I’ve been doing freewriting exercises for university. Where I’ll give myself the start of a sentence and I’ll take a couple of minutes to write a paragraph. Not a short but might be a little fun to share these ones that I haven’t taken any further than short paragraphs. Enjoy! 😄
They’ve either been inspired by the sentence themselves or television. Anything to get my creativeness going.
A long time ago I used to be happy, considered normal and not to mention popular. Now the deemed popular kids and my once friends couldn’t look the road I walked on. That’s just how it was now, ever since my Dad died no one wanted to hang around with the depressed girl. It wasn’t my fault I felt lonely and sad. I couldn’t help the way I felt. They put up with it for about five months and after that they started making excuses like they were busy doing homework but went out to the cinema. It hurt, I felt betrayed. Soon I realised School was measured in who your friends were, like how rich they are or that everyone knows them. It’s about how the see you, how the feel towards you. I don’t think they cared about me because I was deemed attractive I was automatically in the popular group. I knew I would pick myself up, that’s what my Dad would’ve wanted. I just want to make him proud, be the daughter he would’ve wanted. Even if he wasn’t around, it felt like he was. In my heart. My Dad would look down at me one day and be proud and that was my goal. I couldn’t care less my friends didn’t want to know me, I wanted a career not the cutest boyfriend.
I went outside and the sun was shining. The birds were singing. As every day was, today was perfect. It was great being a newly wed. The relationship feels new, even though we have been together for years. People look at me as if I’m beaming and I swear I have a glow. I just can’t stop smiling, yes I do wish my wedding day never came to and end but I’m glad the planning did. The stress of planning a wedding was completely and utterly unreal. No one prepares you for that, you go in and think nothing could be better. But the seating plans, entertainment, meals, suits, dresses and shoes. My god, I’m thankful no more planning for a while. It’s a bad thing to be thankful for, yes people are alone and they haven’t found their one. But there was plenty times we wanted to scrap the wedding and elope somewhere. I’m glad we didn’t though, because that day will always be the best day of my life. I know the rose tinted glasses would fade away soon, and I’d pray that they wouldn’t. I knew I would enjoy it while it lasted.
It was no use pretending. I was having an affair, I didn’t plan on it. I didn’t even think I ever would. I love my husband, but the thrill and secrecy was just too exciting to pass up on. I felt absolutely horrible afterward and now I am certain he knows. The first time we didn’t exactly plan on it. There was obvious chemistry between my assistant and I. That day was different. I called him in for making a fool of me in the Schimt case. He was late in bringing me the case notes. I was so angry, but the way he was looking at me with those puppy dog eyes I really couldn’t be made for long. That’s when He got up and we both passionately kissed on my desk. Sending papers and pens flying everywhere. We couldn’t care, our raw passion was far too much. I had to give in, I was strong enough to fight the urge. It had been so long since my husband even looked at me in that way, I needed this and I needed it now. That was the first day we did it, right on that desk. It was the best I ever had, I screamed that loud that he had to cover my mouth over so no one heard us. We were meeting up in hotels ever since. It’s been about 6 months now, we even tried dating. That didn’t work, we were both just very passionate people. I thought about leaving my husband for him. But I’m 46 and he is only 25, it just wouldn’t work.
I thought I heard a noise, it was getting ridiculous. Every time I’m alone, I can hear absolutely everything. That water dripping out the tap, the silent echo of the hall. Was that footsteps? Was it just a general creak? Paranoia seems to be my only friend these days. Can’t wait until someone comes home then the house can be filled with that comforting noise. The hustle and bustle in the kitchen, the chatter in the living room. I turn on the television quickly just to make any kind of noise. I know I’m not the only one that feels that slight scare when they’re alone, hear noises that are just natural noises and assume the worst. I’m not alone when I think that, but most of the time I can’t help but think that I am. But why do we do that? As humans, terrified that someone is watching us in the privacy of our own homes. Another noise, I was certain that it was from upstairs surely. Most definitely. I stand, feeling confident but my hunched-over posture said otherwise. Anyone watching would know how I’m feeling. I slowly open my living room door and inch closer and closer to the stairs. Quickly turn the light on then quickly, swiftly, briefly take a look upstairs. Good all clear, another noise. I let out a short breath. Sigh. Then make my way up the stairs taking each one very anxiously, with dread I continue on. Finally reaching the top and clinging to the bannister at the top of the stairs. Flick the light switch. And take that final leap, that final last look to see what is creating the noise. My hand touching the bedroom door handle, with one deep large breath I walk in and let it out to be welcomed by my pet cat. The pet cat who felt it great to be having one of his crazy hours when I’m alone and paranoid. All I could do at that point was laugh, just at how silly we could be as people. How our imaginations can drive us insane with fear. All over a slight noise in the house.
