| 2019 | 04 | 19 | before things |



| 2019 | 04 | 18 | post |

staring. out the window. at the words you cannot read. at the back of your eyelids as you cannot sleep.

emptied. soft bones. so the muscles aren't really there. focus is soft. focus is hard.

stopping as you pour the kettle. stopping because you realise you haven't been breathing. or you think you have. too aware. not aware enough. making things difficult.

stopping because a sound reminds you.

stopping because things have moved on.

stopping because you haven't moved on.

time passing. time going slowly. time all together moving in waves.

feeling everything. feeling nothing.

because it was real. and there. and strong.


if i suddenly had all the money i could want for. i'd pay my dads mortage off. then i'd probably just. get rid of it all.

the satisfaction of life is not determined by the success but the length of the struggle.

we don't grown and learn without adversity or pain.

for me.

my greatest struggle is pressing the big off button located somewhere on my forehead which would bring about blissful sleep.

that month i realised that even small doses of codeine knock me senseless was a good month of sleep..

today I am awake at 4am and I know why.

you probably do too.


| 2019 | 04 | 17 | red |

life is a careful dance between the heart and the mind.

fighting, working, driving in tandem to push you forward but ultimately they have different goals.

the heart knows what it wants. the head knows how to get there.

right and wrong doesn't come into it.

april 17th had me bolting down the street.

i'd just been on the phone to my mum, complaining about some minor semantic error (i'm pretty hot on those atm), before realising - much to my error - i'd accidentally left my bright new flowers sitting beside my desk.

so there I was, sprinting down the road in my dungaree dress and denim jacket, clutching my bright red rucksack close to my chest.

it's quite iconic, that backpack. and something I'd recently pulled from the dead.

red, robust and very worn.


back to the running.

it passed briefly through my mind that I wasn't even meant to be jogging - let alone running - before I truly ran out of steam and picked up a brisk walk to the other side of the road.

i was met by my boss (one of two) who refused to hand over said flowers until the identity of the sender was released.

I did my best.

but what this particular incident was interwoven with is the underlying trope of manipulative language. and how very often individuals do not realise the words they are using to reach the outcome they wish are devoid of emotion themselves.

gestures have meaning, both for the giver and the receiver. but when motive is unclear, clarity is required.

i want to know. i want to know if the drive if self centred or if it's truly to make me feel good. because the distinction is large.


| 2019 | 04 | 17 | pre dw. the nerves |

all my posts lately have been a bit downbeat, so i'm sorry. i'm sorry i find it therapeutic to put to paper that which is bothering me.


i have an endurance race on saturday.

i also have two conflicting voices in my head which are making my brain hurt and my soul cry.

it's going to be the most fun thing ever
the niggling doubt - i'm simply not good enough.

all it took was one published list (for fun i might add) and my entire confidence was shook.

i saw my name near the names of those i've been looking up to. near the names of people who have earned their place and i feel like i'm an imposter. i came second a few weekends ago and i couldn't quite accept it. i am not good enough to be coming second. so why did i?!

how dare i take second place from someone else.

who the hell do i think i am?

i'm not good at running.

my technique is horrendous.

the choices i make aren't smart.

i didn't deserve that prize.

the voice in my head was winning again.

for me. this is huge. this is so much more than a race.

this is a moment to prove that everything i've worked towards has been worth it.

but mainly it's another pawn in my ongoing battle. with myself.

because i'm my own worst enemy.

to add to an already lengthy list of issues, some a bit less pretty than others. i've had some serious knockbacks recently.

this time last year, i was almost put in hospital. that has since happened twice. three times in a year my body has just... given up. or been unable to handle the challenges pushed my way. it's frightening. it makes me grab at everything i can because i'm so afraid one day i won't be able to do it anymore.

it's why i get so angry when i underperform. i'm wasting time. i'm wasting my breath. i'm wasting precious moments i won't have again.

for me. the biggest doubt comes from within. because time and time again i fall. because no matter how high i climb, somehow i manage to let go. the only person who can decide to succeed is me but for some reason i let it slip through my fingers.

the fight to get back up gets harder each time.

