Love me, Liebster, because I’m ill

It’s not just that little tasks become gargantuous and your body effectively slows you down, as if the parasite you’re carrying weren’t doing enough of that already.

There are no books I must read before I die

I have an ongoing battle in my mind over what I should read and what I do. It’s probably a hang up from my days as an English Literature undergrad. By the time I was on to my Masters, I was rather comfortable with my new philosophy that although “experts” will expound on what you must read before you die, life really is too short to be reading things that you downright don’t enjoy.

Should I leave Facebook?

This is a question I’ve been asking myself ever since I joined Facebook as a university student. Five or so years later, I’m still asking it. Here’s why.

How do we live out love?

Every now and then, we were shown a child sleeping in the road frighteningly close to a passing truck or bodies strung out on drugs and covered in flies.

What only rotten apples could teach me

I’m struggling to put the weekend into words. It’s been such a revelatory one that I don’t feel like I can move on to talking about anything, whether deep or inane until I write about this. So, instead of making this a week of silence at Circus Queen, I’ll try to explain it, to myself as much as to you, in objects.

The day I beat the twisty thing in my garden into submission

So I had a fight with our airer or whatever it’s called. I’m partial to calling it the evil-umbrella-washing-line-twisty-thing. I tend to get physical with misbehaving household items when the “real adult” isn’t around. The sorry-looking smashed pieces of smoke alarm would tend to agree.

Consuming life instead of living it

We’ve been talking through our finances recently and I often sigh over “When – if ever – will we be able to buy a house?”, “When will we be able to go to India?”, “Will we be able to afford ballet or football lessons for the creature?” and the list goes on. But the question that trumps all of those is: “What will happen to my career?”

Thou shalt not wear a dressing gown in public

When I mentioned the uni-boob scenario the other day, it was an attempt at being amusing. My mother read it and all she could think was: “Good grief, my child needs to be clothed!” She speedily got in touch, in her worried mother way – a way I shall soon learn, no doubt.

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