Phoenix Fights

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



I’ve always been a bit obsessed with Six Feet Under.

I own the boxed set and have just finished watching all five series (seasons) for about the third time, and the finale always stays with me for days, hence this song stuck in my head on repeat.

Because I’m also obsessed with death, plus I totally and utterly envy the fictitious, feckless, fucked up Fishers.

Because despite their disputes, down times and dysfunctional behaviour, they are a proper family.

They fuck up time after time, they fall out, make up, make the most appalling choices for themselves, are promiscuous to a man/woman, but they are family.  That creepy house come funeral home with its coach house, dated decor, antiquated kitchen always has room for everybody, with a constant influx of the living and dead alike, and they all ebb and flow like the ocean that features so significantly in the dream sequences, so that it’s almost like a living, breathing entity.

Plus they all seem to have plenty of time to hang around smoking pot without ever getting busted.

Not to mention Ruth’s crazy, pill popping sister Sarah has an amazing flower power domicile somewhere out in the sticks, and has a constant stream of hippy friends popping in to dance around the bonfire naked.

And when I saw all the women standing around the body of Fiona their fallen sister singing ‘Calling All Angels’, I, like Ruth longed for that kind of intimacy on a permanent basis.

Who lives like this?  Can I live like this?  Where is this fucking place anyway?

Because what is left of my family is strewn across the UK.  And my friends are either estranged or busy with their hectic 9-5 (or rather 8-8) existence, and I am lonely.

Wrap me up.

Today I walked to town and back.

So what, you might ask?

Well I did my 10,000 steps and its the first real bit of exercise I’ve done this year.

The Fishers made me do that.  Well watching Nate (the bastard) collapse after shagging that awful Maggie and wake up with stroke symptoms, and then die, might have spurred me on a bit. 🙂

And I know for a fact that I’m not going to find my very own utopia sat at home on the couch with the cats living vicariously through the Fishers.

So tomorrow, I’ll take a deep breath, and do it again.

And try not to lose myself again.

Namaste x


3 thoughts on “PITY PARTY TRACK 21 – BREATHE ME – SIA

  1. “Who lives like this?  Can I live like this?  Where is this fucking place anyway?”

    If one may address these questions out of order:

    “Where is this fucking place anyway?”
    It exists on television, Madame—a literal Saint Thomas More utopia, i.e. “not a place”.

    “Who lives like this?”
    The only people who live like this for any length of time are fictional characters.

    “Can I live like this?”
    You most assuredly cannot, Madame. And, not even primarily because such a place is fictive. No, Madame, you could not live like this because it would be a (semi)permanent version of that self-indulgent, onanistic, patchouli-stank group grope that you attended sometime in the last couple of years. And, sorry, Madame, but, you simply have too much character and individuality to reside in such a place.

    However, most impressive that you walked all the way to town and back. 🙂

  2. Well, Madame my love, if anyone could create it, you are she.
    And, I wil come for at least a visit, but, please, do keep your community’s touchy-feely tree hugging to a bare minimum.

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