Last night I felt pretty stupid, thinking I'm not a lesbian or a poet and rebuilding past relationships is pathetic and Stockholmish.
This morning, when the wee man eventually shouted me out of bed then pulled me out again after I'd crawled back in, I am feeling better. I didn't destroy the poems, or slash my arms, I didn't rake around in the bin to make a roach spliff, which makes me glad especially since the bin is full of banana skins and sanitary towels. What I did do was check out women on pinksofa updated my profile and considered who I should vote for today. I guess it has to bed lib dem although I'm not comfortable with Clegg, I actually prefer Cameron, in a way. I may be older and maturer but voting Conservative would involve me splitting the taped together remnants of my personality... Not going to happen.
It's all bollox anyway we don't vote in the civil servants, the business leaders or the press who really run things. It's like choosing who puts on your make-up but having no say who your doctor is or if you even have one. Not to sure about that metaphor but I know what I mean.
Really struggling with the poems, the magazines go on about wanting poems that have something to say, that are modern but when I've read what they have printed a lot of it just seems obscure and esoteric. Pretty meaningless to a women telling stories about corruption, satanism, courage in the face of horror.
I've only been at this a couple of months, chill out and enjoy it!