Let the mermaids in my teacup distract us for a while

Signs Of Life

It was only when the shapes began to form on the horizon that she understood why she had been moving in this direction for as long as she had. The water’s surface began to breathe lazily beneath her feet, as if waking in the light of the new day.

At first the shapes teased her sight with flickers of light, like twinkling fragments in the distance, catching her eye in the rising sun’s rays. But the closer she drew, and the brighter the new day became, the more flickers appeared, multiplying before her and merging into visible shapes she could almost identify….. Almost….. She kept moving forward, her gaze fixed on her destination, her body warming with the golden haze intensifying around her.

After a few more paces, she stopped walking, staring ahead at the picture that had just slowly painted itself before her. The mystery of what she was seeing began to rise with the breeze and whisper around her in the cool morning air.

But… how? How had they gotten here? It wasn’t possible…. But then, what was IMPOSSIBLE out here?

Rooftops…. About thirty different, perfectly detailed rooftops. Protruding over the water’s surface. Standing strong and proud, though misplaced in the centre of the ocean.

Her curiosity evolved quickly into a wild sense of adventure, a thirst to find answers. She grinned with determination and began to race forward over the ripples to meet them.


She moves so gently over the water that it barely ripples beneath her feet. She makes no sound.

Lowering herself to sit on the surface, she bends her knees and presses her feet into the depths. She lazily swishes them back and forth, feeling the warm water move around them, between her toes, beneath her fingertips as they trace the surface softly. She takes in every detail of her surroundings.

The ocean continues endlessly, whichever way she looks. Strokes of golden purple hues are cast across the net of clouds above her by the setting sun to her left. It warms the side of her face and body gloriously.

The air around her is electric. It dances in tiny, nonsensical patterns and whispers a thousand sweet truths against her exposed skin, creating a charge she feels revived by. She cannot remember the last time she breathed with such ease. Each inhalation infuses her, the turmoil within steadily dilutes and eventually shrinks away – replaced with a clear, untainted energy. Awakened, she becomes more and more aware of the sensations in her body, the rhythmic beating of her own heart within her chest, the movement of her own energy occupying every space beneath her skin. She feels alive again, resuscitated after the heaviest of conscious slumbers. Her connection to her own existence renewed.

There is a silent purity here that she is now both filled with and overwhelmed by. It is here that her undying spirit ignites. It is here that she finds herself again.



A Moment About A Force

(For N, on our anniversary)

I’ve been gravitating towards you,

Since before I even knew you were there,

You were the silent hope I clung to,

The anticipated shift in the air.


By the sheer energy of your magnetism,

My soul shifted back into line,

Your arrival and ongoing presence

Breathe life into this heart of mine.


You are the axis of my existence,

The centre of gravity around which I move,

And my love will surround you, always,

Until the day you no longer approve.

“Mirror, Mirror….”

One of the hardest moments in a person’s life is the one where they come face-to-face with themselves. This moment is as inevitable as it is surprising.

It’s like training, your entire life, to compete as a heavyweight boxer, with determination and sacrifice – only to find that the title fight you end up in is against a deadly martial arts expert. That confidence that you have built up, that absolute certainty in your ability to face any opponent, is stripped from your core as you realise that despite all that preparation, this is a fight you will lose.

This is not normally something that can be avoided, nor can it really be prepared for. You choose at the very beginning what you train yourself to become. You roll with the punches, and you anticipate the challenges. You don’t realise until the moment of truth that you were so absorbed in becoming what you were, that you didn’t even stop to consider everything that you weren’t. That blinding reality delivers the knock-out. And boy, does it ever knock you the fuck out.

We all face that opponent at some point. And it is true – our most vicious opponent in life, will undoubtedly be ourselves. This match does not kill you. It does not cripple you to the point where you can never raise your dukes again.

It does, however, cause you to ask yourself some extremely honest, personal questions and force you to open your eyes to your own flaws and weaknesses.

As merciless as this experience is, it is not the time to throw in the towel. It’s the time to activate strength you were not sure you had left in you and get back to the basics. Take these realisations, and use them to start your training again.

You can never stop getting back in the ring. No matter how many times you may need to repeat this, evolve  — it is only when you stop fighting that you truly lose.



My Devotion Waits…

He sat up straight as the bedroom light came on and she walked in.

“Hello baby,” he whispered, “did you have a good day?”

She didn’t even look up. Walking across the room to her dresser, she flung her handbag and coat onto the bed and gave a long sigh. Her shoulders drooped even further as she sat down after what one could have guessed was the day from hell. He could see it all over her face as he examined her in the mirror.

“I guess that answers that question. Don’t worry about it, honey, bad days happen. Whatever it was, leave it at the door. You’re home now. Why don’t you go soak in a nice bubble bath and then come tell me all about it? I can wait.”

She kept staring at her reflection silently. It was as if nothing he said had registered. Before he got the chance to say anything else she got up and walked into the en-suite. He could hear the water go on, and he smiled softly.

Even on her worst days he loved her. All he had to do was watch her handle life’s ups and downs to be amazed by her over and over again.

The water stopped.

He kept his eyes on the mirror where, through a small gap in the bathroom doorway, he could see her peeling off her clothes and pinning her hair up. “Patience, Hank. She needs to unwind. Give her all the time she needs.”

He felt around in his pockets for the packet of Whispers he had bought earlier and forgotten about in his rush to get here on time. Opening them as quietly as he could, he didn’t break his gaze. He could see the soft light caressing her neck and shoulders while she tilted her head against the back of the tub.

He waited.

He lived for the moments when he could be around her.

