Just a reminder that whilst a perfectly clean diet is good for your health, so are these:
- alone time;
- fresh sheets;
- combing your hair;
- 90s movies;
- letting loose;
- moisturising your skin;
- being anonymous;
- impulse shopping;
- being outdoors;
- having sex;
- lying in bed all day;
- drinking tea;
- listening to your favourite album;
- going out for coffee;
- getting lost in a book store;
i can’t sleep, can you?
I’m putting together a collection of short stories. Mostly old stories, but much improved. Editing reminds me of how much progress I’ve made. It’s an immensely satisfying feeling. These are stories about longing and lust and love and mostly, loss. They are stories about disappointment and fear and sometimes there are glimmers of hope, but mostly they are sad. Reading them now, all together, I can see the history of my easily bruised, non-fictional heart…
Thoughts on writing and editing, new starts, traveling, love affairs, doubt, and learning to stay still. Read it on Medium (because words just look so darn pretty there). And hold me accountable, won’t you, Tumblr? Promise you’ll read the collection when it comes out, and you too will own a piece of my heart.
In the morning, I packed my bags. My hiking shoes were still at the cobbler’s. They had split like an open mouth at the front. The cobbler’s door stayed shut. I asked the store owner next door if he knew Villa Tunari. Could I wear sandals there?
Sure, he said, it’s hot. As long as you’re not planning to walk in the mountains. I decided I’d be okay.
The Colombian started his motorcycle, its steady roar. I’d only ridden the back of a motorcycle once before, not wanting to miss a bus in a small Colombian town. I had been nervous and held on tight. Could I do it for four hours? I didn’t even have a helmet. Come on, he said. I climbed on.
We started out of the city. He had no map. I loved listening to the way he asked for directions, the way the locals smiled at us. I went to the jungle on a motorcycle with a Colombian I met the night before! I thought of tweeting. I was giddy. The wind felt wonderful on my face. At a stop light, he put his hand on my thigh. When I put my hand on his waist, he pulled it close and held it…
Read my Bolivia-jungle-motorcycle-love-affair-adventure over at The Hairpin!