oversharingI have a tendency to over share.

I mean gosh, I’m sure you haven’t noticed, it’s not like I tell everyone on the internet all of the things.

I worry sometimes though that I do it in relationships and that it might be a bit much. It’s hard though isn’t it? There are so many conflicting messages. On the one hand we are told that the secret to any happy marriage is communication, communication, communication and on the other hand we are meant either to be cool, aloof ice queens, with men falling at our feet because we are so mysterious, or we are supposed to keep any sign of emotion under wraps unless it scare men off into metaphorical caves.

So contradictory is the advice in fact that I tend to just think ‘sod it, I’m going to tell him everything and then if he wants to run away he can do it now before I get too attached.’ It could almost be seen as a test; my new counsellor did say this week that she thought I was self-sabotaging. That’s probably for another post though.

So what happens is that I get full of all of these thoughts and anxieties and they all spin around together for a while. Sometimes I just tell myself to man up and keep them inside, sometimes I write them all down and then delete them, and other times I end up sending a long email or text that begins ‘So, I just wanted to tell you how I feel about…’. Then I send it and all the original fretting gets replaced with a new type.

It’s good to keep things fresh.

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Yesterday, after a fleeting reference to camels, I was challenged to write a post in which camels became our only means of travel and communication. Always a girl up for a challenge, I decided to push it a step further and try my hand at fiction. So this morning I have written what is surely to become an extract from the most critically acclaimed post-apocolypse-self-discovery-tragi-comedy of our generation. Enjoy…

For a long time afterwards everything was quiet.

The water subsided and the ground was still, save for the occasional groan as the new landscape settled itself. Trees that had previously marked out the horizon were reformed as bridges between islands of debris.

The woman lay on her back, partly covered by the shell of what had once been a car. She did not move. Only the barely perceptible rise and fall of her chest marked her out as different from the other bodies. The sun moved slowly across the sky above her, as though ritually scanning for some form of live. As it moved round and shone through the broken car window onto her face, she stirred.

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