Saturday, May 12, 2012


cold butter. moisture condensing on the smooth yellow surface. a little block of sunshine. cut into irregular cubes.

i drop the small lumps into a bowl of flour. silky and smooth. dry liquid. the dusty splash as the butter belly flops into the white sea. little clouds of wheat dissipate into the air. the minuscule grains flutter and land around the bowl. dusting the counter.

i smile at the moment when my fingertips first plunge into the expanse of flour. my hands undulate like a sea monster under an unsuspecting ocean liner. searching. hunting. i strike and grab my prey. sliding and spreading my fingers over and into the chilled fat. mixing the flour into the butter. quickly. with purpose. soon the once smooth sea of flour is dappled with yellow. the texture is coarse yet uniform.

a splash of icy water curdles the surface. uniformity is destroyed. clumpy and grainy. tossed about until a small amount of pressure is applied and a shape is formed. held. pressed and flattened. a disk of pure joy.

once rolled out and shaped further. this humble lump is both modest and mesmerizing. a shell for more interesting ingredients. a costar. never the main player. yet, failure with simplicity and even the best filling becomes somehow, less.

tender and strong. flaky and sincere. simple and complex. sweet or savory. hot or cold.

i take comfort in pastry.

i'm made from the same recipe.

Friday, May 11, 2012

flouncy skirts and ash-fault

lunch with the adorable ex-coworker. i flounced my way in to town. then i flounced my way to lunch with a dapper ol' man on my arm. though as he likes to describe himself he's "the leading man type in the beautifully tailored suit".

so after much laughter and a big plate of linguine in the north end of town. my dapper pal and my flouncy skirt wandered back to the college crush. i turned my nose up at the dunkin' excuse for coffee. in place of the slow drip cuppa i knew would be in the "luxury apartment home".

after a failed goodbye to my dear friend. we planned another day out. maybe to the circus.

i hate saying goodbye.

to this town. to my friends. to my family. to the history i've built here. to the history i've revisited here. i've a few days left in this town. i'm dragging my feet in leaving it.

3 days.

and yes dad. i know about the ash. but from all the reports i can see it looks good for the moment. and the moment is good enough for me. so i can only hope this moment lasts till next tuesday at the least.


cross purposes

i've been reading. nothing terribly interesting. well. sort of. relationship stuff. marital advice. trying to look into the minds of men. or at least the mind of one man really...

i suppose a bit of back history is needed.

i was raised by a woman. from a different culture. a culture where women are not really whole. not without a man. subservient. submissive. always in a way, ten steps behind. from a young age i was warned away from men. they aren't to be trusted. they only want one thing. and once they have it. they don't need you. you're dirty. you have to accept it. you just have to try to keep them happy. so they don't leave. but in the end. they will. they always do.

and so. being raised this way. quietly. i've accepted this. i may have facilitated this. i am a woman. it's my fault. it's always my fault.

but then. i'm american. i was raised by the women in film. always strong. stubborn. will minded. and strong willed. independent. bolstering my emotions with feminism. women's suffrage. bra burning. allowing myself to be man-minded. letting my libido lead the way. trying to be easy. easy going. pretending to be cold. pretending to be strong.

it's all been at cross purposes.

i'm of two minds. i always have been.

push them away before they discard you. it's always been the way. i have a trail of broken relationships to prove it. i have the notches on my bedpost as evidence.

but love them. if you don't. if you aren't loved. what are you?

let them walk on you. just don't let them walk out the door.

but you can't control them can you? you're only a woman. a girl really. crying in the corner. mascara running. heart bleeding. weak.

and alone.

you can't trust men. they'll always leave you. because they don't want to face their own fears. they haven't been brought up with emotion. they are born and raised to be men. to be strong. to lead. to dominate. to win.

but never raised to embrace their own hearts.

so how can you trust them with yours?

they're taught to argue a point. to make a decision. to stick to it. to stand up for it.

even if it's wrong.

and we're taught to embrace them. to back them. to stand in the shadows. to hold their hand. to mix a martini. to be quiet and pretty. to agree. to lay still. to smile. to accept.

even if they leave.

and they do. don't they?

so i'm left alone. for the time. unless something clicks. until some invisible switch is turned.

until then. i'm alone. with the anger. and sadness. the sharp objects that sigh against my skin. the glass that shatters in the sink. the photos that burst into flame. and my quiet pulse that begs to be let free.

but don't do it. don't hurt yourself. he says. even though the pain i cause. is never comparable to the pain he causes. my pain is only feminine.

always ten steps behind.


and shadowed.

nothing to take notice of.

until it's gone.

