The Birth of my Awkward Moments.

And then, out of nowhere

Now, I say this on behalf of all women everywhere…how annoying is it when you have a wedgie in a public place!? Despite being surrounded on all fronts by platoons of people, the temptation to throw your code of public decency out of the nearest window and to just go for it and de-wedge suddenly becomes overwhelming. For those of you who, at one point or another, be it in a library or at a bus stop, have found yourselves in this controversial and delicate predicament, and have indeed made the brave (and hygienic) decision to de-wedge, I salute you! Nevertheless, those who have stuck it out until they have sat down or become out of sight, I salute you also!

It is not the discomfort that this common phenomenon can cause, it also has psychological effects. Sufferers endure 5 stages of emotion, beginning with Shock. Upon realisation of this…

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New Duvet


3.30 am and I awake in a cold sweat.
With an aching head,
confused instead.
Tiredness has bled right out of me
In bright red.

It is the floor, I discover
With a discarded cover.
What I would do now to be with another.
Even my mother.
I shudder.

The man on the plane
Clearly insane
Made them jump into rain
And then the explosion’s pain jolted me awake
Again.

Forgetting my place
I stand and embrace
The room with which I am now faced.
To return to normality is a mental race,
Second place.

Six years today,
I say.
No nightmares have come my way
Since six years ago on this day.
Must be the new duvet.

Awkward Moment #13: Writer’s Block


Now, there are many different and ridiculous rituals that writers engage in to pull themselves out of this regularly occurring funk. I figured, the best thing to do when you have writers block? Write about it!…or draw on your knees. I did both.

Unfortunately, I forgot tab out my recently acquired knee drawings, and so when I went out that evening wearing a skirt, I obviously either looked crazy or like I had two bad tattoos. Or both. I wasn’t even the first to notice, a very nice Spanish man pointed it out. I’ve already had a little bit of difficulty translating my personality into Spanish, but how do you (when somewhat intoxicated) explain your crazy to a stranger? You don’t. You pretend someone shouted you and go I the toilet to wash off the black biro.

And after all that, I still have Writer’s block. God damnit, San Diego.