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200 words of text and a picture. They go together.

This is what days are like when the air is too hot for sleep and too dry to be tired.

Tidying up is for other people, happy types with ordered lives, traditional values and smart goals; winners in the race against hopelessness.

Life is unfinished. My hair gets brushed once a day if it’s lucky. Finding the brush is the least of my worries. The bedside cabinet drawer is falling apart. I have a tool box.

What happened?

Those sunshine dreams turned into nightmares (in the pouring rain) which dissolved into restless peace. No one takes my breath away without my permission nowadays. Requests to do so are less frequent than before.

Once upon a time the future will be forgotten, the jobs all done, and the boxes ticked and packed in the back of an unmarked vehicle; destination everywhere.

Right now I’m doing a collision course in unexpected reactions to unpredictable behaviour. I could have told them but they only listen to lies. The truth is in the middle.

The countdown starts here and now. 22 words unwritten.


Posted by Deborah Caulfield, 8 August 2012

Last modified by Deborah Caulfield, 8 August 2012

Writing: pulling no punches.

In his blog Rich Downes asked what is writing? Really.

I said, for me right now writing is like punching a hole in the fog that surrounds me.

And then I thought, it's like having a pillow fight without the pillow case.

My head is in another place, on another wave. I'm studying web design (a slow process) and currently  learning to use Adobe Flash (see example), which is amazing, but it means the wordy part of my brain keeps dozing off.

I'm sure it's a blip.

For now, however, this is the best I can do.


Posted by Deborah Caulfield, 6 May 2012

Last modified by Deborah Caulfield, 6 May 2012

Blogging: An opening-up activity.

Two friends wrote to me recently, after seeing my blog. Both are writers, sometimes stuck and not yet published. One wrote:

"I've just kept the doors closed on so many things which I now find almost impossible to express … as if I always need to air my feelings and thoughts first to an objective person, to get their approval and permission to feel the way I do. …so difficult to get back into my writing … things I need to write about but feel far too inhibited."

Another friend sent me this poem (it inspired this picture) and permission to publish it anonymously.


Unwashed unshaven his smell filled her room
Belching loudly he peered into the gloom
Staggering forward he stood by her bed
His rough calloused hands caressing her head.

Pulling aside her ladybird vest
He pinched and bruised her newly formed breast
Her body cried out in fear and disgust
This was her stepfather the man she should trust.

Pulling the sheet tight under her chin
She can see his face clearly
The cruel sneering grin.
No one will help her she can't understand why
As she curls into a ball to silently cry.

About the picture my friend wrote:

"The Clown with the psychedelic colours .. phew .. pretty scary !!

It has always been a dark secret deep inside me .. so the picture .. as I see it ... is like a release after all these years to actually tell someone else about it explosion of feelings .. shown in your picture by the psychedelic explosion of colour ... yet still a bad memory ... my overall feeling at the time .. was having to keep it secret .. that made it so much worse and the guilt of course... it cut me off from people ... hard to explain in writing easier when speaking to you. .... !

Not sure about Teddy with that smile on his face ... if he had known what was happening .. he would have been sad ..."

I replied that the teddy bear symbolises the trusting innocence of childhood. I had thought of doing a child's hand, and might put this in the next version.

Posted by Deborah Caulfield, 11 April 2012

Last modified by Deborah Caulfield, 20 April 2012