Thursday, May 10, 2012



there are better things to be doing. more happy things to be doing. dancing. singing. laughing. reading a book. sitting happily. enjoying silence.


i sit here. not dancing. not singing. not laughing. not reading. not sitting happily. not enjoying the silence of this flat.

this silent empty flat. where for three years we were happy. i was happy. i was complete. i was full.

now. quiet. i don't speak. unless spoken to. and here. alone. there is not one person to ask me any questions.

i spend my time. wasting it. reading articles. from other women. who have lost and regained. who have found a way to fix what was broken. i read how men need space. how we women should let them "miss" us. we shouldn't communicate. we should let them simmer. and steep. until, like a cold tea bag, they remember what it was like to be warm. to be loved. to love.

i empty bottle after bottle. day after day. week after week. tear after tear.

i told him... i told you. not to read me. so you couldn't see the pain. see the raw sadness. see the hopelessness settle around my shoulders. so you couldn't see my duality. the me that i let you see when you visit. the old me. the happy me. not the me now. the me that is broken. empty. halved by an exile imposed by governments and our own indecision. the me that is small and crying and wishing for you. wishing for you to come home. to come back. to make this strange place home again.

all the articles. tell me not to say those words. tell me not to hope. not to wish. not to beg. not to cry. not to promise. not to speak.

but they don't know me.

they don't know you.

they speak of other men. other men who left. who were somehow cajoled into returning. men who were manipulated in some way. men who were always more willing. more willing to go back. to love. to trust. to forgive.

they don't know you.

they don't know how stubborn you are. how hardheaded. how intensely you can feel. or how intensely you can chose not to feel. they don't know how you are able to forgo friends and family. how in fact, unlike the saying... you are an island. quite happy to be alone. to only worry for yourself. and how your actions can affect you. to not worry about inhabitants. people. creatures. risk. to not have any of these things.

but i think you forget. even islands have worries. they can't control the weather. the tides. the ebb and flow. these destructive powers. in so many ways much stronger than the risk of loving and trusting one person.

why do i say these things here? and not to you. direct. personally. secretively. in a way that keeps your face from going hot and red. in a secluded place where others can't see. can't read?

i feel safe here. it's my little world. surprising is the fact that i am here. i should be curled in a ball. alone. in the dark. not speaking. not letting anyone in. spiraling into my despair. like i was. during those fateful seven months.

i should be angry.

but like i said. i can't.

i don't have much left in me. i've given it all away. it's traveled. quietly. down south. tucked inside a wallet. placed in a pocket. in a coat. on your arms.

and now i lay me down to sleep... i pray for someone, my soul to keep. if i should die. before you wake. i pray for someone... to notice.

Wednesday, May 9, 2012


bleh i say. to "feelings". to "emotions". to just being a neurotic girl.


i want chocolate.

or a ticket to the uk.

either one will work.


there is no convincing. there is no further evidence.

what we had. is what we had.

what we could have is not part of your equation.

if i go. you'll be left alone. if i stay. you chose to be alone.

quiet is in order.

so i shall be.

for once.


Monday, May 7, 2012


i realize that i am a visitor in this strange place. i am marked as a foreigner as soon as i part my lips to speak. even before then. my gait and demeanor are just off of normal. yet, there are certain things that even i understand.

i know that trash equals rubbish. i know the bin is really the trash can. so imagine my surprise when i saw a trash car.

not a garbage truck. not a refuse removal van. no. a car. used like a bin.

a literal trash car.

the entire little two door was full to bursting with computer parts, wires, soda cans, bags, dirt, everything. it was really a trash can. er... trash car.

i wish i had a picture. or better still a movie. so you could all enjoy the vision that is the man shoveling junk from the ground into this sad little car.

i wonder how it works. does a larger garbage truck come by and scoop the little vehicle into it's crushing maw? or is it all wrapped up in a giant hefty sack?

curious land i'm living in.

Sunday, May 6, 2012


... don't let me go. don't convince yourself to be alone. don't let yourself unlove me.

don't let me die.

