The Monday Muse. New year, same old fear.

I wish I could make a new year’s resolution to ditch the arachnophobia and start 2016 as a spider lover. Unfortunately it is not that simple. Here’s a little tale of how my Saturday morning was spent, with a spider. Happy new year.

Five cm.

It was the first time the boy had left the house without me since Christmas. It was no less than ten minutes after his departure – while I was sat indulging in some festive telly – that the eight legged brute creeped across the hallway like it owned the place.

To be fair, it now did.

I mustered up all strength to flatten it with a shoebox. It did a vanishing act. Distressed phone calls were made. I sat for two hours. Staring at the vacant space.

I was bound to my bedroom, all five feet two of my coward body disarmed whilst that five centimetres of audacity paraded around my house at will.

I’d admire their chutzpah, if only I didn’t hate them so much.

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The Monday Muse. Skinny Fry.

You will have to excuse my meandering mind again today. As I was laid face down on a surgeon’s table this morning, I couldn’t help but wish I was sat on the riverside bench that the boy and I had perched on just 20 hours previously with two portions of chips and a can of Dr. Pepper. I’ve always loved what we Brits can do with a potato, but I hadn’t sampled the magic for at least six months.

So as I studied the speckles of a blue vinyl floor, I started reminiscing about chips…

 

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Skinny Fry.

I was a fussy eater until I was around 25 years old. As a kid, I was often left sitting at the dinner table long after everyone else had finished, staring at a plate filled with greens.

I would long for a portion of fries.

My Dad used to tell me I’d turn into a chip. I used to think it wouldn’t be as bad as turning into a cauliflower or a piece of broccoli. At least I could be a supermodel skinny fry with a French accent.

 

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Grumpuss.

The monday musings of a crazy cat lady…

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Grumpuss.

I was watching The Simpsons. He strolls into the room and plants a squidgy bundle of sellotape and wrapping paper on the bed. I look up, eyebrow cocked, and he nods towards the parcel.

“Surprise.”

After unfolding the glitter-caked paper I am reminded of that moment in Sex and the City (yes I am a teenager of the noughties who was embroiled in the wonders of American cable sitcoms, bootleg jeans and RnB), when Trey brings home a cardboard baby for his wife, Charlotte, because they can’t conceive and he deems this an appropriate novelty substitution.

Inside the paper I find a cat. Not a real cat, but one stuffed with polyester and furnished with glossy plastic eyes that follow you to every corner of the room.

I am not saying we are ‘trying for a cat’. Unless you can call yearning after the endless snapshots of a Google image search for ‘Exotic Shorthair Kittens’ trying. But my boyfriend did bring home this cuddly toy grumpy cat because I am cat-broody and unfortunately, at this moment in time, without the real thing. Polyester and plastic will just have to do…

Chocolate.

 

Today my parade is basking in sunlight and is entirely rainproof, as I can finally say hello to the new and improved, laurafeasey.com, fresh from the surgeons table, because even the virtual among us need a little facelift once in a while…

To celebrate, here’s a little story from my ‘About Me’ page…

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Chocolate.

I was five. I could still taste the saccharine sweet remnants of chocolate on my tongue. My mouth was smeared with cocoa crumbs and icing. My parents walked in, mouths wide open.

“Laura! Did you take a bite of grandma’s birthday cake?”

“No.”

And so the storytelling began…

Sharpen.

Sharpen

Happy new year to my lovely readers, I hope your last few weeks have been filled with a little indulgence of all kinds. In racking my brains this morning for a New Year’s post I ventured down this nostalgic path…

Sharpen.

Mechanical pencils are very often my weapon of choice, owing to many childhood years spent amidst shattered splinters of sharpenings and lead smears across my fingers and exercise book pages, but this morning, jutting from the hefty white ceramic fist that sits on my desk grasping my writing tools, a sliver of gold caught my eye.

Digging out a plastic sharpener in faded fuchsia from the bottom of my desk drawers, I gave this metallic sheathed scribbler its very first gasp of life. It shed its lustrous skin whilst the smell of wood shavings and lead scuffled up my New Year’s flu blocked nose and struck a chord in my brain that resonated with my eleven year old self, sharpening pencils in a blue diplodocus desk tidy that my Dad had purchased because I had a penchant for dinosaurs and it was obviously with much hilarity that one could sharpen their pencils in an extinct reptile’s bottom.

Once I’d grounded myself from my nostalgic wondering, I noticed the sharpenings had spiralled into a golden fringed crown… a regal start to the year.

Orange Peel.

I am a writer of many syllables, and so today’s monosyllabic writing task for the Daily Prompt proved a rather tricky prospect for my frantic pen…

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She said that she should hide the tops of those legs, they were grim. She said she should hide the tops of those arms, they were grim too. Put all out of sight that is much the same as the peel of that fruit that the red-top sharp-wits like to spend their day’s words on. But what if your face is foul too?

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/one-at-a-time/

Death Sentence.

Day18Edge

Day 18 of photography101… “Edge”

Death Sentence.

Every now and again the glass would chime from the fluttering of limbs as he realised he was still incarcerated.

Fortune.

Day16Treasure

Day 16 of Photography101… “Treasure”.

Fortune.

The gong chimed, a bellowing command came from above, and from all corners they scuttled up the stairs, past the boxed bugs and through the dinosaur bones, onto the streets of Oxford. He hadn’t seen me. I stood looking over the curiosity filled cabinets and antique occupied closets, entirely alone with millions of years of treasure.

 

Vice.

Day9Warmth

Photography 101 day 9…”warmth”

Vice.

Whispering tendrils tickled the lungs, making the most of their precious seconds before they were to be released back into the world.

 

Adolescent Male.

Day8NaturalWorld

 

Photography 101 day 8… ‘The Natural World.’

Adolescent Male.

 

With each tread of his hooves his branched horns swerved backwards, his mouth edged upwards, his lips parted and he let out a bellowing cry. He commanded attention from them with every mark he made in the mud. But the females remained silent, their backs turned and their bodies laid firmly on the ground.