You Can Call Me El

Written on Tuesday 27 October I haven’t written a blog post in a while, which I suppose is a good sign, as I normally resort to this when I’m not feeling okay. I have been feeling better recently but today I’m not again. I felt tired and run down yesterday and I still do today, and my throat feels a bit scratchy, and I can’t stop thinking about whether it’s Covid. For a brief glimpse yesterday I managed to attain a normal, non-anxious, fact-based response to this ‘what if’ situation. I thought, I hope it’s not Covid because I don’t want to be ill because being ill is at best unpleasant and at worse horrible. This was quite a refreshing change from the feeling of, I hope it’s not Covid because then I will die. It's true that Covid is to an extent unpredictable, yes, and it’s not certain that I won’t die if I get Covid. Nothing is certain!!! Ever!! But it’s also not a probable outcome. I’m not in a high risk group, I’m young, I’m female - if I asked a clinician what they thought the ...

It’s so important to tell people when you think their stuff is cool. That's what this post is about. Because of who I am as a person, apparently, when I was thinking about this concept I framed it in the context of death. It seems to be a constant of funerals, or at least the ones you see in media, or the imagined funerals that I go to in my head (it's super fun in here!), that people have things they wish they’d said to the person who's died. It's to be expected, maybe. And in these cases, it never seems to be things like, I wish I told them how annoying I found their style of washing up, or I wish they'd known how much I hated it when they left their shit all over the house and didn't tidy it away. It's usually more along the lines of I loved you in this and this and this way. I know this sounds bleak, but bear with me. Think instead of the pure peace to be found for someone who lived on purpose and knew exactly how loved they were. When they die, there’s ...