She's Apples

don't worry mate, she's apples!

Parkway Traffic Lights

There is a thunder storm coming
and I do not have to go home
Bruised sky flashes and cracks
time slows and the world thickens
and still I do not have to go home
Lazy rumbles catch in my throat
and each striking light scrapes
little stinging cuts across skin
and I am heavy
and I want to go home


My gmail sidebar has been marred with a bold draft folder for far too many months. It sits there, full to bursting with the potent emotion of a problem long past, and yet I cannot send and  I cannot bring myself to hit delete. I’d forget that night. I’d forget the questions and phone calls and the pasta on the stove. I’d forget the morning of unexpected waking, the police, the searching, and the eventual stabbing dismissal. It may not be such a bad thing, but what comes with forgetting is the bewilderment of why what once was is no longer, the constant questioning of why I cannot be the bigger man and just let it go.

I can’t let it go.

There are days when I waver, where I think that perhaps I could apologise, but it is no good. Apologising for eventualities and not actions, a non-apology, a pointlessness. Given the exact same set of circumstances, I would do the same again. I wasn’t wrong. I did what I could with what I had, and it just happened that I didn’t have enough. How can someone turn around and say sorry for something they’d almost certainly repeat?

I can’t apologise.

Solutions present themselves. Perhaps all would be well with just a careful word or waiting for the wounds to heal, but in my heart of hearts I know it won’t be enough. To fall on my sword, to own it all, that is the price. It is a price that I have weighed against the cost to my self respect. Broke and broken. I wish there was a magic word that would have things back the way they were, a wave of a hand to have it all be water under the bridge.  I dearly wish there were words.

I miss you.

The Distance

The space between. Vast and absent all at once.

Something sneaks around in the dark, moving pieces of the world here and there while I sleep. I wake to find I am not where I expected to be.

There was once a silent promise made over pieces of a broken heart, that I would wrap the space around me like the finest of furs, draped in the most exquisite of nothingness. Safe. A promise, both required and abandoned long ago, I regret both making and breaking. No doubt I’d regret having kept it too. There was nobody but me to hold me to it, and when it fell about me, not really anyone to blame. Sometimes it is best for the pie crust to crumble. Sometimes it is safe.

It will hurt. There is no way to avoid it, though I seem to be trying regardless. It will shatter me into a thousand tiny shards and grind me under its heel once more, and yet I cannot regret one moment. A beautiful mistake that I would make over and over again. Grateful, to feel everything all over again.

To feel.

Eventually, I will feel again.

Failure to Launch

I am writing something. I’m not fixing widgets or changing themes or fiddling with layout issues. I’m just writing a blasted post and publishing the thing before I explode.  Every few days I sit down here and open a new blank document, and every few days I write a few lines, get distracted and completely fail to get a single thing published.

No more, I say!

I’ve still not quite decided what I want to talk about here. So much has happened since I took my blogging break that I just don’t know where to begin.

I live in the same place with the same devilishly handsome PSWC and the house is, give or take some bathroom innards, pretty much the same. We are still sans significant portions of the bathroom. The significant parts are still there; we have four walls and a floor and technically the room does have a bath in it, but the standard things that make a bathroom feel like a bathroom aren’t exactly complete.  It is coming along slowly but surely, with the emphasis on the slowly. On the positive side, we now have a working shower and I do believe I now own a hammer drill.

I still make things. I probably make more things now than I used to, having picked up a few more crafts to add to my creative quiver. My projects are getting more complex and my dreams are getting a little too big for me to safely think about, but I can safely say I have not stagnated. The same medium, yes, but not the same mindset. It is like having a whole new sandpit and free access to the baking tins! Unfortunately this new mindset has been somewhat hobbled by lack of available surface areas and a considerable amount of mental clutter, so there isn’t much to show other than hasty sketches and a lot of scribbled notes. Still, anything is better than a blank page.

Did I mention I finally ribboned at the Royal? I totally did.

Not all that much has changed on the pet front. There are far fewer fish and a few more four-legged furry things. All of our old critters are now considered elderly, according to the charts on the vet’s walls, and the dog in particular has needs. New needs, medical ones, not just his overwhelming desire to be under your feet every minute. On top of his home made dinners, I’m now baking cookies and reading nutritional breakdowns of everything that he scoffs. There are pills and appointments and many more trips outside than their used to be.  There are also many more snuggles. Swings and roundabouts, I guess.

There are house plants. Indoor ones, planted in plastic pots that live inside other prettier pots. I’m pretty sure this is a sign that I’m an adult. It is hard to say because a lot of the more traditional signs of adulthood seem to have passed me by. No university, no kids, no corporate ladder. I did get a bit of an inkling that something was up when we got the house, but that could have been a blip. I don’t think there is any way to ignore these plants though. I mean, when you actively seek out peace lilies and find yourself sponging down their leaves to clear off the dust, you’ve pretty much earned that adulting badge.

Also I seem to have grey hairs. Six of them. I’ve tried removing them from the gene pool but it seems that you can’t selectively breed hairs.



So that is that. Some stuff happened and I got older.

Is that enough of a catch up?


Testing, 1, 2

*tap tap tap*

Is this thing on?

I’m not really sure what I’m doing here. Blogging, obviously, but why here? After all this time, I thought surely it would make more sense to start with a clean slate. Why do I even need a blog when I have Facebook and Twitter and any number of social apps on my phone? Who would bother to read a blog these days anyway?

I rolled these ideas around in my mind for weeks before finally deciding to dust the old girl off.

