I’m in a funny mood and I want to write but nothing is there.
I want to write about why I can’t do my dishes but happily did my partners all week.
I want to write how i’m 36 now but I’m loving my 30’s actually, and it’s my best decade so far but I feel that 18 years older than being 18 is also a bit scary.
I want to write about the gorgeous week I had with my partner and his thoughtful surprise treats.
I want to talk about enjoying a late night swim under a beautiful sunset looking across to my childhood home.
I want to write about loving my cute wee french bob haircut but now and then i realise how much look like my mum.
I want to write about not being able to stop thinking about a woman we walked with last week. She was terrified by the man she knew aggressively harrassing and following after he wouldn’t take no for an answer from her. Whilst we kept eating our chips, cheese and gravy.
I want to write about coming back to work after 10 days off to being unappreciated and disrespected yet again.
I want to write about wanting to read and finish the 6 books I’ve started but feeling too guilty about reading at work even though my job is to encourage reading.
I want to write about getting better at enjoying seeing photos of myself and being exited about taking and developing film photos again.
I want to write about why do men in their late 40s text‘how you been?’ after 6+ months and that’s it?
I want to write about feeling very loved and loving my little existance with you in silly little nonsense poems but i keep using the same rhyming words so they don’t quite work.
I want to write about how silly i still find being the biggest slut in the public library.
But my heads buzzing too much so I’ve just written another list.