She finally emerged from the bathroom, watching the ground as she tied her robe on. The relaxation still slowly conquering her face. “Thaaaat’s better.” He smiled to himself, popping another Whisper into his mouth. The movement caught the corner of her eye, causing her to turn and for the first time look directly at him. The suddenness in her turn caused the sweet to lodge in his throat.

Both of them stared at one another for a startled, stunned moment before he began to choke.

He stumbled backwards as she ran towards him, a look of pure panic freezing her face. “Oh my god!” she screamed as the gravity of the moment washed over her. He opened his mouth, gasping for air, as he raised his hands, reaching for her. By this time she was scrambling through her bag for her phone. As she brought it up to her ear she ran back to him, tears streaming down her face. She was shaking so violently by now that it was a wonder she could still hold it properly.

“H-Hello?!” She cried, “My name is Christine Hamstead, I live at 564 Crescent Lane. There is a man outside my window. Please come quickly. I…. I think he is choking to death in my garden!!”





The Hotel Room

Something about the way her gaze changed made him stop speaking mid-sentence. The only indication she gave of noticing was the slow lift of the left corner of her perfect lips. The energy between them shifted, it became electric.

With her eyes still locked on his, she sat up straight and slowly pulled her cardigan off, revealing one delicate, beautifully bronzed shoulder at a time.

He allowed his eyes to move from hers as they traced a slow meandering trail downwards – drinking in every detail she exposed to him. Her parted lips, her defined jawline, long slender neck, beautifully present collarbones.

He was mesmerized. All he could do was watch breathlessly.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Locking his eyes on hers again he swallowed hard and licked his lips. As he opened his mouth to speak he was surprised that what he had to say came out in a barely audible whisper, “Get on your knees.”

She tilted her head and bit playfully on her lip, as if contemplating her next move.

In a fluid movement, she brought her long legs around to her side; barely revealing anything beneath her skin-tight skirt, save for the tiny clips holding up her sheer pantihose. She rearranged herself onto her knees, facing him.

Relaxing her head backward, she gave him full view of that gorgeous neck again for a brief moment as she scooped her long hair together and brought it down to rest over one shoulder. “Be descriptive,” she purred, “As though my body were a marionette, and the only strings you controlled were your words.”


Videotaped in front of a Live Studio Audience

Do you ever feel as though you are living your life on an imaginary stage? Like there is some unseen audience waiting in anticipation to see how you are going to react to a situation that has been carefully planned out?

Now, don’t panic!! Those of you who know me personally know that I am not religious, so I am not taking this down THAT route. Fret not, brethren.

Sometimes there are scenarios that are just tooooo perfectly timed. I, personally, live for those moments.

I was sitting at my desk the other day, and the most APPALLING radio station was selected by my colleague. As a terrible throng of music came wailing out of the radio, including Cher (Believe) – Greg sticks his head out of his office and shouts — “What!? Is it the Lesbian Power Half Hour out there today?”

And, as if to confirm his statement, “I’m Every Woman” starts playing.



A brief silence pursued, followed by outrageous laughter.

As I said… tooooo perfect! Here’s wishing you all as many of these moments as you can handle.

Big Love and Pornography

I am an early bird, that’s one of my many curses. Regardless of how late, hammered or just plain exhausted I am when I get into that bed; I barely make it past 7.30 on a Saturday morning.

There was a particular Saturday morning where, as usual, I got up, and that uuuurrrge hit me out of nowhere, as it usually does… I turned to give my boyfriend a quick glance (Sound asleep, perfect! I knew I had at least two hours before he woke up). I hopped out of bed and sneaked across the creaky wooden floor, quietly closing the door behind me. Grabbing my newest prize DVD I headed straight for the DVD player.

Guiltily, I glanced over my shoulder before slotting it in, pressing Play, turning the sound WAY DOWN and cosying up on the couch, pulling the duvet over my lap.

Finally…. The film started.

I could not tear my eyes from the screen. Every moment, every movement had my undivided attention. I became so engrossed that I didn’t even hear the floor creak under his weight as he sleepily made his way from the bedroom to the living room behind me. Standing there, still in his underpants, he glanced from the screen to me wiping the tears from my eyes and gave a loud, exasperated sigh and threw his hands in the air… . “Oh my GOD!!! Not P.S. I Love You AGAIN!!??!! How many time have you WATCHED this?” and with an annoyed huff and a few mumbles I didn’t care to translate as he walked back out of the room.

“You wouldn’t understaaaaand…” I called feebly after him and giggled as I re-composed myself and came back down to earth. I took one last glance at Hilary Swank slowly singing I Love You Til The End to Gerard Butler’s ghost in a Karaoke bar and got up to start my normal day in real life – and of course, to avoid the inevitable smirks I would be getting for being a total wimp. P.S. I Love You is one of the most beautiful stories I have ever seen, a close second to The Notebook. And there are not a whole bunch of women out there who can disagree with me.

A good romance is like a woman’s equivalent to pornography.

It’s pure escapism. Men fantasize about unrealistic sex, women fantasize about unrealistic romance. We imagine ourselves as this beautiful, irresistible heroine with a charming hero who meets her and his entire life changes. Who looks at her as though the world would end if they never saw each other again. Who wants to know everything about her because she is just that captivating. Basically, the kind of unrealistic love that only exists in the first month of an actual relationship before all of our nasty little flaws spill out and the fact that we are only human is apparent.

Same way men imagine themselves getting onto a luxury bus of cowgirl cheerleaders who all cannot resist the very sight of them and basically go for a long series of enjoyable rides (very intentional pun).

Let a sister dream a little!

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