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The shame in my stories.

Today on my (personal) Facebook timeline I shared a blog post by Laura Munoz entitled “To men I love, about men who scare me”. Those engaging with it concurred that the article was way on point, and it was even a web-literary meeting place between myself and a close friend who’s ideological agenda is often…

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Adulthood and then I’ll die someday.

  Last night I lay awake listening to the wind rip up my garden.  Or rather, blow all the plastic shit around outside.  I secretly hoped a very localised cyclone would suck up the broken, toxic-coloured toys that litter our overgrown grass.  And I couldn’t sleep, and that made me angry and panicked. Which meant…

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expectations2

Expectations.

I’ve thought lately a lot about expectations, and I wrote about how motherhood made me feel like I woke up in 1975 (I think I said 1953 actually, but since 1975 was when The Tiger Who Came to Tea was published, and that book sort of horrifies me as much as it does warm my…

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