1. Delete his everything. His number, his pictures, his face from your memory. 2. Throw out any shedding from his outer shell; T-shirts, jackets and all the guitar picks from your nightstand. Shatter the glasses and burn all his letters. It would be a waste to keep words on a page that have lost all meaning. 3. Scream his name in your head when songs on the radio remind you of the way he used to touch you. Turn it off when you finally begin to cry. 4. Get used to the feeling of 3am, when his ghost creeps into your room and hits you with an ocean of flashbacks. Learn to swim through the non-stop treacherous sea of memories. 5. Scrub his hands off your flesh and resist the urge to use his old shower gel. Become familiar with the way small things cause you to crumble, like when you notice his old toothbrush still sits inside the cup by the sink. 6. Stop yourself from seeking out his face in a crowd and forgive yourself when you start letting anyone in. Cry when the stranger has left your bed, and promise yourself you won’t do it again. Forgive yourself when you do it again. 7. Grow used to brewing less coffee, and ignoring the Sunday paper. Delete his shows off the DVR and find a new show to invest yourself in. Allow yourself to cry when the main character reminds you of him. 8. Wash his whispers out of your pillowcases and every promise he wrapped up in even the smallest crevices of your sheets. Wash everything in sweet smelling detergent, and fabric softener, soft enough to let you sleep without two arms holding you in place. 9. Call your mom and apologize for worrying her with unreturned phone calls. Bite your tongue when she asks his name and understand your silence will tell her everything she wanted to know. 10. Wake up one day and feel your bones are no longer brittle to the touch and admire the sun for the way it peeks through the cracks of your blinds and recognize you are going to be okay. I swear.
29 January 2017
I cancelled the ride for safety reasons this morning because of heavy rain on the radar & forecast thunder storms. People in other suburbs reported bucketing rain but we didn’t get much at all, so could have ridden. We often seem to be in a rain-free shadow. I chilled on the deck with tea waiting hopefully for a display… At least it smelled fresh.
But what do you do when the forecast threatens thunder storms and you cancel the ride? You eat your low-FODMAP energy bites with coffee, reading the Sunday paper; you harvest chillies; you make paste for freezing, whizz up sun-dried flakes, and put the fat ones in oil for eating now (and for bonus chilli-infused cooking oil). Then you do some weights, watch the Cadel Evans Ocean Road Race, and take the doggy for a walk.
Dinner was on the deck. What a splendid evening - a jaw-dropping sunset, rainbows, sultry temperatures. BTW Rob poured that generous chardonnay! #blessed
Bonus: I lost 1kg last week. Feeling empowered. 💪😊👍🌟🍀
Worn leather gloves, coffee stains on the Sunday paper, tattered photographs on a cramped cork board, dirt under a child’s fingernails after a day of play, unrestrained laughter, yellow envelopes, tangled brown hair, rain on a sunny day, thick quilts during thunderstorms, movie posters hanging crookedly on camel-colored walls, teddy bears looking over you on the top shelf, the last, strong drop of tea in your mug, a warm brown yarn hat, oversized hoodies sporting your favorite team, post-it notes of things you need to remember, well-worked in shoes, thick soup packed in a thermos for lunch the next day, the autumn wind at a football game, tears when you see an old friend, serendipity, the mellifluous sound of “your” song, dried paint on your blue jeans, sweaters hanging on your chair, movie nights, the churning sensation in your stomach after meeting someone new and hoping you didn’t make a fool of yourself, the knick knacks the line your desk, that one tree that you always have to climb, the satisfying taste of cheese and bread, autumn leaves falling from maple trees, smiles, unpacking your suitcase once you get to your hotel, typing on your old laptop while listening to the rain out your window, the pollen that always makes you sneeze every spring, manila envelopes, burnt toast, a fire crackling as you play a board game, the comforting look from a friend as you go through something tough, half days, CDs stacked on your nightstand, long train rides through the countryside, first times, circular windows, copper tea-kettles, brass knockers, conversations with your sister, waking up from a nap and not knowing where you are, being picked on, but at the end of the day, knowing that although you are lonely, you are not alone.
You prefer to read the newspaper over the hottest new young
adult novel. Not that there is anything wrong with young adult novels because even
you know how addicting they are, but you just like to keep up with the news and
laugh at the Sunday comics. Reading the paper is part of your morning ritual;
you wash your face, put your hair up, get a nice cup of coffee, and read the Sunday
paper as you sit in the kitchen. Usually Ashton isn’t up that early as you on
Sundays since it’s his off day, but today he happened to be bored as you felt
him put his arms around your waist. “I’m reading Ash.” You tell him lightly
pushing him off with no avail. “Come on babe, pay attention to me.” He says
with a pout as you take a step away from him and he pulls you back in as you
laugh, “Ash!” you say as he twists you around to throw your paper in the air
and kiss you. “You’re worthless without me.” You tell him. “You complete me
baby.” He winks as he gives you another kiss, so much for reading, but there is
always next Sunday.
Dancing has always been something you love to do, but your
love for teaching overtook that dream. Just because you were a teacher didn’t
mean you had to stop dancing, you had sometimes conducted Zumba classes on the
weekends. Recently you went to one of Luke’s shows and ended up twisting your ankle
when you tripped off the bus, “Come one babe, you can’t still be mad.” Luke
says, “Luke the only reason why I tripped off the bus was because you and the
other guys got too excited and ended up pushing me.” You say reminding him as
you pouted in bed Sunday morning because you had to cancel your class. “Here
why don’t you teach me?” Luke says standing up. You give Luke a deadpan look, “Luke
you’re a walking noodle, you can’t dance.” You say but he picks you up and
starts making you slow dance with him and you can’t help but laugh, “Luke I
think you have a wrong impression of what Zumba is.” You say but you keep
dancing appreciating that he was trying.
Cleaning the house was not a chore to you, but more of a
hobby because it helped you clear your mind of everything that was going on. You
would usually wait though until Calum left the house to go to the studio
because he would usually either bother you or distract you. This week was
different because you came down with an awful cold, but you refused to let the
house stay a mess. Even though your body hurt you still got up and got the mop,
“Come on.” You say sweating trying to push the mop. Calum walked in the house
shock, “Y/N why aren’t you in bed!” he says immediately picking you up before
you fell, “I need to clean, you know it helps me.” You say. Calum nods and
starts thinking, “Ok I have an idea.” That’s when he puts you on his back and
grabs the mop, “Tell me what to do ma’am.” You laugh as he starts, “You’re not
scared I might get you sick?” you ask, “Are you kidding? A day in bed with you,
haaa I won’t mind at all.” He says as you kiss his cheek.
To be honest writing was more of Michael’s thing, but you
still liked to dabble in it none the less. Writing was how you and Michael met
after all, because you both took a writing class in high school. Michael’s
writing was mostly for his songs, while yours were mostly poems and shirt
stories of romance. Even though Michael did song writing you didn’t mind him
reading over your stiff and making some edits, because he was good with his
words. You were laying down when he walked in after his shower, “Mike, will you
read this for me?” you ask as he lays down next to you, “Sure love, let me see.”
He says and starts reading it over line by line. When you saw his concentrated
expression you couldn’t help but remember when you guys first met, and you then
smile and lay on his back making him fall, “Do you want me to help you?” he
asked you and you kissed him cheek, “Yes teacher.” You say and he laughs at
Description: Ashton is an exotic male dancer. Skylar is a college student studying psychology and needs a subject to do her thesis on. She pays him for two weeks so she can study him. Things are bound to get interesting.