The Em Dash

This article is 88% true.

I woke up yesterday and remembered that life used to be funny in the old days. So I thought I’d re-introduce some of that into my life. Hence a fresh new name.

Unfolding Her Heart (deep and somewhat serious and worthy), is, for now anyway, becoming 88% True. What you’ll find here is part journal, part observation. It will be approximately 88% true so I don’t lose all my friends and, to be honest, make it more interesting. And sometimes that number will be the lie. I hope you enjoy it.

In honour of this ‘rebranding’ (fancy!), I’ve opened up a paid subscription here if you like what you read and want more of it. With 20% off to tempt you until 11th July.

Here we go. Warning: This first one’s a bit of a rant.

The Em Dash

22 June

I am so fed up reading ‘deep and meaningful’ posts on Facebook and ‘heartfelt’ emails that are quite obviously written by Chat GPT. No, it is not helping you write in your voice (even if you think you’ve trained it), it is writing in a generic Chat GPT voice and we all know it.

It crushes my heart because before you did it, I loved reading what you wrote.

The em dashes are giving you away, darling.

Straw. Camel’s. Back.

Everywhere I look the world is going to hell in a hand-basket.

I am steadfastly ignoring the news but every now and again I hear the words Trump and nuclear floating in from the TV in the other room and it makes my blood run cold. I cannot watch because if I did I would not be able to breathe.

A phone call from a professional who knows more of our family secrets that I feel comfortable with, sharing some information that has been divulged to her. My heart sinks. I’m not sure I can go through another bout of this again. What about me? When will I get my life back?

I have become a narcissist to top it all off.

Now even I’m on the waiting list for mental health support.

23 June

The weather is so fucking hot and I can’t function and there’s no escaping it unless we move to Scandinavia which we can’t because of fucking Brexit and because it’s too expensive.

I become a bitch in the heat.

My nails are soft from wearing nail polish that I wore because I was trying to give the false impression that I have my shit together that only lasted 4 days (the nail varnish, the impression was less than that) before chipping off and now I can’t even hit the right letters on the keyboard.

Today my husband and I have booked a ‘re-negotiating our relationship’ walk and talk. In truth, I booked it, he reluctantly agreed. I read about it in a book on a train. Apparently, it’s a good idea to do this every few years, because let’s face it, I am not the 30 year-old he married 23 years ago. What I’m looking for in a relationship might be different than it was.

Today is obviously a great day to have this conversation.

24 June

Today I have two different men from two different building companies booked in to come look at the cow shed in the garden which I decided last week in a fit of good mood and optimism that I would turn into an art studio and retreat room.

Since then, the art I’ve been working on is refusing to get out of the ugly stage every painting goes through before it becomes beautiful. Fuck painting. I’m this close to putting all the paints and canvases in the car and taking it all to the tip and being done with it all.

Only I’ve got a fucking mini so it wouldn’t fit.

Now I’ll waste two hours today talking about a cowshed renovation that I’m no longer interested in. On top of that I’ve made a promise publicly to write an amusing Substack series about the journey.

Nice one, last Sunday’s Nic.

I read a properly funny Substack, also on the train. Now I feel like an imposter.

There are tiny dragons living in my rosebushes and I’m not sure what to feed them.

25 June

I’m currently fat. Drinking my body weight in wine every opportunity I get. I got on the scales this morning. Bad idea. I have the dubious pleasure of announcing today is my heaviest ever weight. Including when pregnant.

Today I did a plank to get skinnier and my boobs were longer than my arms.

And yet I cannot bring myself to go to the gym. I disgust myself.

I’m bored. Every day is a groundhog day of getting up, setting 3 intentions for the day with my Accountability Buddies (best bit of the day), ticking off the things, passing through my ugly lounge and room-we-have-never-figured-out-what-to-do-with-or-a-name-for-but-is-in-the-middle-of-the-house-so-we-have-to-walk-through-it-500-times-a-day that is currently filled with old bits of cast off furniture; an old black rug and half a sofa bed placed in front of a broken TV no one watches. WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?

I HATE it.

But I cannot change it because as soon as we talk about what colour the curtains should be, my husband and I cannot agree so we throw our hands up in despair and end the conversation. So nothing. Ever. Changes.

I cannot abide ugliness.

I am the messiest person in the house, leaving a trail of destruction behind me, but I feel if I had a beautiful environment, I would behave better.

But there’s no point because the dog would piss on a new carpet or a cat would puke a rat and one of the kids would tip red wine over a new sofa and the freshly painted walls would be covered in blue-tack stains and flicks of nail varnish and paint within minutes.

My friends are irritating me too. One talks about herself all the time and has developed an ego the size of a house; I miss her. I would never ever do such a thing. One has become vegan and I really do not care for the details. One is sanctimonious and spiritual in the face of my human angst and I cannot bear the pity and judgement. One asked me ‘Could you up the warmth a bit in your texts do you think?’ Fuck off. I’m autistic, I have the right to be rude whenever I want.

I’m a bitch in the heat.

I’m watching the Handmaid’s Tale and it’s scaring me.

So, I scroll through Facebook to make myself feel worse.

Lucky for me, I see another em dash.

26 June

I went to the gym for the first time. I made a tit of myself sitting backwards on all the complicated machinery and changing the weights to 5kg then changing them back to 20kg before I moved on when I was sure no one was watching. I had to mock-strain to pretend they were heavy.

I could not work out which buttons press to run on the running machine but I did walk on it and will build up to larger amounts of button pressing next time I go.

Weirdly I enjoyed it. Have decided to become a gym bunny and wear one of those really tight sports bras to create the impression that my arms are longer than my boobs. Also I have decided to chart progress towards becoming sylph-like alongside cowshed renovations.

(I have to include other stories than the Cowshed Chronicles promised last week because the quotes came back at 120K-150K for the work so that is going to be a story without very much happening for quite a long time.)

Decided to begin 88% True to bring some humour into my life (even if a little dark).

And because I only feel like myself when I’m creating.

(You’re going to want to subscribe, if only to find out what happens next with the dragons.)