"Hey remember that one song from 2011...?"

~

★
I got a secret

I think I was born to be in a state of longing
born to be wanting, wanting

I put it in a letter to you,
yeah, it's true that I've changed,
what was once is now broken
broken in two

I feel like a travelling salesman
even though I'm a woman
If you lay down beside me
you'll feel that I'm cold, it's true

I'd be lying if I didn't say
I'm just playing a game and I'm empty
but I'm also the same
believe me it's true

I love the danger in distance
★
~


I feel like a travelling salesman
                          even though I'm a woman . . .

Where did I misplace my self-identity, and how can I exchange it for something else?

Day Two in the quest of ...

~✨ Rid Cerri's room of unused and unwanted items forevermore, while also adding in chic clothes, mystical items of other-world magic, and arrange all in a calming, spacious, organised way ✨~ 

So far I have entirely emptied two of my dresser drawers, Marie Kondo'd all underwear, sock, and misc hat etc clothing drawers, arranged the box drawers on my desk to stack on top of each other to create more space, and cleaned out one paper folder that contained old 'to do' lists from 2011 to present- because who still needs a grocery list of the 9 things I bought one Friday in 2013?

Exactly.

Smashin' it!

Currently in the process of creating a master 'to do' list of all the general life goals I wish to achieve so I can get rid of the 8 separate ones I have now.

To keep me motivated throughout this gruelling process, I stream Sherlock BBC series on low in the background.

Past Cerri was rockin that shiz.

Things I Have Found and Promptly Thrown Out/Recycled Due To My New Rule

This new rule is 'IF YOU DON'T WANT IT, JUST TOSS IT, LASSIE!'... 'No! Don't stare at it wondering if you'll ever need it again! These unanswerable questions will just add lines to your face and take years from your life! Just Bin It!'

So! ~~

❊ The stretchy ties that come with new shoes that I might someday make into a hairtie if I was ever lacking 

❊ An unidentifiable long piece of firm but stretchy strip of plastic that calms my soul and realigns my Chakras just holding it

❊ A few torn off corners from coffee sachets

❊ A black whiteboard marker that doesn't work

❊ An orange sticky note that says: Head Side Top of paper this End

❊ A broken plastic spoon

❊ Two thick strips of foam

❊ Eight plastic packets that once contained menstrual pads that I feel guilty adding to landfill, even though it's up to the companies to create recyclable packaging

❊ Three pieces of orange crepe paper

❊ Two broken plastic knitting needle holders

❊ A tiny bell and collar that came off a Lindt chocolate Easter rabbit last year that I was saving, also, in case I needed an impromptu hair-tie in a hurry

❊ One black piece of crepe paper

❊ A box that used to contain a Christmas cake topper, for whatever reason

❊ The actual Christmas cake topper

❊ Any sock that has a hole in it, which is Eleven

❊ The top of a gatorade bottle

❊ An opened plastic cutlery package

❊ Two ripped plastic bags

❊ The lid of a jar

❊ A quarter of a container of bubble blowing solution I have had since 2013

❊ A small round plastic firm circle inside one of those little plastic bags that I have NO IDEA what is used for

⭑ ⭑ ⭐   ✫   ✴     ✦      ✭    ✳     ✺   ~ Stay tuned for more absurd discoveries on the Cerri channel! 

 

  ________

 '   ]        [   '

      ]___[

  (8) ___ (8)

Would you like fries with your internal squeeing?

One

        I gave away almost all of my clothes in a fit of change, and now have no jumpers, only one over-sized ugly but warm coat, four black t-shirts and one brown t-shirt that are a tad too small, absolutely NO jeans, one fake-leather leggings that are so peeled and worn it's criminal and cannot be worn out in public unless I'm in one of my The-World-Can-Get-Fucked moods, two pairs of elastic work pants, a range of dresses that neither fit me nor inspire any confidence in me to actually wear, two pairs of shorts: one new and amazing, one old, small, and paint-stained, a bunch of skirts that are two sizes too small allowing my love-handles to spill over the sides in an unflattering way, and a bunch of out-dated work shirts that need to be ironed after washing, even though the iron never ever ever ever gets all the creases out.

Two

       I entered my room this morning in a fit of I WILL CHANGE MY WHOLE ROOM BUT WITHOUT ACTUALLY MOVING ANY FURNITURE BECAUSE I PHYSICALLY AND LOGISTICALLY CAN'T, but then sat down and searched pinterest for over an hour and realised I desperately need to go vegan and eat gut-pleasing foods.

