If I drank wine...

I'd only drink this. Sitting in a window, in Paris. Wearing a red dress with a wide skirt and a boat neck, sleeveless. I'd probably read a novel, in Russian or French. I might smoke a cigarette. My view would be of the river and all the lovers walking hand in hand towards Montmartre. Dusty Springfield would be playing on my grammophone and I would always be running late. My kitchen would be full of mismatched crockery, most of it red. I would sleep until 11 every day and not go to bed until the early hours of the morning. I would never miss sunrise. I would watch Audrey an Katherine in old movie theatres and I would take long walks through crowded streets and see new things every day. I would sleep so close to you every night, with your breath on me and my toes on yours and when I woke up I would make you a coffee and we would sit in our Parisian window until it got too cold and we'd have to go back to bed.

I don't drink wine but if I did...

Dag 30 – Ett sista ögonblick (one last moment)

In my last moment, I hope that I'm surrounded by people I love. Or, if that's too much to ask for, somewhere warm at least.

Dag 16 – Min första kyss (my first kiss)

I'm not going to tell you about my first kiss. Because now, after so many years, it really doesn't matter all that much anymore.

Instead I'm going to tell you about the first kiss that really matters. Popcorn at the ready? Good.

It's a cold night. I've got my big green coat but it's still chilly. A drink or two has helped warmed me up, I think, but really there's only cold air around me that I can't really feel.

I've been persuaded to come out tonight; I wasn't really in the mood but then again I had nothing better to do on this Monday night. So I might as well have a few drinks and a bit of a boogie.

Well it's one of those nights when you don't know many people and you're stood on your own quite a bit but then suddenly a handsome boy looks over at you and smiles a charming smile. So you walk over and you end up chatting and laughing all night and suddenly there's a kiss and then another. And years later you'll still be arguing over who kissed who first.

Dag 08 – Ett ögonblick (a moment)

There's music all around. Heat, dancing, small venue. People in animal costumes and people with long green coats. The crowd is singing, shrieking, dancing loudly and everyone is in tune. A panda collapses and the music stops.

From the stage water is passed into the audience in plastic pint glasses. People take a sip and pass it backwards. No one worries about spiked drinks or germs; we're all there together.

I've long since lost my friend but I've made a new friend. We barely speak all night but the connection is there.

At the end of the night I go home with a big green hand and my new friend goes home with my email address on his arm.

This is a long moment but it's one of those evenings you never forget.

Find your own way.

I don't get it. It's so easy to write. It's so.. natural. I keep thinking I don't have the time, but to be honest, I do. I just need to plan better, sleep less? Read less, be less lazy.



I wish there was an easy way to write whilst walking. Don't say pen&paper - I won't be able to read my squiggles...



I need to nail down this routine thing. I need to get better at getting up in the morning. I need to find a way to stop getting ill all the time.



So far this morning two people have said I don't look well. But I can't take another day off work; sick days are a bit of a no-no in the real world, if I've understood it all right. Sure, if I'm ill I should stay home. Both to get myself better and to make sure no one else catches whatever lurgy I've got. But when you're ill this much? Ridiculous. Clearly, I need a job where I can work from home.



Trip back to the doctor's is probably a good idea. But they'll just tell me to get more fresh air and exercise. Blahblahblah.



Anyway. Oh, and yes. I'm writing this from work. Lunch break, I think it's called...



Wow, it turned into another moan. Sorry!

On writing.

I would like to write again. I say this a lot, I know. But as you'll have noticed from my lack of activity on here I've not had much time for any kind of writing, unfortunately.

What would I like to write? And why would I like to write? If I had the choice - as we so often wish we did - I'd write something that made a difference. To someone, anyone.

A lot of what I read at the moment (online, that is) is mindless. Rubbish. Surely I could do better? Some is witty descriptions of their every day life, and is actually amusing. I could do that? Not much, but some, of what I read is commentary on current affairs, to do with mental health or in other ways 'interest'-blogs. But what am I interested in? More to the point, what am I interested enough in to write insightful, entertaining blog posts about?

I recently promised someone I went to uni with to read and comment on a short story he's recently written (I haven't done this yet, but will tonight. Promise!). He's clearly carried on writing. Maybe not continuously since he left Lancaster back in, oh 2007? - but he's writing. And of that I am jealous.

So, where is my inspiration? How do I stop being such a grumpy sod complaining about not writing, and just make myself write?

Over and out.

It's that pondering time o' the night.

It's 4am. I've not been up all night in a very long time. It's odd, I used to do it all the time. Dad used to get up at 5 or 6 and I'd try to turn off computer quickly and quietly and rush into my bedroom, hoping he'd think I'd been asleep all night. I don't think it worked. NB.- if it did work: Dad, I'm making all this up. I slept a good 8 hours every single night!

In my first year of uni I didn't sleep much. And when I did it was usually in day time. It wasn't just that I was 'turning the day around', I'd be up for a few nights/days and then get overwhelmed by sleep.

I remember sitting on that scratchy blue chair by the window looking out at the courtyard, the other windows... it was a depressing sight. I did some of my best writing sat on that horrible chair, wrapped in my blanket.

...

Here's one. Don't judge too hard; I was a creative writing student after all...

Headlights

I stood still, staring into the headlights
hypnotized and full of fear
but also, admiration.
And I put another pound coin into the slot,
pushed hold, hi and lo a couple of times
   just to make sure I'd unlock all possible features
and gently, slowly, with as much confidence as I could gather
I pressed start.
Start, again.
Hi, re-spin,
lo, unlock megafeature
another pound coin
still hypnotized by the lights
  "Nevermind The Jackpots"
I couldn't move
     another pound coin in
press start, push nudge, and again
Hi or Lo, Continue or Lose?
  And suddenly it all went black.