The Worst is Never Coming.

I’ve spent some time realising that new relationships are the best kind of awkward satisfaction: you spend your first weeks sexing, telling them how much you love their third nipple because it’s so unique and not at all weird, over-thinking whether to fake an orgasm or telling them you like scat porn and really not saying anything at all but riding the sexual endorphin high. Based on these principles, you could pretty much have a functional relationship with anyone you meet in a bar; it’s when you meet their friends and drop some god-awful politically incorrect bombshell of hilarity and hang your head in shame hoping that they’re giggling out of mutual amusement, and not giggling because they’re about to pull out their handy pocket sized bible and condemn you to some fictional hell.

In the last few months I’ve gone through gut-wrenching heart-ache, found my best friend and love of my life wasn’t gone forever but just hidden behind an iron curtain, still haven’t found a steady job that I like, become a homeless couch-crashing wunderkind, have acquired more bruises I can count from my new franken-bike and met a gentleman who thinks I’m still pretty awesome despite myriad reasons to not touch me with a ten foot pole (none of these reasons have anything to do with the herp or scrofula, if you were curious). All in all I think I have a pretty good list of excuses for being creatively inept and not being able to write anything decent to post. Even so, I apologise for my dearth of material and make a non-binding promise to do better this year – it would help if occasionally someone gave me a topic to write about that wasn’t so vague a thesis wouldn’t cover it.

So, cheers to new beginnings, new life breathed into stale spaces and platonic love to all of you around the world who make me happy and keep reality awesome despite all the superfluous shit that insists on being contrary.

xx edie.

(Image via www.gdargaud.net)