training wheels.

I still remember learning to ride a bike. My first bike was tiny, bright fluorescent pink with white tires and training wheels that were permanently attached. I outgrew it fast and it was passed down to my younger brother who told me that it was not pink, rather faded red and also a motorcycle. It…

mad crazy tired. (when recovering is not glamourus).

Right now I should be writing about Galenic theory and the Hippocratic school. I realise that this is procrastination in a charade of productivity. I just cleaned my kitchen and my bathroom, too. My hands are still dry from dish soap. I miss writing. Even my journal is more collected pieces of paper, scraps of…

Trying to Live in a Recovering Body

"Do you have any tips for shopping for a year 12 ball dress in recovery after gaining weight?"  This question was sent to me the other day. Simple enough really, once sentence, one question, a string of words that pulled me back to 17, only to whip-lash back to the present. I started year 12…

Down Days and Drawing El.

Januarys feel like trying to swim in custard. Treading water, exhausting with no forward motion. I don't like the uncertainty that comes along with the promise of a new year. Anxiety demands that I am in control, with every future step planned. Right now I am very much not in control. I'm desperately job hunting,…

New Year, Vaguely Same Me. (Also, some goals)

By the time this post goes up we will already be ten days into the New Year. Fortunately, there's no one grading me on my submission of goals or I would have failed this year by default. At the end of 2013, I decided I didn't like the idea of resolutions. I then came up…

Washing Machine Prayers

If I could find a way to put the last few months into paragraphs, I would, but right now I am faced with a washing machine full of words. If I open it now everything will spill out, tangled in soap and dirty water, and I will be swamped. I’ve searched everywhere I can think…

Paint and Completed Essays.

It's 1:34 pm on a Wednesday afternoon. I am still wearing the clothes I slept in under the oversized shirt I wear when I paint. Six weeks ago I would have been preparing for my psychology class, annotating notes on Erickson and Maslow and psycho-social development. Probably anxiously picking at my nails, simultaneously overwhelmed and…