Let me start by giving you a list of the things I ought to be doing…

1) Having a bath. (To be fair, I am waiting for the water to heat.)
2) On-line shopping or even a trip to the local shop for tomorrow’s food.
3) Washing up. (I’m sure the water is hot enough to do that.)
4) Making a cake. (No eggs.)
5) Spending time with the cat. (whom I have recently found I am indeed allergic to.)
6) Pretty much anything else non-blog related. (Like writing my book.)

You may be thinking: why? What has any of this got to do with me? How will all this information enrich my life? The simple fact is, it has nothing to do with you; it probably won’t enrich your life, BUT the why, for once is interesting.

Why? One of the most pointless questions in the universe and probably therefore my favourite. No one could tell me why I had two miscarriages. No one could tell my why my mother went to live in a different continent. Why my aunty died. There where no answers to why I had a lump in my breast, or why my ex-boyfriend was a cold brutal man, or why I endured the relationship for as long as I did, or even why a serial killer savaged a friend of mine and then tried to hunt me down when I intervened. All in the space of a year.

Just as I cannot explain to you why (when the police did nothing to help me) I effectively put myself on ‘witness protection’, changed my name, moved address etc etc I was just 22. I signed up for a degree and forged a career working with homeless people. I did not put myself in bed for a decade (as some women have done). I lived. Some of it is a bit of a blur, but I do have some magnificant memories.

Why? Why? Having overcome all these things, why am I falling apart because I am jobless. I had a session with a Life Coach last night. The fact is, I find myself interesting. Insofaras, the me I am now, is intrigued with the me I once was. I wish that I could look back and find out what my motivations for things were. I did have a journal, but it was full of bad words and I butchered it, burnt some pages, made some pages into a papier mache pinate and some others into a papier mache heart ornament. I transformed them, as I transformed my life.

Here I am, doing it again, turning poison into medicine. This time, when I look back, I will know. As a writer, it helps me to focus. It will provide rich treasure to plunder, in the future. If I have a future. I’m a bit worried that all these people keep turning up from my past, it’s like having your life flash in front of your eyes. Only in slow motion.

The latest to turn up, is the boy (man) I shared my first kiss with (he literally took my breath away). We had some fun times. Mostly physical, if you catch my drift. Innocent, teenage fun. I haven’t seen him for 20 years. I’m sad to learn that he lost his mum in January. Sometimes, we need to reconnect to where we come from. Perhaps, that’s why he is in touch. I’m glad it’s a person I’d like to get to know all over again.

Finally, I want to leave you with an image that I shared with my Life Coach. I feel like a little girl, sat slumped on the ground. I am crying and my tears are making mud of the dust and it is smeared on my face and my dress is heavy with it. If I had not cried, all I had to do was stand up and dust myself off. Now, because I cried, I’ve made everything worse and all I have to show for it is a headache.

Really finally, cry if you want to, get angry if you feel it, but MOVE! ACT! BE SWIFT. At least that way, you will only have wet clothes. If that mud dries on me, I have made myself a concrete tomb. If I had made a phone call a week ago, I would have secured 120 duvets for the hostels I work with. Don’t bottle up or swallow your feelings down, but make sure you live too.

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