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I know it's the New Year and everyone is resolving to get themselves back in shape or just become a shape that's not round and I am not any different in that respect. I am not trying to be anything special really but I have failed badly at my quit sugar and lose my belly resolution. I lasted a whole day before going to town on chocolate and I cant say my moon face is giving me good feelings. I recently read something in a women's magazine, which are well known for their pandering to women's insecurities, saying that if you are hung up on your body image (and what woman isn't) then a good way to feel better about how your body looks is to spend a few moments looking at yourself in the mirror before getting into the shower. I am assuming the idea behind this is that it normalises your flaws or something like that. I did take the opportunity to try this myself because it certainly seemed easier than reining in my sugar binge. So upon stepping into the shower, I pau

They say you never forget your first car. I really wouldn't know because its the only car I have ever had so I have no basis for comparison. Well until today that is. A very emotional day all round where I handed over my car which has served me faithfully the last four years to an unknown fate and then drove away (very slowly) in a new shinier car. See above for said new car. This is Stella, aka the car I learned to drive in. Its pretty battered but its been through a lot and it has stood me well. My mum drove it for 15 years before passing it on to me. It was a great car to learn to drive in, despite how battered it looks its actually held together fairly well and I was used its little quirks. How the key was a bit bent (my mum once got rather impatient while opening it so you had to turn it carefully to open the car or start the engine), how the whole thing shook when you went above a certain speed, the fact that I was able to leave it unlocked accidentally in the most pu

How can you be a writer without any words? a long list of adjectives and none adequately describe me. I offer slivers of myself online only showing a side of myself I deem sociably acceptable yet it seems a leap to call myself a writer in any way, shape or form. I am a mass of feelings, so plentiful they seep from my purse. wearing more than my heart on my sleeve and within I hide this fear of being fundamentally unlike-able. Some days that voice in my ear  is louder than all the noise outside and I feel myself drown in my own self doubt. imposter syndrome is very real and I sit patiently waiting to be found out, unveiled. So my boyfriend has gotten some notion into his head that I am some sort of budding poet and has been gently trying to nudge me into doing something with this so called talent while I fight him at every turn. I am nothing if not a realist. He calls this pessimism. Initially I began this blog as a creative writing exercise. I was trying to