Sometimes it seems like there’s a kind of competition to see who has the shittiest life. Does my adoption, bulimia and husband’s suicide beat your job loss, chronic fatigue syndrome and divorce? Who knows … who’s judging these things?
My life has been drawn in the silhouette of a man. All that is feminine, in the true essence of the word, has been shunned and disapproved.
Living in the past is a hazard of being a writer. I’m always turning my face to look behind me at my stories, my memories, my history, strung out like tin cans trailing behind a bridal car.
If you knew what really happened, how I really feel, you would realise how stupid I am. And if I no longer believe I am smart and sensible and self-aware, then who am I?
Christopher Maloney wanted to sing. For five years he filled out the application form for Britain’s X-Factor and each time he tore it up. Other people told him not to do it. They told him he wasn’t good enough, that he would embarrass himself.
I am attracted to a particular type of man. Are you?
I know life is shorter than you think and every moment counts.
I know being in love makes the world a much kinder place.
How I feel about the crazy weather we’re having in Sydney.
On my left wrist, scratched into my skin is a red heart with angels wings. It reminds me of my birthday three years ago when Shelley and I sat under the needle at The Illustrated Man and got our tattoos. It was the last birthday I spent with my husband.
Sexy isn’t about your age, the colour of your hair, the size of your body, the wrinkles on your face. Age isn’t a shameful secret kept undisclosed to ensure others desire you, love you or respect you.
In my imagination I am lying in bed with Duckfish, asleep, in my old flat around the corner from here. It is 3am. An unusual sound wakes me. I see a familiar figure standing at the end of the bed. He is holding a gun.
I don’t want to be a brand, a shop or business. I want to remain a storyteller and continue to share my innermost secrets with you. Spewing the chaos in my head onto the page/screen is what makes me come alive.
Sometimes when you achieve your goals — the man, the holiday, the house and the body — you discover that it’s not as satisfying as you hoped. So you move on the next thing … praying this time you’ll get what you need.
