magnetic and poisonous

She sat down at the table with tears in her eyes. He was still standing, looking away from her, as she was looking away from him. The floor suddenly had such intricate details that she felt she could look at it forever. Or at least until he left.

He bent over, and with the gesture of a movie star, bent her chin upwards so she couldn't look away anymore. It felt almost rehearsed, this moment; absurd and awkward. She resisted his touch, and pulled away.

He cleared his throat.

'You know we can't do this anymore.'

It was a statement of fact. She had to agree with him; there was nothing else to say, really.

'Yes.' She whispered this, feeling like she could neither raise her voice or her face for fear of crying out and throwing herself at him. He was magnetic. And poisonous.

'Good.' He turned to leave, and she saw his dirty canvas shoes turn away from her. She was still not looking at his face. The shoes turned back for a moment. She was still looking at the floor.

There was a pause and then an intake of breath, like he wanted to say something more.

But he didn't, and turned and walked away.

It was only when she heard the door close she felt safe to look up once more. Her eyes had dried by now, but there was a fury building in her chest, clogging up her lungs and making it difficult to breathe in. Hard sharp breaths punctured the silence.

Looking outside to the verandah, she saw the light was that strange yellow-green, the beginning-of-spring light, the light that filters through grey clouds on an early Spring afternoon.

She stood, still breathing fast, shaking a little. Walked to the door, and opened it. A chill breeze blew in, and she inhaled, deeply, steadying herself.

Oh, she thought, it's for the best really.

But she knew, deep down, it wasn't over. It was never over.

short stories (or real life events that i need to whinge about without being too obvious)

it's kinda hard to discern what is ok and what is not ok to write on a blog about other people. i have this dream where i can say everything i think, or write it down, and no one will get angry or upset or hurt because of what i had to say.

wishful thinking on my part, as a lot of the things i think, or want to write down, are both innapropriate and/ or mean.

heard some people speaking about writing memoirs the other day - they spoke about this issue. what is ok and what is not ok when it comes to writing about people in memoirs (or in my case, this).

but seriously, what is ok? is it ok to complain? not really i guess. especially if there is any likelihood of the person reading it.

or vent in general?

what about not saying names?

or pretending it's a short story. i guess i'll do that one.

so, short stories! (aka venting about people in my life who sometimes i really really dislike and / or want to stab hate with a vengeance.)

felt like i really needed to write before, but alas, as soon as i sat myself down all ready to begin, the words clogged themselves up and refused to come out the way i wanted them to.

so to save everyone some embarrassment, here are some photos instead

sources
1 / 2 / 3

fog and the incessant need to do things, suddenly, with wet nailpolish

i find i always discover a thousand things that need doing, right after i've painted my nails. like for example, the washing needs to be put out, or put in the machine, or i need to vaccuum before mum gets home..

which is why i've started painting them right before bed, because surely i (you, one) won't suddenly find heaps of jobs to be done. well, if you agreed with that statement, you'd be

WRONG! 

i just found i have 50 bobbypins in my hair which i obviously have to take out for sleeping, also my nose suddenly needs blowing, and my sock is halfway down my foot.

the trials and tribulations of being a female who is obsessed (and i mean freaky-deaky perfectionist OCD type obessed) with perfect painted nails..

ahhh, drove home from the city in knee-deep fog (if you hung from the streetlights); i felt like the whole world was not even there. and any minute i could just drive off the edge of the universe - rather like in pirates of the caribbean. or sinbad.

if anyone has ever driven in thick fog at night before, they will understand.

the lights of your car only take you as far as the beams travel, and you cannot see what is in front of your car until it is quite literally right in front of your car.

which is a bit nerve wracking while driving at 90 kms an hour.

thai food for dinner, the first book of the milennium trilogy is sitting on my bed (must do some more quality reading), and i handed out several (and by several i mean loads) of my resumes this afternoon.

ahhh life is good sometimes.

obsessed

with this.

about to go to work, sitting listening to colplay and the tallest man on earth (weird combination), and reading through all my old posts from 2009. i miss myself.