so when i have to stand up. when i have to perform. there's always something reminding me that i've never quite been good enough.

it starts deep inside.

this hugely overwhelming feeling. it feels like the ground i walk isn't steady and any moment i'll fall.

despite everything i do, despite being absolutely okay, i'm never satiated. i'm never going to say 'you know, i did alright that day'. because i didn't. categorically. i can do better. i should. so why don't i?


i'm so frightened that i will fail to succeed this weekend and this weekend will forever be the thorn in my side. it took me a year to get over my failed ultra attempt - and even now it makes me well up. it hurts my chest that i couldn't take one more step. it hurts my soul that i couldn't complete, that i couldn't get to that finish line. then my mum reminds me i had a dislocated bone and was on crutches for months and no one could get through that... but i can't seem to put the two stories together.


| 2019 | 04 | 16 | paper crackles, logs burn |

our window is now open for the forseeable future.

that makes it sound as if it is broken - actually i more mean... it's warm enough.


2 > women don't get attached but i can assure you i've imagined a wedding with almost every one of my crushes. some of them are pretty damn perfect.

she smells like lemongrass and sleep.  my favourite line of a song i listen to. it drips deliciously off the tongue and embodies what i want to be.

i want to be asleep. and smell of it.

she tastes like apple juice and peach.


I feel like this week i'm being torn into small pieces again. it's not bad to critically assess the person you've become and seek areas to improve... but. at the same time it's hard to be laid so bare.

i don't mind it.

i just wish i chose a better time to do it.

rather than 5 days before an endurance race.

i can't seem to accept the person i am and instead just see the worst. i find it easier to assume i'll fail.

i'm also finding that the more i do this, the bigger the tears but also the better I'm becoming as a person.

progression is hard.


so my new problem.

i'm really bad at sharing.

i don't really think anyone in this world should have to keep things hidden. we shouldn't feel ashamed of the lego blocks of our lives that have categorically, undeniably happened.

the bits of me that make me, well me, i keep under lock and key.

but then i realise why.

why i've built a wall so thick around myself that it's unlikely even i have the ability to tear it down to let someone in.

subtle reminders
there was a time i showed you my favourite spots and then. they weren't mine anymore they became ours.

all of a sudden you took them and gave them to someone else.

this is the thing about the internet.

it leaves a footprint and no matter how hard or far i run there's always a reminder and i can always trace things back. sometimes, it catches me by surprise because i always saved photos in weird locations and whilst i pressed delete the map of empty marks how full it all was.

i don't want to know you were there.


i got drunk that time and a few of us stood at the top of my hill, the wind pushing my jacket open. i was livid. i stood on my bench and i told everyone it was mine and they laughed, but for me it was important.

just like my chopping boards.

but being back there meant that i realised how much time had passed and how much I had changed.

god i was a mess. a tangle of me and you and the memories we shared. everything i owned had been touched by you in some way - my favourite lipstick on your collar or my hoody being worn in the morning.

but slowly i resented you making my world a graveyard and i started to build new memories and moments.


i take my time because i fall head over heels and bang my head on the floor and i can't save my heart from the wreckage and i feel guilty for the pain it's been through.

i keep my favourite things under lock and key too so they're always mine and never someone else's cause if you share then they can take.

i don't let people too far in so when they leave they aren't taking too much away. i tell people the same stories so they don't have anything of mine that no one else has.

sometimes i fall so deeply in love with the story i forget to look at the person standing in front of me and i fall for words not actions. but i see now, that sometimes, my story is enough.

i'm taking my time because i'm impulsive and sometimes i jump right in instead of watching. i'm listening and observing. and soon it will be okay.


| 2019 | 04 | 08 | pt 2. whazam |

highlight of the race.

we'd just jumped out of the boat at crofton.

we'd run past the first pound (which was empty so un-paddle-able anyway). ryan was trotting along behind us. occasionally pointing things out.

we got to the second lock where mark called for us to switch sides. so we did. to confirm this is over the head because the preference is carrying the boat by waists.


we did this at the third lock too.

still running with the boat.

still running with ryan.

something wasn't right .

i looked at mark. then at the boat.

then we both put the boat back on our shoulders and emptied the boatful of water out.