There was something unbelievable in the desk drawer. I sat at my own husbands desk where he sat everyday working hard at absolutely everything. His beloved job, paying our bills, dealing with out family matters. The desk that I blame for our problems and our distance. There is was the actual blame for our distance, why my husband, my once best friend wouldn’t confide in me anymore. I took out the picture, of the student that was just a student. However, I always found it strange that he kept in contact with her despite finishing the course six years ago. There wasn’t just one, there was at least five photos of them together. My anger got the better of me, took my body into automatic and I just began tearing and ripping. The tears flooding over my face, I felt numb and horrid. I looked at the desk, the tiny pieces of photos, the smiles and memories that they had together. It made me sick more than anything. I brushed my hand over the pieces to scoop them into the drawer, slammed it shut and went out of the study as quickly as possible. I couldn’t stop picturing them together. “Get your act together,” I said to myself over and over. I stood over the bathroom sink staring at the mirror. Looking at the wrinkles, thinking of the years I wasted on that man, the best years of my life gone. I was leaving him, he wanted me to find those photos, I knew he was going to be telling me that he’s leaving me. I had to do it first, might seem immature and childish. I wanted my pride, it was all I could have left.
She said it might put things in perspective, how she didn’t feel like her anymore. That she was a robot: going to work, coming home, making dinner then sleep to start again tomorrow. I said, “You could quit your job, take a step back from what you want to do.” Yeah, she thought of that. Apparently I wasn’t the only thing she was leaving behind. She started speaking really fast that she could travel the world see some sights, I understood she didn’t feel happy. I was the one that was to make her happy. The way she acted as if she was telling her high school boyfriend all of this. I was her fiancé we had a wedding planned, we had deposits down that neither of us could get back. We took extra hours at work to fund it but obviously that’s got her confused. “You’re just getting cold feet, it happens to ever bride when it’s so close.” I told her, tried to reassure her that it was all going to be ok. Despite that fact she may as well have reached into my chest and squeezed my heart until it bursts. She was certain that wasn’t the case, she was certain that it was everything. That if she doesn’t do something she’ll end up with depression and have no motivation to do something. I tried again, “Instead of a honeymoon, we could travel together. Pack our bags and live in a new culture together. Experience things together.” I smiled, thats when I tried to hold. She pushed me back, started screaming at me that I just don’t get it. I just don’t get her and I don’t deserve to anymore. I never gave her the attention she needed.
I thought he would never change, that boy of mine. Honestly, you like in this made up world where babies don’t grow. Their first day of school, your heart is in your mouth because he’s that same very baby you cooed at night to. The same very baby that learnt how to walk and it took your breath away. Here he was, finishing high school talking about university, how he is going away to live with your friends. He sounded happy, and I didn’t know if that hurt more. I knew I had to be strong, letting go is part of the parenting experience. I didn’t want him to turn into the 35 year old that still lives with his parents. He will always be mummy’s little boy. Even if he wants to go live with his friends. I reassured him, told him his room won’t change a bit, so he can come home for christmas. His father agreed and added may even bring a girl home with you. Or boy I added.
“Mum! I’m not..” he whined,
“I know, I know.” I smiled, although I had plenty of pictures of a girl version of himself when he was around 11. Younger than that I excused, but 11. It did make me laugh. No one prepares you for it, the leaving of your only child. You just have to be reassured that one day he will come back, when he needs you of course.
Coffee, toast and three paracetamol. That was the morning ritual, before any big meeting. The stress would cause me to have this horrendous headache. So I found that those worked. I understand that it’s meant to be two, but that never worked. Three was just right, three worked wonders. I needed to get this meeting just right, after mucking up the last one. All because I was stupid enough not to go shopping and I assured myself I had plenty of coffee. That was a day I’d rather not relive, coffee kept me going. Gave me that morning kick to get into gear and do something. Yes coffee was great, paired with paracetamol. I was unstoppable. The toast, never had much of a play in this mystical pairing. I just needed breakfast in the morning. Most important meal of the day. Obviously the meal that is often skipped has that kind of tagline. Make sure people are eating in the morning.