Intrusive images are for life, not just for parenthood

Intrusive images are for life, not just for parenthood

I can see myself biting off a baby’s fingertips one day. I don’t mean that’s my dream retirement plan, I mean I can really clearly see it. Sometimes I don’t even have to close my eyes, it’s just there, transposed over whatever I happen to be looking at in that moment. My teeth. Baby’s fingertips. This recurring intrusive image started popping into my mind when I was about eight years old, after a friend told me that her mother had to bite the fingernails of her new baby brother. I immediately pictured myself tasked with trimming a baby’s fingernails with my teeth, and accidentally trimming the finger instead.

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Table For One: The Other Empty Chair Technique

Table For One: The Other Empty Chair Technique

I like to sit in cafes pretending to write a screenplay. Even when I’m in a café writing this blog, I pretend I’m writing a screenplay. This is because I like going to cafes, I often go by myself, and I would rather that people think I am writing a screenplay than that they jump to the conclusion that I have no friends. Or that I have a blog. If I had spent as much time actually writing a screenplay as I have pretending to write a screenplay, I’d probably have written a pretty good one by now. And by “good”, I mean “long”.

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Is Procrastination Worth the Wait?

Is Procrastination Worth the Wait?

It’s rare that I hear procrastination referred to in a positive light.  Perhaps at high school, when some of my esteemed classmates would exhibit their extreme cool by saying they were procrastinating studying for exams.  They didn’t actually mean they were putting off studying, they were implying that they had no intention of studying.  More than that - they were implying that only dickheads cared about school.  Of course, only us dickheads could appreciate the irony of misusing the term procrastinate in a sentence intended to demonstrate the insignificance of a good education.

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Not Much Distance Left to Run - How a Marathon Killed My Love of Running

Not Much Distance Left to Run - How a Marathon Killed My Love of Running

Roughly six weeks ago I decided I hated Running.  In that moment, it seemed like a pointless activity in which the minimal gains were far outweighed by the physical, mental and time investment required.  Running had convinced the world it was accessible to anyone, but when anyone got involved, they were no longer anyone, they were now a Runner.  They cared about wicking, they could convert speed to pace and miles to kilometres, they engaged in the barefoot debate, they used marathons to sort out their brilliant-older-sibling issues, and they couldn't run a phenomenal distance without telling everyone how freaking phenomenal the distance was that they just ran.  Running wasn't a pastime, it was a cult.  I wanted no part of it.

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