Do...do I Feel Validated? Called Out? Welcomed? Im Afraid.

Do...do I feel validated? Called out? Welcomed? I’m afraid.

I’m not saying I’ve found my spirit animal (pace actual bunnies), but never has there been a clearer picture of me first thing on any given morning.

I may occasionally demonstrate all the intellectual vigour of a potato, but my god, I have the hand-eye coordination of a mach 3 fighter pilot.

She was my first and most abiding love, and this leaves an unfillable void.

 The last time my parents helped me move house my mother looked around my partially-packed flat and said half-thoughtfully, half-bewildered,

“Have you ever considered....not buying books..?”

Person: You need to stop buying books.

Me: no I don’t

Person: there is no space in your room for them!

Me: I need more bookshelves!

Person: you’re hoarding them.

Me: I’m collecting them

...and as a follow-up to the UnFeminine Things I Have Shouted While Doing Traditionally Feminine Activities:

“The FUCK is this SHIT going on here....”

while making a raspberry yoghurt cake.

ETA an additional “arsing shitweasels” because it turns out that when you stick something in a 180C box for an hour and then immediately hack a slice off and cram it in your mouth it is, in fact, quite hot.