Tag: social media

Offline

My internet’s been down for the last few days, leaving me disconnected and irritated but also, kind of  liberated. I’ve spoken to my children and to friends, walked the dogs, read a few books and hey, it hasn’t been all bad.

I’ve had a break from social media, haven’t played Pokemon Go, I’ve ignored my blog and all your blogs, and have actually been super responsible.

I kept my last little bit of data in case of a crisis – like a madman trying to murder me, in case I needed an ambulance, or for something really hectic, like calling Mister Delivery to bring me dinner.

It’s been good. Easy.

Until he messaged me.

Violet, I miss you.

And you know, sorry about the ambulance or Mister Delivery.

I just had to use my hotspot.

Because goddammit, Cybersex is so much fun and so addictive and it makes you feel so good, even if for those brief five minutes.

Hey.

Hey.

Hey.  

(Three heys, waste of data, I know)

Take off your clothes. Pretend I’m there.  With you. Stroking you.  My hand between your legs.  Rubbing your clit, like that, do it, pinch your nipples, yes, oh god, stand in front of the mirror, there, bend over,  i’m going in you, deep, hard, god like that, naked, send me a photograph, jesus you look amazing, bend over, look in the mirror, I’m in you, fuck yes, yes, my cock,  feel it, hard, thick, my cock, your cunt, dammit, jesus I can see, feel how wet, oh god, god, I’m, I want to come, yes, oh god, jesus, now, wait, yes, yes..

And that was it. A whole lot of spelling errors.

And all  my data. Gone.

But at least I used it responsibly.

And had fun.

But now I’m starving, the fridge is empty and I can’t call Mr Delivery.

Oh well.

I’ll just have to take off my clothes.

On my own.

Again.

And pray I don’t need an ambulance.

 

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Violet Reviews.

I tried hard not to spill crumbs on the sheets or coffee down my cleavage. I tried hard not to smear butter over the pages or honey on my cheeks.

And I did try really hard to get up and out of bed.

But I couldn’t. Not until I’d read every single last word of Melinda Ferguson’s new book, Crashed.

I almost felt guilty for enjoying the book. Not just enjoying it, loving it. Because I was never overly complimentary about her first book, Smacked, also a memoir on addiction.

I know Melinda, not well, but I know her. We have kids the same age, mutual friends and we’re kinda in the same community.   I’d struggled, reading about things that she had done and had to do to get her daily fix. Smacked was a pretty in your face kind of book.

I have to admit, when I read that book, I was harsh.

Judgemental would be the word.

And not just me. I’d sat around many a dinner table where people trashed Melinda and her writing. Not because it’s badly written, because sweet Goddesses she is the most wonderful writer, but because people felt she’d aired just a little too much of her dirty laundry.

In her current book, Crashed, she’s been clean for fifteen years, then smashes a Ferrari. You’ll have to read the book to find out why she even has a Ferrari.

And then she spirals, out of control, fast. And she keeps on, crashing and crashing and crashing.

It’s compulsive reading. She airs a lot more dirty laundry.

And I have been a little obsessed by it.

Because I have learned so much. Apart from Melinda being very bloody brave, she has opened up discussions and debates about addiction. And not just addiction to heroin or crack cocaine but to social media, to sex, to love and to men.

I have one of these addictions. Maybe two. As do a lot of the people around those dinner tables.

Melinda’s journey of self-discovery really shed some light for me. She gave me quite a few boom bang kapow moments. And I realised how harsh I’d been with her first book. Somebody has to write these stories and good for her for being the one.

I don’t think this book is meant to be inspirational. But I found it inspiring. And helpful. And bloody brilliant reading. It’s funny, it’s sad, it’s raw and it’s heartbreaking.

And really worth a read. Buy it.

It’s addictive. 

Crashed.