I’ve had stitches twice from dropping my laptop on my face, scrolled for hours without actually looking at anything, missed deadlines, lost clients, gone through a few break ups because of my addiction and now – only now – bloody Mark Zuckerberg is in trouble … Continue reading How to delete Facebook and a whole lot of other stupid ideas.
It’s Valentine’s Day and whatever you do do not send a nude to the guy you only slept with once or twice the one who never called you again. Stop, Violet, stop, right now, stop. Click. Happy Valentine’s Day y’all. And so much love…
‘So what are your favourite books, Violet?’ I didn’t even think before I gave an answer. ‘We Rate Dogs is number one, definitely’, I said, referring to the new coffee table book that came out a couple of weeks ago. He looked at me with … Continue reading On dogs, horoscopes and reading.
Social media brings out the worst in me. I mean, I love it, I love the connections of Facebook, I love the cleverness of Twitter and I dig the pics on Instagram. But I hate stupidity. And Social Media brings out the stupid. Yesterday I … Continue reading A little conflict over a little croissant
I have been incredibly calm for someone whose Macbook blew up a week ago. Just like that, a puff of smoke, a dark screen and a fried motherboard. Two weeks after the warrantee expired. I panicked in a quiet way which meant I was in … Continue reading Of Macs and Men
So I sat at my dining room table yesterday, chair in, back straight, legs crossed, phone in hand, and I sexted.
All very short. Easy writing.
Today I sat down to work on my book. Same book I’ve been working on for years. I used to write a few pages a day. Then, a page a day. That became a paragraph. Now, a couple of sentences.
These days I write short.
A few words and I’m done.
It’s the times we live in. It’s not that I don’t want to write lots anymore. I can’t. I am so distracted and I know it’s because of this digital age.
It’s the same as reading. I used to get through four books a month Now, if I get through one I think it’s fabulous and I tell everyone I know, hey hey, I read a book.
We have all become used to short.
And we’re all distracted. Apparently it’s something about our brains and dopamine and we see one thing but there’s something else to look at and our brains get excited and unfocused and let me just check my emails and look at twitter and one more tweet and oh let me see that article and that video and….
BUT IT’S OKAY!
I am not in a panic. It is what it is.
And I have decided that I don’t need to write books. Or stories. Or even blogs.
I can just stick to titles.
Here are some that I did today.
Other peoples shoes. Fashion.
This chocolate ice cream. A love story.
I want him, now. Erotica.
Get yourself that frock. Inspirational.
I dropped my last valium. Horror.
I got dressed for gym. Memoir.
I also want to climb the Trump Tower. Fitness.
The whisky bottle is empty. Disaster.
Much better. Easy to write, easy for you to read, everyone’s happy, go check Facebook, look at Instagram, and hey, look at that tweet, cool, thanks, see ya, oh man, is this my blog, where am I, what was I even writing…
This morning I lay in bed, sipped my coffee and scrolled through Facebook.
There was an aunty asking me how I was. Publicly, as aunties do.
I smile at those things.
Pretty good thanks Auntie B, appreciate you asking.
There was a good friend sending me a puppy pic, as good friends do.
I smile at those things too.
Ugh that is too cute man, thanks darling.
And an idiot that I went on a disastrous date with just once, posting a pic of us, on Facebook, public forum, for everyone to see, one year, ONE YEAR after the date.
I do not smile at those things.
‘Why the fuck would you put that picture up, you idiot. Seriously, why?’
What I remember about that night was it was so awful that I’d walked out after like an hour. Before that someone had been taking pics. I remember pretending to smile and look happy for the camera. I wasn’t happy, it was a fuck awful date, probably the worst I’ve ever had.
My blood boiled. I didn’t wait for him to reply, I just deleted the pic.
But I was really cross.
I’m still cross.
And in fact it was a really good pic of me, the lighting was fab and my eyes were shining and I loved my hair like that and think I’m gonna grow it back to that length, but – I just didn’t want any reminders of that awful evening. Or of him.
Am I overreacting, as I am known to do?
But I don’t care. Don’t put pics of me up on social media when I barely know you and jesus christ it was just horrible and he was drunk and disgusting and everyone at the party was awful and I was the only well dressed one and they all wore hand knitted jerseys with reindeers on them and crocs, god crocs, and I just want to erase that night out of my mind forever.
I’m not overreacting at all.