Musings on life, not being fat anymore and whatever else bumbles into my consciousness.

#BypassedAF

Not Dying.

I thought I was going to die. And all the while I did, and that it was actually a real possibility that I might, I thought about my daughter. That small(ish) firecracker that amazes and confounds and frustrates, often all at once. I also thought of Philip Larkin’s, This Be The Verse, hoping that history
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Broken Heart Syndrome.

I’m sat here, looking at my bruised wrists, and wondering how I’m even going to start processing the past five days. The week started off all so normally, with Monday bringing all of the usual activities that the small human undertakes, and the arguments over the speed at which breakfast is eaten. And then my
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Fuck that Elf.

In the current climate, with all of the latent anti-semitism, I find myself struggling to get into the “Holiday” mode. My friends have had to have armed police outside of their kid’s schools. In bougie Manchester. A place where usually the worst thing that happens is Waitrose running out of caramelised onion houmous. Fuck –
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The Author

I am a mother. I am a wife. I am a friend.

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