Phoenix Fights

Fighting the FEAR, depression and BDP on a daily basis AND making my own bread. Bring it on 2016….




I arranged to go to a party tonight.


I bailed last minute.


I’m lonely and beating myself up over my cowardice….but it would have taken so much effort to mingle with all the strangers.  Like Bernard Black from ‘Black Books’ (see above quote), I seem to be at my happiest when stewing at home in my own misery.

Plus, said the little voice in my head, what’s the point of socialising with these people when you’re not staying anyway?

Earlier in the day I met a friend for coffee.

‘I haven’t seen you for months!’ she squealed causing me to wince at her shrill enthusiasm ‘what have you been up to?’

I can’t remember what I answered.  I think I just lied through my teeth as the real answer was ‘I’m not exactly sure…every day seems like the last….are you 100% sure it’s September?  I could have sworn it was still June!’

And I had to explain my current situation and try and make it sound positive and exciting, but I don’t think I was fooling anyone.

‘So, I need to sell up and if all comes to plan I’ll move to a beautiful clapperboard cottage by the sea….but in all likely hood I’ll end up in the armpit of the UK in an ex council house next door to Mr & Mrs Asbo and their thirteen kids and pack of rabid Dobermans, but hey at least it will be mine!’

Shrieky looked as unsure as I feel.

‘How, erm, exciting, you must keep me posted!’  And scurried off lest my now tangible desperation was contagious, whilst I scurried off in the opposite direction to the safety of my lair.

I’ve always felt like a leaf carried along by the wind.

But never have the currents felt so stormy and unknown.

I’m tired of being that loser who everyone gossips about.

I always start so well, and seem so normal.  But it’s hard to maintain the act when you’re not working, not dating, not travelling and have just gobbled up over two years of your life without making anything of yourself.

It’s then that the penny drops and people realise that underneath your oh so plausible, pleasant veneer is nothing more that that, and that you’re about as substantial as a blow up doll.

How long will I be able to stay in this new place before I have to move on ‘cos I’ve been busted yet again?

Maybe I should just go into full hermit mode and buy a smallholding on the Outer Hebrides and stay at home with the cats and a couple of chickens and live off the land.

Knowing my luck though, fucking Donald Trump would probably rock up, build a whorehouse on top of my hen house, and cut off my water and kick me in the crotch for good measure.  Which would be unadvisable as I’d tear his fucking wig off for him…but I digress….

Bottom line is, I don’t know who I am, where I’m going to go and what I’m going to do.

And I’m so afraid.

I’m trying to be positive, but when you’re Nowhere Woman it’s like trailing your bricks and mortar around the desert, nowhere is safe and it’s not going to work.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK…..


15 thoughts on “NOWHERE WOMAN

  1. Here’s an alternative Lennon/McCartney variation: For the benefit of Madame S. no on here will second-guess decisions made.

    That simpering, caterwauling “friend”? Oh, fuck, fuck and double fuck her. Who the hell would want to contend with more people—strangers, no less—this evening after that overwhelmingly underwhelming interaction this afternoon?

    Madame, you may be a subject of gossip among your familiars, however, You Are No Loser.

    Say, what is it that makes you think others have anything beneath their pleasant veneers? They’ve got chai-cock, that’s what they have. The leg up they have on us is that they are more skilled liars, both to self and other.

    You want more substance? Holy Christ, Madame! If you had one more ounce of substance and character, your spine would be incapable of keeping you upright! Insubstantial? I, I, I,…gobsmacked you have me, Madame. Gob. Smacked.

    Now, what does all this fractured epistolary nattering change? Not one goddammed thing, of course.

    But, that makes it not one whit any less true and accurate.

    Rest, Madame. Rest. xx

  2. CD is absolutely right! And you give the lady too much credit. She wans’t judging you at all, too busy worrying whether you were judging her for being so much less adventurous.

    • See, Madame? An endorsement from Helen Meikle—praise from Caesar, indeed.

      And, if anyone knows what’s what, it’s Ms. Meikle. So, there’s your proof. 😉

    • I’m guessing she was just faintly alarmed at such an uncertain outcome, and I can’t blame her for that.

  3. Joking, Ms. Meikle? Ab-so-lute-ly not. I am as serious as an aneurysm in my previous remarks.

    Certainly—and obviously—you care. As for the impression that you make, “obnoxious”, “arrogant” and “wanker” are not descriptives that come to mind. What terms do? How about “fierce”, “loyal”, “sharp-minded”, “wise”, “good-hearted” and “bilge-averse”?

