Notes on 33

Notes on 33

Questioning things is good, even when it means questioning yourself, especially when it involves questioning yourself.

Sexuality can be fluid. Yours changing doesn’t mean you were ever lying, to others or to yourself. You were you. You were the you of those moments. You are you.

Your queerness is not dependent on the gender of the person you are sleeping with. You are you.
Continue reading Notes on 33

Notes on writing – part two

Notes on writing - part two

“Write hard and clear about what hurts” – I’ve had this Hemingway quote stuck in my head for months. There’s this thing I’ve been struggling to write. No, that’s not quite true. There’s this thing I’m writing that I’ve been struggling to make sense of. This week I realised that it’s actually multiple things and I’ve been trying to push words together, even when they don’t fit. Last Friday I took myself out for lunch, trusty notebook in hand, and I wrote and I wrote. It felt good not to stare at a screen for a while. It felt good to remember what it’s like to write by hand. It feels good to finally make sense of things that haven’t made sense in a while. It feels good to have my faith in my ability to write restored.

Notes on writing

Notes on writing


Have an idea. Compose paragraphs in your head. Jot down some notes. Come up with a title. Scribble some more notes. Sit down at laptop. Open Word document. Stare at the blank page. Consult notes. Struggle to read your handwriting. Vow to makes notes on your phone in future. Stare at the blank page. Check emails. Re-read notes. Figure out what the title is. Jackpot. Type the title onto blank page. Save document, just in case. Stare at the page. Design a really basic title graphic. Check Facebook. Stare at the page. Check Instagram. Stare at the page. Decide music is needed. Open Spotify; decide which playlist to listen to. Stare at the page. Open new document. Write a book review. Check Instagram. Decide silence is needed. Turn off playlist. Stare at the page. Admit defeat. Stand up. Grab the lead and take the dog for a walk. Breathe in the spring air. Breathe. Just breathe. Know that you can try again tomorrow. The words will eventually come. They have to.



Grief is a strange thing. It can sneak up on you, even after time has passed. Sometimes out of the blue, sometimes you know the reason. Today is my nanny’s twentieth anniversary. I knew I would feel it, but I wasn’t prepared for the amount of sadness and loss that hit me yesterday. I miss her. I know I’m not the only one who does. This makes it a little easier, but doesn’t change the sense of loss.

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The Kiss

The world is spinning, her legs are trembling and she can feel her heart pounding so fiercely that it’s entirely possible it’ll explode any minute now.

She lets go of his hand and turns to walk away. Walking is proving difficult in her current giddy state, it takes all the concentration she can muster to put one foot in front of the other and actually move.

She can feel his eyes watching her as she totters toward the waiting taxi and she likes it. The very thought of him makes her stomach flip in ways she didn’t realise were possible so for fear of actually passing out she doesn’t turn back.

As the car pulls off she catches his eye and he flashes her a smile. Oh god, the smile! It was the smile that did it you know, led to the kiss. How could anyone resist a smile as captivating as that?

A wave of adrenaline rushes over her and she can feel his hands on her waist even though he’s nowhere near. Now she’s imagining what else he might do with his hands!

It’s been a long time since she felt like this…actually, she’s not even sure she’s ever felt like this before. Yes, she’s felt the rush of a first kiss but it was never this strong. Every inch of her body is still feeling this one!

How she managed to focus enough to give directions to her house is beyond her but here they are. Her legs wobble again as she steps out of the car and she can see from the driver’s expression that he thinks she’s completely wasted.

Closing the front door behind her, she lets out a sigh and runs her finger over her lips. The lips that not too long ago were in the middle of the most intense and exhilarating kiss of her life.

The type of kiss that she can’t wait to have again…

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Very Short and Untitled

Just as the kettle boils the phone starts to ring, dropping the tea bag into a mug he reaches for the receiver knowing exactly who it is. Or rather he doesn’t because for the past month someone has dialled his number, at exactly 6.45pm, and not said a word.

Placing the receiver down, he reaches for the pen and jots down the date and time just like the police told him to three weeks ago.

Staring at the list he wonders, briefly, why he continues to answer but he knows that it’s in the hope of hearing a voice on the other end.

His mind is racing. Who keeps calling? Does he know them? Are they in some kind of trouble? Why the hell won’t they speak? Why is this happening to him?

Try as he might, he can’t stop thinking about it. He feels no fear about the situation, it’s not like his life is in danger, it is just a great big mystery that he can’t wait to solve.

But how to solve it is an entirely different matter, there are no clues. Zip, zilch, nothing and he’s tried everything to get them to say something.

The first few times he thought it was kids messing and yelled at them, when he realised it was something more he tried being polite and asking questions but nothing came of it. Now he simply stays silent and allows them to hang up when they’re ready.

He has no idea if they’ll ever talk but as long as his phone keeps ringing he’ll pick it up. There has to be a reason it’s happening, surely no one would keep it up this long of it was a joke, and he’s not going to miss finding out what it is.

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