There is a voice that whispers to me in the middle of the night, telling me my boyfriend is going to die. While he snores, while his breath is thick and heavy, I am reassured that he lives. It’s when he is quiet that I worry. I reach out to touch his back to make sure his chest is rising and falling, I watch the bedspread to make sure there is movement.
Somehow, somewhere, religion has forgotten the real meaning of the crucifixion. Pastors and preachers tell us we need to accept Jesus Christ into our hearts in order to be saved, in order to partake in this divine nature. Jesus never asked for any pre-requisite. He said “It is finished.”
It’s nice to have some photos from the past again. Instead of stuffing them away in an album, I’m putting them here — evidence that once I was young.
All around us there is unfathomable sadness. It tugs at our edges of our coats, as though we were caught against a barbed wire fence. It’s hard to ignore all the pain in the world.
Please make welcome the lovely Katerina Edwards who is guest posting today. The moment I take off my clothes, the feelings of self-worthlessness creep in. “I think you should lose some weight,” the massage therapist murmurs. Her words hit me right in my fleshy, untoned, cortisol-bellied stomach, right in the most sensitive, guarded and protected part of… Read More
You, who are approaching the end of your fertile years, hear the call of the sea.
You ache for the cool water to ease the hot blush on your face, to soften your dry elbows and erase the lines around your eyes.
This morning I woke to the news that I was dead. But unless I had somehow become Susie Salmon in Lovely Bones, narrating the story of my death from the afterlife, it wasn’t me. It was someone else who shared my name.
A trip out of the house turns into an adventure in the bush and the kindness of a stranger to get us back home.
When my boyfriend’s daughter encounters a spider in the bathroom, I don’t know what to do. Should I protect her by killing the spider, or make her face her fears?
On Saturday, my boyfriend’s ex-wife made a vow to love another man until they are parted by death. Unlike me, she isn’t afraid to give marriage another try.
“How the actual fuck did you even stay alive?” was the comment she made after reading about the death of my husband.
It’s been a while since I’ve spoken to you, but today it is twenty years since we were married, so you’re on my mind.
The last four years, since you’ve been gone, have passed by so quickly, and there’s so much you’ve missed. Why, just yesterday, Rik Mayall passed away. I cried for the loss of his smile in this world, and because you would never know. Perhaps you do know. Maybe he’s with you somewhere, chuckling to himself about all the fuss he’s caused.
Who are my ancestors? The parents and grandparents of my adopted parents, or the family of the woman who gave birth to me almost fifty years ago?