ISOLATED THOUGHTS, ENTRY Nº 10
Banging at the walls; it doesn’t care if it’s five in the morning. It arrives unannounced, expecting the usual room to be ready. A regular visitor, I have hosted it since two thousand and five.
Sanding; up and down, scratching my uterus. Not yet a month old but already starting to crumble. Inner meltdown, piercing pain, peeling guts, golden brown.
Raving; a party in my stomach. Small and large, my bowels furiously dance; kidneys and spine engaged in a nasty fight. Six hundred milligrams of ibuprofen, for a rave is not a rave without the self administrated drugs.
The clock ticks inside the crocodile’s guts. Captain Hook and Peter Pan; a fairy tale for children and the drama of the biological passing of time. Tick tock, tick tock, blood streams from me, a red reminder that I am not yet a mum. What if I’m not done being Peter? What if I never want to leave Neverland? Tick tock, Tick tock, cramps, cold sweats and disgust. A race to get my career together - who are you if you are not a respected professional or a mum? Tick tock, tick tock, you are running out of time. Tick tock, the crocodile’s hunting for another hand. Tick, tock, you’ll soon be hitting the final countdown so, chop chop, my dear, pull yourself together and become someone.