This weeks musings

Life made itself physically present this week. At times I felt as if suspended in time on a tightrope. And if time deigned to move it would propel me. Fast forwarded me to the precipice of the very next moment.

I barely got any sleep this week. I had high hopes of cultivating a self-care routine that involved staying hydrated, getting enough sleep and gently moving my body. But self-care can be a difficult thing when you have a looming, ever-expanding inbox. The emails never find me well no matter how many Kind Regards they send my way. Meetings should really be emails. Emails should be IMs. IMs should be, don’t even bother. Leave it alone. Let it rest.

New blessings came my way this week and along with immense gratitude, I also feel overwhelmed by what the future might hold. The only consistent thing was my writing. I seem almost possessed by it. Which is a new sensation for me. I am my own muse. When I am not writing I am thinking about writing. When I am writing I am already wondering about the next time I will be writing. It becomes a little bit easier each time. The blinking cursor is no longer cursing me but cheering me on. Flickering on an empty page waiting for magic to happen, and I happen to be the magician. Weaving a word-like tapestry. Stitching sentences.

I seem to have trouble with tenses. I never know if I am, was or have been. Someone needs to check my work. I can’t do this thing on my own. I can create, yes, but it takes a village. Reading makes for better writing but writing makes for even better writing, so I try to hone the skill. Surgically craft it. Ask for help when I need it. Binge a MasterClass. Someone once said you can’t edit an empty page. How obviously and painfully true that is, so obvious I feel stupid for not thinking about it first. Writer’s block is a lie I tell myself when I procrastinate. If you sit long enough it will come. Smash those daily word count goals. One thousand words a day. Feel pleased when it hits 1001, 1002, 1003.

Things I learned from being in a relationship for a year after being single for 10 years

I. needed. better. boundaries. I mean that was it in a nutshell, but let me elaborate. Things started great, as these things usually did, and then that did not last, again as these things usually tended to. Sigh.

The first thing I did wrong? I did not listen to my gut. I always listened to my gut. But as someone who leaned into an avoidant attachment style, I thought I needed to quieten that voice and give love a chance. Stop being so closed off to love. So I gave him a chance.

This man love-bombed right outta the gate. Told me all sorts of wonderful things. He painted himself as a sensitive soul and he was but I am someone who moves at a snail’s pace in relationships. I am not a fan of declarations of love early on. But I gave him the benefit of the doubt and trusted and believed him. It all moved way too fast for me and I felt bad that I didn’t immediately the same way he did.

The first boundary that I broke was giving this very new person money. Continuously. Like regularly. ‘Cause he never had money or anything to eat. I got it, shit happens. COVID hit me hard. I was unemployed for a long time. When I found work, I worked at intern stipend prices. So I fully understood not having money. That and the fact that I grew up fairly poor. Unfortunately, he was an artist who did not treat his art like a business. Therefore, he never had money.

So when it so happened that he got tired of dealing with his housemate’s BS, he decided to move out. He told me that he had nowhere to go. What was a girl to do? Let her partner become homeless? I was deeply uncomfortable with having him move in. It had only been six months, and I preferred to move these big decisions at a slower pace. But I was promptly guilt-tripped because “couples are supposed to support one another”, right? Right? Anyway, I also did not live alone. I had to run it by the people I lived with. My mother said it was a bad idea and it would put a strain on our relationship, and for the four days he was there, it absolutely did.

One night he went as far as going through my phone and checking my messages and then waking me up at 1 am to interrogate me. I was shocked and appalled by this behaviour. I had never had the inclination to check someone’s phone. If they cheated, let them. The truth would come out. But now all of a sudden, I was not to be trusted because I did not jump at the chance to help him. From that day forward he monitored my every move on social media and checked when I was online. The trust was violated, and I cannot speak for others, but I did not think what we had could be rebuilt if both parties were not making serious efforts to deal with their issues.

I was also told long stories about how his previous partner cheated on him. Now, don’t get me wrong. I have empathy. That was a shitty thing to have happened to him. But now it felt like I was moved into that same category. The type of woman who would cheat. As if! Dealing with one man at a time was enough! His exes were always the crazy ones. I’m not saying they weren’t but I could not fact check this. But when a man says all his exes were crazy who was the common denominator? He was constantly asked me about my ex-husband. He wanted all the details. I am not one to dwell on past relationships. I made my peace with the past. I went to therapy. I did the work. I also do not like bad-mouthing my exes and it felt like he wanted me to do this. Yes, I realise this is what I am doing but it’s mostly to let others know no matter how healed you think you can fall into a toxic relationship.