Why here? Because even though this isn’t the secret haven that it once was, it is still my little corner of the internet. It is like an old pair of ugg boots that you just can’t bring yourself to replace.  So much of me is here, and even though I have changed a lot since I last posted, the person that stuck their thoughts to the walls of this little hidey hole, she is still me.

Why do I need it? My head is a badly managed interchange of thoughts and emotions that spend their days whizzing around my mind, leaving glittering trails or tyre skids or sometimes no evidence that they were ever there at all. I need a thought depot. I need a place to empty out my head, reorganise my ideas and feelings and whatnot, and send them back to work in a calm and orderly fashion.  It’ll be my ‘brain away from brain’

Who would read? You know, I’m not sure I really mind that much if nobody reads it. I used to be very interested in clicks and comments but now I think I’m just happy to have a place where I don’t have to worry too much if I accidentally offend someone, or if I have a vastly differing view on a world event. If I want to babble on about a particularly shiny button I found on the road, and I might, that is okay too. Nobody has to read it, and if you do, you now know what you are getting in to.

Stay or don’t stay.

I just need a place to spread out, take myself apart, shine up all the pieces, and put myself back together again, over and over.

It is nice to be home.

[I am still running around pulling the dust cloths off everything and the electricity won’t be connected until next week so if you see broken links or missing photos anywhere, I’m working on it :-)]

State of my Mind

I am angry.

I’m not seething and throwing chairs angry, but if it were more socially acceptable I might just give it a whirl. Presently I’m doing what every well-mannered angry woman does. I’m bottling. I’m also randomly crying and wishing that the world would just coccoon around me until the worst of it has passed. The most irksome thing of all is that I’m not sure that I have any right to feel how I feel, even though that has no bearing on how I actually feel. I’m cross. I’m hurt. I’m bloody well gosh darn it annoyed.

Other people get to be selfish.

Other people get to do what they think is right.

Why can’t I be selfish once in a while? Why is it always my job to play peacemaker, to make sure everything runs smoothly and that everyone feels secure in their own little space? I’m tired. I’m emotionally exhausted. I have no space in my mind to keep more than one person afloat at a time, and once in a while I like that person to be me. Not always, not forever, just every so often it has to be my turn.

People seem to have come to expect me to be something that I’m not. I’m not really sure what that something is but they seem very determined that I should continue being it. I am not allowed to be anything other than what I’ve always been. One little move, one step outside of the box, one piddly-arse fuck-up with the best of intentions. Nup. No go. Cannot deal.

You know what? I think I deserve better than that.

The Midnight Baker

I’m cooking. Sleep has been coming at the strangest hours these past few weeks, and due to the wonderfully lucid waking ones I have not fought it. This explains why I’m up at this silly hour. Still up. Tomorrow I need to go and mingle with a bunch of crafters and, since last meet up I arrived late and completely forgot to bring a plate, I thought I’d make an effort to right my wrong.

The house smells like sugar, peanuts, and fruit. The windows are frosted up and there are little rivulets of water pooling on the sills. It is marvellous!

I’ve knocked over two batches already, one lot of mixed jam drops and one delicious recipe I found on Bakerella. I modified it a little because I just cannot deal with dipping things in chocolate or waiting for the dough to harden, but it was still incredibly simple!

Choc Chip Peanut Cookies - cooling down

Choc Chip Peanut Cookies – cooling down

1 cup peanut butter
1/2 cup caster sugar
1 egg
1/3 cup choc chips
1/3 cup plain flour

The method is simple. Mix, scoop, drop, bake @ 175 for 20 minutes. Boom boom. Done! I can’t wait to see how quickly they vanish.

A New Look

Somehow I’d convinced myself that this site could wait. Another week, another month, until I was really truly ready to get stuck into it. I have plenty of other things on my plate and who still reads this tatty old thing anyway?

Well, apparently two people. Both of them chose last week to give me a good old butt-kicking and told me in no uncertain terms that I was to start writing again. Not next week, not next month, but rightnowthankyouverymuch.

Who am I to argue?

A small trailerload of pharmacy-related comment garble has been evicted from the database. Every little button and dropdown box has been checked, rechecked, and set to awesome. I’ve even given the old girl a new frock. Scruffy. A bit of a leap from the red Barron, but I really think it brings out her eyes. Yes. This blog is a girl. Be honest, deep down you always knew.

So, nothing for it. Time to start blogging again.


There are some things in life that you don’t miss until they are gone. In my life, one of those things is a functional vacuum cleaner. With two fluffy cats and a short-but spiky haired dog, it becomes something of a necessity.

Sucky the Dyson Vacuum
has a very brushy head
He’s got a head for hard floors
And a little one for the bed

All of the other vacuums
claim to suck up lots of stuff
But when you go to use them
they don’t bloody suck enough!

On one windy summer day
a dust storm came to town
And Sucky, with his brushy head,
he sucked that red dust down!

Now our old carpet’s fluffy
and our lino is dust free!
Sucky, the Dyson Vacuum,
You’re the ideal vacuum for me!

Bean A Bit Busy

I admit it. I love beautiful things.

Most people will try and deny it, but I’m all for embracing my desire for all things to be perfectly pretty. After a trip to the local boutique stationery place, I was even more for embracing it. I was also for spending a small fortune on printed papergoods, fancy notepads and that snazzy tote bag they had in the window. Of course, beauty does not come cheap and I just couldn’t justify spending the price of a small car on a few very attractive pens.

Still, the lady wants what she wants…


…and so the lady creates it from stuff she finds about the house.


Not bad for some old food containers and a bit of wrapping paper, hey?

« Older posts

© 2021 She's Apples

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