This is the bobbins part

Life is… challenging. Super challenging. It keeps getting shitter. It is heartsmash right now. Instead of gazing into the hell of it I am going to shine light on a few things that have made me feel a little less broken:

I am appreciating the blackness of the black finepoint Sharpies. It is difficult when the ink goes through to the other side of a page but the satisfaction of the deep black letters it forms is good.

I am enjoying way too many extra strength ibuprofen tablets. The ones I have are like Smarties: round, sweet candy for my near ever present headaches.

I love to hear anything from Kuzhali Manickavel because she is so much cooler than you/me/us. Her latest blog post includes this quote:
“Special salute to the lady assholes out there that remind us that misogyny is not a dude thing, it’s an asshole thing and just because you have a uterus does not mean you can’t be an asshole.”
Damn tooting!


I like how things are shaping up at HOUSEFIRE.


I’m reading the new Ali Smith novel. (Showing off.)


The Mentalist is back on. Hurray. Cho is by far my favourite character. I like his deadpan everything. Jane is aces too but Cho time is the best.


I have to mention that I’ve been entirely obsessed with Eminem’s Recovery. I am a feminist, unafraid to state that, and yet I’ve been listening to Recovery like I’m an addict. It’s hard to square that with myself so I don’t. I respond to the thrill of his speed, clarity, truths, wordblends, pain, melody and so on. It’s inspirational – he’s so, so good and I want that for myself. Whenever he appears with other rappers he seems to totally be better than them. All of them. And intensity – whooooo. 


No love is awesomeness. From 3 minutes in Eminem builds and builds and I love it just as much every time I hear it.



Things are coming back to life in my garden. I bought a tree last year. Well, it will eventually be a tree, I hope. Right now it’s a rather weedy looking couple of sticks but I can see teeny buds on those bare arms and I’m anticipating something hopeful.


I have a bird party tree in my front garden. Throughout winter I’ve put up fat snacks, peanuts, and seed feeders, and now it’s definitely a hang out. I like the sounds.

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