'normally people empty the boat before running'

thank you.

wise words.

could've maybe mentioned that a bit sooner.


well actually. my more favourite bit was the queue of boats in front of the tunnel.

it's so surreal.

mile 18 of a race we were just sitting by a river bank in our racing boats.

nowhere to go.



my hat and hair really annoy me here. 

just some of my kayak fwends. 

just a bit annoying really. 


my sister is my favourite person. 

stop trying to make whazam a thing. 

also my mum took great delight in photographing me negotiating with my clothing in a car park. this was after she'd stripped me naked. 


| 2019 | 04 | 03 | story time |

this was inspired by a conversation today. about choices. about making them. or about avoiding them.
but mainly about crossroads.

I used to play chess at school.

I was in chess club actually, and devoted three evenings a week to the game.

I was fairly good at it, and would've been excellent in competitions were it not for the fact that at the time, other things called to me. like mud, and grass.

So I'd make stupid mistakes and ultimately, I'd lose.

My Lacey, my chess-teacher, would stand over the table and tut.

'Sophie, we don't just learn to play chess to play chess.'

stumbling blocks
to begin, we would play warm up games with people of our ability. it was fun. it would be speed chess, or some other form of the game to get us thinking.

once we'd done that, he would move on to the actual point of the lesson, often singling one of us out and forcing different situations upon us.

it didn't take long for me to be put in the hot seat.

he'd put together a very simple scenario, where the path of the opponent was unclear. you had the choice of effectively two pieces to move, and very few squares to move them to.

the aim was to force you to decide with very little time which to move and where. pressure. time limit and an unfamiliar sequence made me freeze. faced with two choices, I couldn't even make one.

I lost by the clock.

lesson 1: it is better to make a worse decision, than make none. 

look after the little things
He couldn't tear me away from my distractable mind. the focus i needed wasn't the focus I had, and as with life now, i'd get caught in the scrap, not the game or as he'd yell - 'four squares don't a win make'.

I remember sighing, I'd taken the knight and sacrificed everything across the whole board.

It took a year before I understood what he was saying. It took a year before I could truly allow a piece to be sacrificed for the bigger picture.

i suppose, that's what he meant about life. sometimes, it looks like you're down. when in reality things are on the up.

it's important to keep an eye on the side of the board, there are two lessons there.

you have to keep an eye on both the ball and the field whilst looking after your weakest players.

make decisions with conviction
that was another phrase completely lost on a room of 8-10 year olds. but I get it. when you play chess, you make your most important decisions under pressure. i suppose instinctively, you do have the ability to subconsciously weigh up the pros and cons of a lot of things - hence trusting your gut. mr lacey was encouraging us to listen to that and act without hesitation and commitment.

he was also adamant you played your own game. you could observe and discuss others, but you couldn't intervene.

he was teaching the ultimate life lessons through a game of 32 pieces.

I wish i could thank that man.

| 2019 | 04 | 03 | ah |

LP was a voice which resonated with me during some interesting times. 

shes purportedly quite an icon but i just like the truth in her words and the strength in her lyrics. 



| 2019 | 04 | 02 | bumped. [elderly] to back then |

i used to live by and/or. in the middle.
non committal.
lack of care

wanting everything
because i didn't want anything
the other was removed. and
now i have nothing.

pick a door.
don't keep them all open.
you said as i kept looking away. i didn't.
but i learned and realise what i did wrong.

i fear one day
you'll wake up and miss me
and i fear one day
it will be far too late

i am not a box labelled
as extra
put in a corner and when
needed dusted off and used

i am not second best
or an option
i'm a choice
and clearly not yours.

| 2019 | 04 | 02 | parties and pink balloons |

i know you're tired.


everything happens twice.

once in the mind and once in reality.

dragging your feet, rolling into and out of bed




live it. until you can't.

puzzle pieces are messy in the box and then when the puzzle is done its inconvenient and gets pulled apart.


i know you're struggling to find the motivation


walking on glass because it's easier than walking a path unknown.