Women aren’t funny

“Women aren’t funny,” he said.
Pointed pause.
“Ok,” I said. “Elaborate.”
“Welllll, they just aren’t.”
And it stayed with me.
He didn’t.
Said he found someone else.
Said she was “really interesting, on his wavelength. Really funny.”


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And Running.

And running. And running. I wake up feeling like I’ve started running and then been pushed, flailing, trying to keep up, desperately failing, bewildered and running.

This is how I start most of my days. You might as well call me a hedgehog. Some little woodland thing without a civil care in the world, forced to start behaving like there are others present. Manners, girl. Now run.


More Than #2

More than airing dirty laundry, I want to forgive and shake hands and walk away safely, though not so far as to forget.

More than that, I want to remember everything.

More than that, I want to be friends. I want to talk to each other, refer to each other.

More than catching my breath, I want to go through the motions, I want to feel sick and sad and then ultimately better.

More than that, I want to recognise what happened here.

More than that, I want to appreciate it.

More than that, I want to remember it as if it’s still a part of my life, not a distant, unapproachable ghost.

More than being friends, I want to acknowledge each other as a special part of both of our lives. As a chapter. As a ‘one’.

More than not wanting to lose all faith in all of that, I want you to be with me on this, just this one thing, this one last thing.

More than that, I urge you to react appropriately to the fact that I was always there fully, and would always have been.

Please, please, humour me.

Here, Fucking Here

I’m not really sure what just happened but it hit me in the face and I knew I cared.

I just discovered the event below. This is something I feel pretty strongly about, and I know I’m not alone.

I urge every woman who can attend this to do so. It reminded me that there are things going on that we do need to stand up and do something about, and there are a number of ways to do it.

Still-stale thought processes that slip in subliminally and sit on us.

Anyone with me? Let’s redesign those oh-so-helpful, informative public service tube posters.


Oh, and by the way, this is me. I’m naked, I’m beautiful, and I don’t need you to like it.

With thanks to the York College life art class

More Than

One contact address
One brief personal statement
Five most recent, relevant employments
Two references
Comprehensive education description
Brief mention of additional skills and training
Pointed mention of voluntary work
Thirty copies
Every spare hour spent spreading myself thin
Two weeks’ wait
Or more.
I thought I was more than this.