apple products for being set to die after a certain lifespan!
(I really must learn how to use Dropbox which I dutifully downloaded recently!)
…so I honestly have been putting off getting a new laptop, for several reasons.
My laptop of almost 7 years was my best friend. It helped me create 3 blogs, edit thousands of photos, and never shut down because it was tired.
It did NOT have Windows 10, which I loathe, and everything was right at my fingertips.
But it did indeed get tired. And would not turn on if it wasn’t plugged in; and would never charge.
So for the past two hours, I have been “setting up” my new laptop. I have logged in codes and passwords 37 times (I wish I was lying, but I’m not), and am still fighting to get Office downloaded so I can get my books saved on here.
I had to force it to download Chrome so I can function like I am used to, and does anyone really use Bing?
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Saw this today on a fellow blogger’s post and I know they won’t mind me sharing this one quote to spread even more of her intended happiness, which was kind in itself. 🌸
I sort of wake, though I wasn’t really asleep. I’d been trance-like and dozing yet aware of light finding its way into the room in semi circle shapes at the top of the closed curtains. A breeze moving them sometimes as if someone might be holding on to the material at the bottom.
I turn my head on the pillow and see his own, turned away. His breathing regular and his adam’s apple so prominent as with most teenage boys. I push my fully clothed self to a seated position, feeling nausea tug at my belly, and he sighs and turns further, dragging the duvet with him.
A carton of orange juice with one corner torn to let the sugary liquid escape. I recall he’d ignored my suggestion he make a tear in the other corner, to stop it glugging so violently into the beakers.
The bottle of vodka sits tall on his desk, but half empty. Biology worksheets reflected somehow in the clear liquid. How full had it been? And when my parents called up to say it was time to go, why didn’t I respond? I can’t remember.
The dew makes my toes damp, but the September days had been warm and last night no exception so flip flops had been fine. Our houses, identical though mirrored in design, amongst a collection of the same, were not twenty paces apart.
Not yet 5am. Parents would still be sleeping off the effects of a dinner party; I’d be able to sneak upstairs and into my own bed and she’d be none the wiser.
But this was no ordinary mother.
The back door handle performs perfectly and I avoid the squeak which kicks in at ninety degrees. Closing it silently behind me, taking more than eleven seconds to achieve, I allow myself the realisation that I am adept at deceipt perhaps. I’m not sure this is a good thing.
The concrete below the carpets in these sixties houses ensures no floorboard creaking but the stairs will take a little more care. Number three and seven to be avoided; I stick to the edges and hold my breath. I pause on the penultimate stair as my parents’ bedroom door is now inches from me, and ajar.
Dad’s gentle snoring reaches my ears, which pound in time to my racing heartbeat, and after waiting a few seconds to make sure there is no change, I straddle the landing carpet and like some SAS soldier arrive silently at my bedroom door, which again is open.
Phew, I exhale only once inside the room. Safety. Or is it?
I take one step towards my bed where I had planned to flop but stop dead in my tracks. The duvet is not flat.
‘Thought you’d get away with it, did you?’
Eyes with crinkles define you, warm lips tell your world to my ears. I drink you, eat you and read you. You are everywhere. I cannot and will not live without you in my life, my dreams contain you….