I wake up cold and panicked, tits tingling. The familiar nail dragging sensation only ever comparable to the oxytocin-induced equivalent of the "not my daughter, you bitch" gut-punch feeling of seeing your kid been punched in the face by an unnamed Shitbag at a kid's party, her Everything imploding with the resounding and soul crumbling thud- an autonomic readiness to wager the war you "never signed up for". ------ To be factual, I neither found myself walking towards the underpass, Ginnel... (Gin-uhl, jenn-ell, debate it like Yorkshire 'picky tea' on the night you perused Casualty Corner before food shop day)..... -between two Northern terraces, nor did I actually find and/or rescue a 35 week preemie newborn swaddled in stained towels within a nook of a semi-crumbled wall alongside and leading to said 'ginnel'. Now, I wouldn't describe myself as Mother Theresa, far from it, but waking up panicking about the potential demise o...
We've all been there haven't we? You're in love, think it's the real deal, goes a bit wrong, you convince yourself there's more fish in the sea... You then go one of two ways- 1. Throw yourself under anything with a pulse in a frantic bid for anything that makes you feel less like an alien, or 2. Do something drastic like leave the country, shave your head, become a Monk... Then cycle repeat. But what if you find yourself at an impasse and go neither way? What happens then? Well, dear Reader. This is where you find yourself in the jarring Upside Down of what-the-fuck-ery so you do now? Picture this: You respect your body and your twat a lot more than you did in your twenties, having abstained from the things that nearly destroyed you despite them being 'easy fixes'- the behaviours playing to an anthem of an initially steady (but rapidly gaining) momentum decline that would be enough to give Newton a rod on. However, convincing yourse...