day 17
I didn’t feel like being funny today. The conversation dominating Twitter, all of the news about Sarah Everard’s murder makes it hard not to think of anything else. It has sent shock waves through all the women I know. Shock in that kind of awful way, a resigned shock, like you saw it coming. Things you were told to do by your mother when she packed you off and sent you to uni, or dropped you at your first house party. You share your location, hold your keys in your hand and walk swiftly and with purpose thinking it will somehow help. The strange thing is you do all of these arbitrary things in the hope that it will save you or protect you somehow. But the really scary thing, and what Sarah’s horrific murder has shown, is that it doesn’t. Because she did all the things you’re supposed to. It’s a painful reminder that living in a woman’s body carries with it a heavy realisation, that that in itself is a dangerous and potentially deadly fact.
day 16
I’ve never really been a love you outloud kind of person. As in someone who is comfortable saying, “love you” in a sincere way to someone else who has normally said it first in a living, breathing conversation. A boy who I’d had a love/hat relationship with at school visited me at uni once, very sweetly kissed me on the cheek and told me that he’d always love me at the tail end of a night out. Standing by a roundabout, the lights causing him to go in and out of focus, I just replied “we should be pen pals and keep in touch”!! This was at the tender age of 18 I might add. I was not in fact 12 and at summer camp, so it was really not that acceptable of a response.
day 15
Chicken. Chicken is probably the one food I would happily die for. Fried chicken. Roast chicken. Itty little bits of chicken battered in KFC’s finest. My favourite meal as a kid was chicken, potatoes and beans. I’m a cheap date, what can I tell ya. There’s something so satisfying about ripping the meat off the bones, eating it with your hands, fighting over who gets the wings in your family and the little nubbin at the back of the body, which is somehow so crispy and so rich in smoky skin flavour, but so thoroughly underrated when it’s completely intoxicating.
day 14
There’s a sense of power that comes when you’re dancing and owning your own body. A shimmer of recognition runs through the little group around you, because as each one of you gives into the music and dances with a little more wild abandon, you give each other the confidence to really, truly let go. It’s the thrill, the feeling of being looked at, but secretly knowing that it’s not for anyone else.
day 13
My body has served me pretty well my whole life, I don’t know if I’ve done a particularly great job of taking care of it, a lot of broken fingers from my early (misinformed) netball days, cracking my chin and then head open on separate occasions once on a trampoline, the other in the playground, and all round just being pretty accident prone. This week, I somehow managed to absolutely deck it in the bath (!) when I was reaching for the shampoo. It’s such a small space! How!
But me and my internal organs, we’re on pretty good terms.
day 12
As someone who structures their day entirely around food: what to have for breakfast: eggs and bacon if it’s a real weekend feasting or granola if I’m pretending to be classy, then a mid morning summin’ summin’, nicely interspersed with many a coffee bought from sexy barista A – which I absolutely cannot afford – and then culminating in the pinnacle of the day, lunch / dinner and lastly DESSERT, but I’ve had absolutely no appetite this week.
Introducing…
I’ve always been someone that’s driven by impulse, so who would I be if I didn’t have that? For 40 days and 40 nights, I’ll take away the wanting. Caffeine, chocolate and sex (yes even masturbating) and I’ll be updating you daily on here.