The second boundary was the fact that I almost allowed myself to be coerced into regular unprotected sex. Here, was a man who flat-out told me he never needed to use protection as I wouldn’t fall pregnant, even though he had a child. Erm, okay. This went back and forth for a while. The whole sex situation made me feel so uncomfortable. Then, add on top of this the story he told me about his ex using sex as leverage and withholding it as punishment. I had so many conflicting feelings about it. Whenever I tried to broach the topic, he dismissed it and shut me down. He even called me paranoid at one point, and I shit you not, “Well, if the universe wants us to have a baby…” Erm, excuse me, sir! Take several seats. I am purposefully child-free. I am not child-free by accident but a conscious life decision. He refused any type of male protective methods, as obviously, he couldn’t have him doing anything permanent or semi-permanent to his body. But it was perfectly acceptable for me to be on birth control. Double standard much? I did not want to be on any type of birth control. So, stalemate. Near the end, no sex. No surprises there. But I had to hear about how much pain he was in because blue balls? I don’t know.

As a chronic migraine sufferer, I get a migraine once a month with every period. But let me tell you, as this relationship progressed, I got a migraine every week. I spent weekends in bed and vomiting into the toilet bowl. I had a cold every month. My chest was tight all the time. Lord, my body rejected this man, and I did not listen to my body. Since being single again, I am back to my one-period migraine a month and haven’t had a cold since. Very interesting, very interesting indeed.

Lastly, I ignored his massive mother wound. I won’t go into the details of their relationship but how a man speaks to and treats his mother tells you a lot about a person. So that is something to look out for if I ever get into another relationship.

The more I gave this person, the more he took and expected. I emptied myself. I felt as if I had a child and took on the role of his ‘mother’. When I told him this, he took major offence to this. I merely explained our current relationship dynamic to him, which had become too toxic for me. I mean, this man wanted me to pay his rent!!!!

So at the end of it all, I walked away. I chose me. So now with the pesky context out of the way, what did I learn?

• Listen to your intuition, gut, and inner voice. She never lies.

• Trust my judgement. If something feels off, it is off.

• No means no.

• Don’t do things that make me uncomfortable.

• I could have avoided all of this if I stuck to a trusty vibrator – vibrators don’t love-bomb or gaslight.

• Ensure the person is emotionally intelligent and able to communicate effectively.

• Any type of addiction no matter how seemingly innocuous will become a bigger problem later on.

• Stop being too nice.

• Tell it like it is.

• Don’t make excuses for the other person.

• If you don’t feel comfortable telling your best friend about his behaviour then something is not right.

So, I joined a writing group.

This year I told myself that I would take my writing more seriously. Especially after being gifted a MasterClass membership. The most important lessons seem to be that you get better at writing by writing. Also, if you wait for motivation and inspiration to strike you’ll never finish your novel. So that’s what I did. I sat down every day whether I wanted to or not I wrote 1000 words per day. I am now halfway through my romance novel. If I can keep up this pace then I should be done with my book in less than two months. Yeesh! Sounds almost unlikely but I now know it is not impossible.

Anyway, back to the writing group. I was nervous. My stomach was doing that flippity-flop thing. Very unsettling. I almost turned my car around and headed home but onwards I soldiered. All my fears were unfounded. The people I met were encouraging and created such a safe space for writing and sharing. All in all, I was glad I went and will be going again.

We were given three writing exercises, each with a time limit of between 2 – 5 minutes and then we would share our pieces with the group. No biggie, I guess. No pressure at all. Lol. I will use this dusty old blog to share what I wrote.

Writing exercise 1 – Theme: Ocean – which must feature the following 5 words – debris, silver, vague, heatwave, and devastated.

The debris flotsammed and jetsammed all around me. I hang onto a piece of driftwood from the ship to stay afloat. All I can see is miles and miles of blue in all directions and above me. The storm had passed. The sun has started to move high above my head, casting a silver sheen. Molten liquid. I squint my eyes, wishing to see any other survivors. I get the vague sense that I am being watched, yet an emptiness stretches around me. It’s strange despite being in the cold ocean a heatwave beats down on my head almost smothering me. I dip my head below the water for some respite, spluttering as I come up for air. I am utterly alone. Utterly devastated by the loss of everyone dear to me. Everyone who was aboard a ship that was taking us to new lands was now gone. New lands I will have to embark on my own if I make it to dry land. I see my dreams slipping away with each ebb and flow, hoping and wishing for rescue that might never come. I will have to find a way to save myself.

