volume one hundred and sixty-three
all i do is eat and sleep and sing
📍Written from my makeshift desk in Kaurna land (otherwise known as Adelaide), after sitting in the spring sun with the doggos long enough my vision was gone when I stepped back inside. Summer is coming.
To get my substack muscle warmed up again this week, I took the help of a random object generator. Here are ten items I was given, and what memories came up for me when I got them. Micro stories, if you will.
White-out: is what I used to write I HEART … on the back of my palm in primary school then got in trouble when I was presented an award at the assembly. I had to shake hands with the evidence showing to the entire student body who sat cross-legged on floorboards while their teachers sat in plastic chairs at the end of every row.
Nail clippers: make a sound that can be universally recognised. This is exactly what happened when a train full of commuters, standing room only, one by one tuned in to the clip, clip, clip and became a unified group of people who were disgusted by one inconsiderate passenger. And not one of us said a thing.
A box of tissues: is what I handed around at the age of ten when my Dad left. My Mum and sisters sat on my parents’ bed, which was now just my Mum’s bed, and wept. I filled glasses of water and pulled tissues from a box and put them in front of their faces. They took them and looked at me like I was strange for not crying.
Container of pudding: on container of pudding is what he left. Our final night living together began with me coming home to an apartment lit by glowing lanterns he had bought for the place as a gift to me. A homemade, multiple-course vegetarian dinner was ready to eat on the table and there was a fridge full of Snack Packs. A friendship that began with a Billy Maddison reference ended, for then, with one, too.
Music CDs: are what I miss the most about having a house of my own. I had a collection that started from the age of four. When scaling back to a suitcase, I sent some to my parents and grandparents. The rest went to a man on Facebook Marketplace who wanted to show his daughter what a CD was. My nomadic life is one I am not ready to leave, but when I think about that collection I regret not trying harder to find a way to hang on to them.
A washcloth: is what I laid over my eyes, cold and damp, hoping to catch thirty seconds of rest unnoticed in the galley while my co-workers ran around on the deck in the February summer heat above. This is what I hoped would be the cure for my vicious hangover and catastrophic come down as the drugs exited my system.
A carton of ice cream: is what he held in one hand, feeding me scoops on a spoon directly into my mouth with the other, rushing me to feel better. Like this was the magic fix. It didn’t feel comforting. It felt forced, robotic, degrading. I hid under the blanket like a hooded cape, not wanting to be alone but wishing it wasn’t him who was there.
A pair of water goggles: are what filled with tears as I pulled them off my face to swim to the edge. I spluttered and cried “I told you I couldn’t do it!” after being pressed to enter the swimming carnival.
Perfume: is what I wore my first day leaving the house after moving to Canada. It took me three days to leave the apartment. Anxiety was winning until necessity said “My turn!”. On the bus, I was asked to move because my perfume was irritating. The only other seat on the bus was wet. I sat on the edge of it and at every corner hoped the puddle wouldn’t rock too close to me.
Flowers: was on repeat for the six weeks I spent on my first visit to my dream city. I danced around the split-level home, bathed in natural sunlight beaming through many windows, laughing and celebrating the fact that I never had to massage the ego of a man again. And also that I was very much, very gay in summer.
Lovely reader, I would love for you to visit this site (or one of your own choosing) and write a few lines on the object you are given. Share your micro-stories in the comments!
here are three things i struggled with this week:
✏️I didn’t write to you last week. And I missed it. But I do not regret it. It was a choice I made based on being overbooked, over-committed and over it. I prioritised other creativity and rest last week, instead. Thank you to those who reached out to me! Who knew you’d even notice I tried to sneak by without writing to you for a Friday? I feel very special to hold such a place in your inbox and schedules.
🐩 Rude strangers might not be rude. For all I know, that is their friendly. I am holding them to my standard of friendly or nice and therefore setting myself up for resentment when they are their own self, instead.
🌼To keep the trackie-pants and long sleeves and risk my suitcase being overweight or ditch them before the next flight and risk not having enough layers for a few weeks? Spring to summer life.
here are three blessings from this week:
🌞 When you are so busy you don’t even have time to take the dogs for a ten-minute walk, then that is when you need to take them for an hour-long walk in nature.
🦋 Bucket list things.
🏃 Making friendships in my current city that I care about so much already, that I will wake up at 6am on a Sunday to cheer them along a finish line.
here are three goals for the coming week:
🎬 Taking the action is my responsibility, but the result I take my hands off.
🛟 I am committing to making more room in my life for spontaneity.
🗝️ Thankful for Morning Pages that help me realise my intuition is strong. I do not need to justify anything beyond “This doesn’t feel right,” and if you need to hear it today — neither do you.
pics or it didn’t happen:
I love you and I appreciate you reading my letters because I really enjoy writing them to you.
I didn’t know such sites existed! Briefly the first item on my list was “pickle jar” and I immediately thought that there is always a jar of pickled onions and pickled gherkin in my fridge. It usually takes me about a year to eat as my body with occasionally say “eat a pickle” every 1.5 months 😂
First item on my list "hair pin" immediate thought a wedding l attended as a guest when l was in my 20's & the first time l got my hair professionally styled into an up do...Looked so good but lll never forget the horrible headache later that evening from the tightness of the pins in my hair. In the taxi on the short journey home l started removing what turned out to be 38 tight hair pin grips! To this day l was Never tempted again to have an upstyle for any occasion.
Glad your back Lauren 💜