Friday, May 4, 2012



i could just curl up under my desk with a bottle of vodka. what's the worst that could happen?

i mean. really?

what are they gonna do?

fire me?!

oh man, this joke is only get old at 4:01pm today. when i make sure not to let the door hit me on the way out.

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

joy is...

finding a new video game that makes you happy.

plus it keeps me quiet while my hunny is playing on his computerlator. which is a win win because i have a tendency to try and converse with him while he is playing his game.

a game which he apparently needs to "focus" on. so when i yammer, he kinda snaps at me.

which makes me sad.

then i go "in a mood".

then i sulk.

then he goes into a mood.

then i sulk more.

then we go out to do chores... in moods.

then we thaw out. and buy a video game for me.

and then all is right in the world.

not that the above would ever happen in real life.


anyway. the game is called okami. every time we go to ye olde game shoppe i see this game box. it's got a pretty white wolf on the front. it's all animated in a style reminiscent of a japanese brush painting. in fact, your special skills to finish the game are done with a brush. it's pretty. i like it. and while there is some fighting involved it's not too gory or in depth.

so i'm happy.

he's happy.

we're happy.

oh, i also got another spyro game. wheee!

so i'm thinking...

... i ought to put some nice clothes on to celebrate the last evening...

or at the very least i ought to put some real pants on right?

me on mute

so i realize i've been blue here. there are reasons. there are insecurities. there are things i just don't want to talk about. things that if i give too much attention to, will become hard and real, instead of simply being unspoken.

i am fragile. i am one slight bump away from fracturing completely.

and so.

i will be silent.

i will be mute.

i don't want concerned emails. or worried looks. or any sort of attention.

i just want to be quiet for a while.

apologies in advance for my possible hiatus.

and apologies late for the past couple of days where i have not been a shiny happy person.

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

ahem? ...

first off, missy, vegemite is more an australian thing. marmite is british.

secondly, moving blows. and not the good-salty-sea-air-in-your-face type of blow. more the bad-salty-donkey-balls-in-your-face type of blow. we had hoped to be out of this apartment and in our new one on saturday. but the van rental places were conspiring against our move.

dear sweet hubby booked a van with a company on friday, got the confirmation number, then on saturday was told that no, no we don't actually have that confirm number nor do we have any vans. okay. fine. there are loads of rental places in manchester. call... ring. ring. sorry, no vans till monday. okay, next one... ring... ring... yea, we had vans, but they have all been sent away to evacuate some people in the areas of flooding. sigh.

finally we find a place. take a 5 quid taxi ride. get there. ask for our van. and the dude at the counter says, sure, i just need a visa/debit card, oh but we're so behind the times that those are the only type of card we take, even though the rest of the uk accepts maestro, we can't, because we suck donkey balls, the really big sweaty kind.

then we get to walk for about 20 to 30 minutes back home (swinging by another rental place which has a van in the parking lot... but says they don't have any vans available). oh, did i mention that because we live in manchester, it's been raining. a lot.

so we get a small rental car. load as much into it as we can. drive down to warwick, in the rain, of course. pick up our keys to the new place. and finally get into our new apartment. that was all on saturday.

yesterday we drove back up to manchester and booked another van online for monday. then we just waited. hubby dearest unpacked the tv so we wouldn't be bored. i cleaned the house as much as possible. we had originally planned to take all our belongings down to warwick on saturday, then drive back up to manx so we could clean the place unhindered by boxes and the wendy kitten. alas. i was forced to clean around the fat kitty.

finally, we come to today. rain. big surprise there. but all the boxes have been relegated to the downstairs bathroom. all the bits and bobs have been packed away. the upstairs is now sparkling. the bedrooms are clean and hoovered. beds are made. everything is dusted. the only areas left for the deep clean are the hallway and bathroom which are both jam packed with boxes.

and now, as we speak my darling husband is off dropping off the wee little rental car, collecting the van, and redirecting our mail at the postoffice. when he comes back, the shuffle of boxes from the 6th floor down to ground level will commence.

so. dear inquisitive insider... our move is still going on. i'll let you know when it's over. although, once we are down in warwick, we won't have broadband for a few weeks. we'll have. gasp. dial up. it'll be like the dark ages. sigh.

wish us luck.