Writing exercise 2: A Tinder date told from two different perspectives.

She spotted her date at the bar. He was just as handsome as his profile picture. She walked over to him to introduce herself. They shook hands. His was clammy and moist. Red flag? His greeting was almost a grunt. Red Flag? A stilted silence followed. He did not pull out her chair for her. Red flag? I guess feminism won the battle against chivalry. They made polite conversation. The weather of all things. Small talk? Red Flag? They ordered their meals. No wait. He ordered for them. Definite red flag. He kept looking at his watch. Shifty eyed. Red flag. She kept a smile plastered on her face throughout. Her cheeks will ache later.

________

He saw her walking towards him. She was breathtaking. Better than her pictures. He was so nervous his ordinarily dry palms were sweating and he could sense her discomfort as they shook hands. He was so nervous he forgot to pull out her chair for her when they were shown to their table. At least he knows what to order. This is his favourite restaurant and everyone he has brought here trusted him to order the best thing on the menu. Shit! Did he even greet her? He can’t recall. She must think I am a caveman. As much as he wanted to get to know her, his nerves got the better of him. He wished this first awkward encounter was over. He glanced surreptitiously at his watch, hoping she didn’t notice. He just needs to get through the next couple of hours without incident.

Writing exercise 3 – select two pieces of paper from the middle of the table. One piece has a person, another a location. I picked up an insecure investment banker and a wooden plank floating in the ocean.

Okay, it did suck that I got something ocean related again, so I struggled with this one. Su much so that they had to beg me to read it to the group. Here goes.

Bob was a deeply insecure man. Which is a weird thing for an investment banker to be. He is supposed to exude confidence but he doesn’t. This is probably why he ended up in this predicament. Why didn’t he keep his mouth shut? He was so afraid of losing face that he put himself in a precarious position. Trying to one-up his subordinates has now led to embarrassment. He doesn’t usually drink this much but he had to seniority and felt he had to show these young bucks what he was made of. Which to be honest was nothing but a paper think sense of self. His wife was going to tell him I told you so. This was the last day of the corporate retreat and he really thought he would make it out unscathed. Instead, he challenged Chad to “who can hold out the longest whilst standing on a log in the tidal pool”. He lasted for exactly ten seconds before crashing face-first into the water. Trying with all his might to hold onto a wooden plank floating in the ocean.

The evening ended with writing a haiku which I won’t share cos mine genuinely sucked. But I’ll go back next week to write more and learn more. It was not as scary as I thought it would be listening to people provide feedback on my writing. After all, it can only make me better in the long run.

Byte-sized bits

Opposites do in fact attract

“Darling, I do wish you would keep your prisoners in the dungeon. Their non-stop mauling is making it very hard for me to get any writing done today.” Maximilian, let out an exasperated sigh, but looks lovingly at his wife Veronica.

Veronica walks over to her husband and kisses him on the cheek, “Well, you are the one who said you wanted to try torturing these poor souls, and look, all you managed to do was make them pancakes. I vanquished all their lands, killed their king and queen, looted their palace and the homes of every high born and here you are making breakfast for these peasants.”

Writing Prompt

The return of Eugene the Mind Slayer

All Eugene wants to do is Tai Chi in the morning, tend to his herb and vegetable garden during the day and read his books in the evening. He has been trying his best not to watch or read the news, but lately the reports have become more and more alarming, so much so that Eugene can no longer ignore the current state of events.

It seems a team of new villains are working together robbing banks, stealing advanced technology and military grade weapons, hacking into secure government facilities to wreak havoc on the general public. The city’s heroes seem to be entirely defenseless against them and the last thing Eugene wants is the police looking for him thinking he is in any way connected to these amateurs. After years of being the world’s most infamous villain Eugene grew tired of going up against the police force and Heroes United.  He has been living peacefully on his farm for the past ten years, away from all the voices that used to plague him. Being able to listen to every inane thought of human beings becomes extremely exhausting and being able to manipulate them way too easy. Out here in the middle of nowhere he has finally found peace and his desire for violence has all but disappeared, well almost.

Eugene sighs and slowly gets up from his rocking chair on his porch, heads to his room to suit up. “A little tighter than I remember.” Looking into the mirror and smiling sardonically. “Time to go fry some minds!”

