spin and roll your way to peace

On the way to the bloody doctor tonight I realised the metaphors I use to describe this journey are about control. Washing machines and roller-skates. You’re wet and spinning, cyclical, or your up and skating and down on your arse, repeat. Either way, you’re out of control. Anxiety is like that. Grief is a lot…

grief, you are a strange privilege

  Oh, June. Just six days ago you were a dream, a bit of a yucky one, and I was thinking about you, dwelling on your arrival. And then, June, I did the stupidest thing, I challenged you. Threw down my rusty gauntlet, come and get me June, I’m here. Sunday, I spent the afternoon…