    When I wrote sometime earlier in the year that you know my mind, that was not some flippant throw-away, that’s the emess. (And, THAT is the Yiddish for “truth”.) You are one stand-up broad.

    • Thank you, CD. Sorry to sound paranoid. It’s just I know I can get a bit too fierce, sometimes, and get people’s backs up.
      So do you think we can talk about Her while she’s not looking? About what a fantastic, gutsy lady she is? and how articulate? and unnecessarily tough on herself? About how psychologists pop people in little boxes whether they fit perfectly or not, just for the sake of neatness (or dollars per captia), and how phychological acronyms are designed to create self-fulfilling prophecies? Not that I’m cynical or anything.
      I think this move is going to be a whole new life for Her, don’t you?

      • Ms. Meikle, I accept neither your thanks nor your apology.  The former because that for which presumably you express appreciation is only fact, and, as fact simply “is”, no one can receive acknowledgment for attesting to it.  Your apology, that is just unwarranted.  Wanting clarification for a total stranger’s public characterization of oneself—this is not paranoia.  (And, we both know too well that, in a world of pablum-minded, Nice Nelly-ing superficialists, if you’re not getting someone’s back up, then, honey, you’re doing something wrong.)

        Dare we prattle about Herself right here on Her own blog?  Particularly, in light of Her oft self-cited suspiciousness?  Mmmm…we are on three different continents, what’s She gonna do?  Unleash Her immense intellect and Her ferocious spirit and Her Herculean strength and Her deliciously eviscerating tongue on us?  We can only hope.

        My personal ambivalence and skepticisms about the soft/quasi-science of psychiatry are really best left to a different forum.

        And, you couldn’t be more correct, Ms. Meikle—the coming migration from London will be an absolute re-birth for Her.  Such a prospect would crush me like a paper cup, but, Herself will make a stunning and fulfilling success of it.

        Since it is just the two of us here, Ms. Meikle, I’ll share a secret:  Were it possible for Her to lower Herself enough—which it most assuredly is NOT—I would marry Her Nibs faster’n you can say, “Bob’s yer uncle”. 😉

      • You should be careful what you wish for CD! I am crumpling a bit but it’s like creeping to the top of a roller coaster and there’s only one way down….

        Thanks both of you. You’re true friends xx

      • ‘Strewth, Madame!  Turning all Mark Twain/Oscar Wilde/George Bernard Shaw (Equal to/worse than not getting our wishes is getting them), are we?  Well, okay, your challenge is accepted. Bring on the dancing horses, bring on “monster minge” (yes, I did indeed read that post), bring on the whole Megillah.  Bring it, love-chunks!

        Though one should blanch at the presumption of instructing an Englishwoman in social niceties, evidently—MADAME—you have chosen to read what both parties involved believed a privileged exchange.  That really is bad form, don’t you think?  However, with that milk spilt, allow me an emendation.  While, certainly, when needed, your spirit can be “ferocious”, upon review, that adjective feels too unidimensional.  Please substitute “unquashable spirit” in all future editions.

        Wishing you and Ms. Meikle a happy and peaceful Rosh Hashannah (or, whatever goyische “Feast of” it is that one got turned into  😉  ).

      • But would she thrive in the US of A, I ask myself – since your arrival in the UK as a squashed paper cup does rather suggest the converse would not be desirable.

      • A clear-cut and good question, Ms. Meikle, that, of course, will require a multi-faceted response. Why “of course”? Because we are all aware that I tend to have difficulty with terseness, prolix clod that I am. So:

        — As Herself made it out of Australia in one piece, this country would be a cakewalk. 😉
        Also, I have boundless confidence that She can and will thrive in any locale.

        —Apologies for my vagueness. It is not leaving New York—or any city—that would
        flatten me. (Though, I do love my city.) It is the circumstances, specifics and lack of
        solidity with which She must contend that would be my undoing.

        —However, do not be misled—I am by no means asserting that I would thrive in Britain.
        At least, not any more so than I do in my native land. “Thriving” is not quite my long-
        suit. (Forty-four Long is my long-suit.) This would be one of the more prominent
        obstacles to Her being able to descend to my level—our Gal is a do-er. And, one can
        always rely on A Catgut Dogsbody, Alistair Stengel, et al.—He will always let you down.

      • Yikes! Unknowingly got all post-modernist with my spacing. Do excuse the self-indulgence. (And, please, make that both a retroactive and standing apology.)

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