Writing Prompt

Mr. Chatty-Cathy

No front-page splash, no press conference, no guest appearances on any of the talk shows. No new blog post, no podcast, no radio interviews. Radio silence instead. Crickets.

Hakim is frustrated, in fact, he is beyond frustrated. Being a super hero has its perks, being a well-known, super talkative one even more so. His publicist was able to book speaking gigs for him, he loved being in the spotlight. However, being in superhero protective custody means he needs to remain off the radar to not only protect his identity but for own his safety and life.

That was until he stumbled upon a reddit sub thread and got the idea to create a fan page and to continue ‘talking’ to his adoring fans.

Smiling, he looked at the blinking cursor, cracked his knuckles and started typing. Here we go, he thought to himself.

Just a pity he didn’t have enough smarts to cloak his IP address.

A quick note on migraines

The frailty of existing has been ever present these past few weeks

The pain now bites into me for days at a time, with very little reprieve

I feel consumed by it, my body feels betrayed by it

It’s making it difficult to think clearly

A mind engulfed in fog

That niggling feeling of chlorine water sloshing in my ear on a summer’s day

A stubbed toe sensation that never leaves the pit of my stomach

The slow constant drip, drip, drip, drill bit to my head

The suck of being the oldest sibling

With an exasperated sigh John leaned over the papers on his desk and placed his head in his hands. This month’s city repair bill is exorbitant. A collapsed bridge, a caved in train tunnel, two banks burnt to a crisp. Ever since superheroes and supervillains became public knowledge the mayor’s office became responsible for managing all repairs in the aftermath of their very public and destructive battles. Popping off the cap of the painkiller bottle, he throws back 2 tablets, washing it down with the bottle of bourbon he keeps in his bottom drawer.

It’s Thanksgiving dinner this evening at his parent’s house, his brothers will be there, another headache that he needs to deal with. After all these years a as public servant John still uses public transport, it’s important for the people of the city to see that he is just one of them. Trundling up the pathway to his parent’s front door, he knocks once before entering.

Already sitting at the dinner table, in full costume, his baby brother Raymond, or as he goes by his superhero moniker, SuperRay, on account of him being able to shoot laser beams from his eyes. Next to him stuffing baby potatoes into his already chewing mouth, was The Monolith, the city’s supervillain, all-around dumbass, and the attention seeking middle child Monroe.

Opting to sit at the farthest end of the table whilst his mother fixes him a plate. John turns towards Monroe and asks, “Did you really have to destroy the town library? I geddit, haha, the two of you “battling it out” just to get a rise out of me, all because of that one time I gave you both wedgies. But how many times do I have to ask you to fight near abandoned warehouses and away from people?”

Writing Prompt

Down the water slide we go

The water park is abandoned, well it would be, what use is a water park if most of the world is devoid of water?

Before the world went to shit and the climate change denialists were, well in denial about the state of the planet, Ally and Ayesha were social media influencers. Ally ran a very successful Instagram and TikTok account of almost 2 million followers respectively called @puglife. She used to post recreations of iconic album covers with her cute pug aptly named 2Pug as her model. Her weapon of choice in this post-apocalyptic world is a machete. Ayesha ran a life hack/DIY/travel blog with over one hundred thousand subscribers. Her weapon of choice is a baseball bat with nails sticking out of it haphazardly.  When the world eventually ran dry of water as predicted only the 1% could afford it. Now Ally and Ayesha post survival tips, water hacks and earned their water coupons by doing the odd job coming their way from the government and that damn 1%. Anything to keep their families and community alive. On the plus side, the internet still worked.

A few days ago, they made a bizarre unexplainable discovery in the abandoned water park. While setting up for a shoot 2Pug managed to make his way down the slides and disappeared for ten whole minutes in one of the tubes, when he eventually emerged on the other side he was completely drenched. Since that day Ally and Ayesha have sent 2Pug with a container around its neck to see if he was able to bring back water with him. Taking the containers back to their community they have tested the water numerous times to check that 1) It is in fact water and that 2) It was safe for human consumption. Today is finally the day when they will make their way to other side to see if they can safely transport water back from the other side.

“If we survive this, we’ll be heroes!” Ally says to Ayesha with a smirk on her face, who sarcastically retorts, “And if we don’t survive?”

“Then we’ll be legends. Either way we have found a water source.”

