One hour and twenty three minutes before my 31st birthday I am sitting in bed wearing white cotton granny underpants and reading glasses. I am pondering my year of being 30 and wondering just how low my breasts will droop between now and when I turn 60, among other things. The Spatula bought me some chocolates from Belle Fleur. These are the best chocolates in the universe. Each chocolate is the best chocolate I have ever tasted. There must be drugs in them.
This year of being 30 has been one of revelations. I am tougher than I think I am. I am capable of surviving heartbreak, establishing a new life in the big city and walking around at night by myself. These are things I did not think I could do. I have been compiling a list of things that I have done for the first time.
Bought a dress
Worn red lipstickGone out for a drink with a man
Become insensibly drunk at a party by myself and accepted a lift home from a stranger
Started a blog
Been single for a whole year
Had sex with a man I just met
Had dinner by myself in a restaurant
Decided I did not want to interact with a man that was not good for me, then stuck with it
Made a friend through the internet (hoorah Gemma)
Talked on the telephone with people I don't know (Rups & Martin)
Survived from a single packet of biscuits for nearly a week
Used my life as an experiment
Told people how I was really feeling
Had phone sex
Taken my writing seriously
Made a zine
Walked home from work regularly
Rode in a taxi by myself
Made new friends from attending parties and spoken word things
Hugged my mother (not the very first time but the first time in a really long time, that was today, I was very surprised)
Glued myself back together and been pleased with the result
There is more but it is less tangible. I am beginning to come to grips with terrible freedom and its boundless white void of infinite possibilities. I have new night vision that illuminates the neon strips of imagined limitations. I've got a good missile lock on the black cold banded stripes of fear. They run from my heart to the horizon and back again but I'm in a fast jet now. I'll take on those stripes, I'll murder your raven. I'll walk my own steps despite your crazy drums and insistent absence because this it. The big show.
This year of being 30 has been one of revelations. I am tougher than I think I am. I am capable of surviving heartbreak, establishing a new life in the big city and walking around at night by myself. These are things I did not think I could do. I have been compiling a list of things that I have done for the first time.
Bought a dress
Worn red lipstickGone out for a drink with a man
Become insensibly drunk at a party by myself and accepted a lift home from a stranger
Started a blog
Been single for a whole year
Had sex with a man I just met
Had dinner by myself in a restaurant
Decided I did not want to interact with a man that was not good for me, then stuck with it
Made a friend through the internet (hoorah Gemma)
Talked on the telephone with people I don't know (Rups & Martin)
Survived from a single packet of biscuits for nearly a week
Used my life as an experiment
Told people how I was really feeling
Had phone sex
Taken my writing seriously
Made a zine
Walked home from work regularly
Rode in a taxi by myself
Made new friends from attending parties and spoken word things
Hugged my mother (not the very first time but the first time in a really long time, that was today, I was very surprised)
Glued myself back together and been pleased with the result
There is more but it is less tangible. I am beginning to come to grips with terrible freedom and its boundless white void of infinite possibilities. I have new night vision that illuminates the neon strips of imagined limitations. I've got a good missile lock on the black cold banded stripes of fear. They run from my heart to the horizon and back again but I'm in a fast jet now. I'll take on those stripes, I'll murder your raven. I'll walk my own steps despite your crazy drums and insistent absence because this it. The big show.
Comments
And, yes, Belle Fleur is a drug, many drugs, astonishingly good chocolate in really very wonderful shapes [the choc high-heel filled with all different little chocolates is a total winner - hell, they're all winners].
No, but really, Happy Birfday, oh Slamma. I'll write you a song or summat when I'm not servicing musical instruments.
The 30's are wonderful and not to be feared.
Let's have phone sex to celebrate!