A 8-post collection

My muses, my characters, and the workings of my butterfly mind...

I apparently have a poetry muse that only turns up at BF in the morning. If I’m asleep, I miss it.

This muse can also turn up when I’m rat-faced tired. Often, too tired to write anything down.

Same way my story muse tends to bug me when I’m driving the car. Dang muses. Always turning up at inopportune moments.

And then there’s my characters.

Argumentative bunch, the lot of them. Some get really

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Imperial-metric mixer

That’s what I am. Even though I was born WAY after the crossover from Imperial [inches, pounds, etc] to Metric [centimetres, kilograms, etc] I still mix my metrics.


Well, I was raised by parents who grew up on Imperial and still carry around a little slide-rule thing so they can convert Metric to a system they understand.

I usually measure people in Imperial when it comes to body measurements, but I use Metric for weights.

It’s all

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Feeling heavy

I feel heavy.

Not a physical heaviness. More a spiritual weight that drags me down to the point where I don’t feel like anything can lift me back up.

I don’t know why I’m feeling this down.

The house is clean. I’m on top of the laundry. I’m on top of the dishwashing. I’m on top of the floor - keeping it clean, that is.

I should be on top

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The Alien in the Playground

You can spot her from a mile away. The one kid playing alone. Lost in her own little world. She clearly wears a mixture of hand-me-downs and homemade clothing when all the other children are wearing clothes, relatively new, from the shops.

Some other children are approaching her. Even from this distant vantage point, you can tell their intent is not friendly. They are all bigger than her. Together, they could beat her into a pulp, but violence is not their pastime

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I can't brain, today.

I have the dumb.

It’s been bought on by a combination of late nights and bad sleep, both through circumstances I can’t control (I’m a Mum, remember?).

I shall be working on tomorrow’s entry in the rare moments when cognisance presents itself. Slowly, so I don’t hurt my wrist. And possibly fuelled by an endless stream of caramel mochachinos.

Then again, given how weirdly poetic I get on sleep dep, I could

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