Writing Prompt

Never trust a devil summoning spell

Chad couldn’t tear his eyes away from the chiseled jawline and dazzling red eyes. He was memorized. Every sense seemed heightened. I inhaled deeply and got a whiff of frankincense and myrrh and something earthy that he could not quite put his finger on.  He shook his head to rattle away the intruding thoughts that kept popping into it. The more he tried to clear his head to form a coherent sentence, the more the raw sexual magnetism of the individual sitting across from him pulled him in. Pure charisma and boyish charm.  He knew there was a reason he was in this office. He looked at his watch. His appointment was at 17:00, it is now 17:25. What was he doing for the past twenty-five minutes? Surely, not just awkwardly staring, mouth agape. Things were not exactly going the way he planned. It should have been easier than this. He managed to track down the summoning spell and got all the necessary ingredients and now here he was, and he can barely remember what brought him here. Oh yes, Amanda, the love of his life? His all-consuming love for her now seemed small, trivial, like a school playground crush. Silly, really, now that he actually thinks about it. The one he is meant to be with is sitting right in front of him. He has never felt surer of anything in his life.

Finally breaking the silence, Lucifer says, “So, I believe you are here about a woman named Amanda?”

Writing Prompt

12-Gauge Ghost

*Disclaimer: I abhor violence, but this was a fun little writing prompt.

Time has slowed down to crawl, my breathing is deep and slow, even my heart rate has slowed down. The sounds of the forest have all but disappeared. I am trapped in this moment.  My eyes are focused on the deer ahead of me. My grandfather gives me a silent signal. I fire. In an instant the deer is lying dead in the clearing. A clean shot. It did not needlessly suffer. I hand the 12-gauge Remington back to my grandfather and we slowly make our way over to the deer. He says his usual prayer, an offering to the universe, showing respect for all that is connected to us.

Years later this memory always comes back to me, as I am heading to my cabin. I am in desperate need of R&R.  Getting out of the Jeep I take in deep breath of moss, pinecones, and fresh pollution-free air.  I grab my duffel bag and slowly make my way to the front door, which I now notice is ajar. It is not uncommon for interlopers to break into cabins as a place to hunker down during the cold winters, but this feels different. An ice cold feeling and sense of dread washes over me. Before I am able to decide what to do next, the door is yanked open, and a man is holding my grandfather’s Remington to my face, without hesitation he pulls the triggers.

A flash, a bang, and then silence. I see my dead body lying on the porch, further into the distance I feel a warmth beckoning to me. I move away from that feeling as quick as possible. My soul or am I a ghost, makes it way into the cabin. The place is a mess, a pungent smell hanging in the air. Clearly ransacked of whatever valuables there were. I glanced over at the 12 gauge and reach for it longingly. In that very instant I realise that I am able to pick it up. How is this possible? The man who shot me, looks up startled. The other two people in the room have paled, eyes wide open, staring at me with complete disbelief.  I feel the comfort of the handle and barrel in my hands. I aim, I slowly pull back the trigger. Apparently ghosts don’t need to reload bullets. I leave an unrecognisable mess. I am at peace as I walk towards that light, that warm welcome.

Writing Prompt

The wooden cross

Sarah wiped a stray tear away from her eye and gently touched a simple wooden cross. Slowly making her down the pathway she notices a girl crying next to a grave. Walking over to the girl to make sure her she is okay and that her parents or a family member is nearby, Sarah asks, “What’s wrong?”

The girl starts to cry even harder now. “Nobody came to my funeral.”

Sarah did a double take thinking she misheard, but as she looked past the girl and at the photograph on the headstone of the grave where the girl was standing, she could not mistake the striking resemblance between this girl and the photograph. A cool breeze suddenly picked up from nowhere and the hairs at the back of Sarah’s neck stood up. Her mind started working mile a minute, stay calm, just breathe, just think.

The girl finally turns around and fully faces Sarah, “Oh, hi Sarah. You know one of these days you are going to have stop asking me that question and if I correctly recall you barely had a funeral. Timothy and I are going to go play in the abandoned asylum later, you can join us if you feel up to it. New survivors moved in.” The little girl skipped away gliding through her own headstone.

In that moment the last few moments of Sarah’s life flashed before her. Her childhood, her home, her parents, the bite, the infection, the spread, the violence, the looting, the fall of the army and the government, chaos. She quickly walked back to where she was, the grave with its makeshift wooden cross and etched writing, probably with dad’s army knife. She looked down at the name carved into the cross:

Sarah Clarke

2001 – 2022

Writing Prompt