Three

       Because of being poor, during the course of my short life I have hardly thrown out any of my accumulated possessions. It's recently become quite a burden in the sense that I am stuck in the past whenever I open a drawer or pull out a box. I need to fix this! But I have this clenched up vault door that creaks in alarm and protest whenever I decide to have a clean out. It says 'NO, you treacherous man-child! Keep all these items for ONE DAY you will surely need them, and then ON THAT DAY, you will curse the heavens and I will have to listen to your damn lamenting as if you had suddenly become a baby lamb. BLEAT NOT, HUMAN SLUG, JUST SETTLE AND GO ON WITH YOUR DAILY LAME.'

To which I will understandably reply: 'Um... what?' and also: 'Man child?'

Four

       But I desperately need to update my wardrobe- or just buy ONE other pair of pants for the love of god- and I do need more of other things, like crystals, and incense, and fairy statues, and basically anything and everything from a magickal shop. When I have these things, I can then become the super woman that I have always dreamed of becoming where I don't lounge around all day eating bags of chips in my torn up fake leather pants and over-sized adult shirt for men, watching iZombie and Horror Houses in grim satisfaction, admiring my plant garden and birds pecking at the lawn at intervals, and generally running around in mad panic when I have to do anything seriously adult like grocery shopping or go to work.

Five

       The mess of life is severely underrated. It can never be overrated, because life just shifts from serene cruise mode to sudden INSTANT DEATH mode, where the gear has been yanked into first, rain is suddenly pelting down from all sides, and the speed limit flashing at you from your water-stained windscreen is one hundred and TWO THOUSAND - one hundred and TWO THOUSAND - GET READY TO PARTAYYYYYYYYY.

In the worst way possible.

Which is fine if you plan for such a change. But if you're chowing down cheesy-McCheese-with-added-cheese chips and laughing at undead one-liners one minute, and then trying to find the lime juice in an overcrowded supermarket with 'under pressure' playing on the radio while blinking back tears of rage as people cut you off every ten seconds with their crammed shopping trolleys the next minute, with no in between.. well. You in mess.

Six

       I am in love with migoreng noodles and sushi train, and these things sustain me throughout all.

Seven

       What is progress if not those little googly-eyed dog stickers on fridge and cupboard doors? Instantly cleaning tissues? Eating all the food? A quarter-filled rubbish bin on pick up day? Continuously cleaning as per the implemented cleaning plan? Lights? Labels? A solid 'Hey, I know we're both parmesan cheese addicts, but I left you the last of the parmesan cheesy garlicky mushroom chicken from last night, even though I'm jonesing for it so bad, enjoy. I will record you eating so I can watch it later'.

It's deliciousness and honor in the highest form.

Eight

       At some point in my life I would love to have all my papers sorted and aligned to a system. 

Nine

       This one time I had a cold sore and my grandmother told me to put honey over it to make it go away. So I did. And just like a love-struck man who is foolishly lured into the forest by a bewitching maiden fairy who is really just an ugly old man covered in a glamour spell who is really just a bewitching maiden fairy under a disguising spell gone wrong and a cover spell gone right, my cold sore bloomed out over my lip as menacing and mocking as ever until it burst off leaving a scar.

The moral is: just because it is sweet, doesn't mean it is good.

Ten

       There was once a time where I wanted to choose tea over coffee. I ached for it, yearned to be able to make the switch, then sank into a pit of despair whenever I was lured back in to that sweet addictive aroma by my weak-willed ways. We do not talk about that time.

Amen.

o     o

 \ o /

  \/\/

  ]^[

4__4

If you're not a zombie yet, are you even trying?

Lily hands me a wide-lipped jar containing a greenish liquid that splashes a little onto my fingers.
"Lily!" I wipe my hand on my jeans, wondering if she even noticed.
She darts halfway around the cauldron and glares dramatically at the bubbles popping and rising up to greet her face.
"And... what exactly is this greeny stuff?" I ask, wincing as my fingers start tingling.
"Greeny stuff!" Lily exclaims, looking up as a bubble pops near her chin. "Darma, this is a potion to find your dreams! Knock down the naysayers! Put an end to those who declare 'we command you conform in the sheeplest way possible'! This is-"
"Yes, yes, ok, sheesh." I'm not one hundred percent certain, but I'd bet my uncle Ferl's wooden rat memorabilia that Lily has been obsessed with cauldrons and potions since vanishing through a particular stone archway located in the town cemetery two years ago, and reappearing next to a water fountain on the other side of town two months and four days later.
Lily raises her arms theatrically and stares at me with the widest greenest, eyes ever to exist. "If done correctly, Darma, this can heal the dreamless, give shove to the apathetic- in a nice way, obviously- bring spark to the bored, and, even, allow whites and darks to be washed together!"
"Ohh," I nod. "Well I could do with that."
I could. Too many of my white lingerie had turned a pinky beige that clashed astoundingly (and unflatteringly) with my orange-red hair.
"Exactly!" Lily finishes in a triumphantly smug way. "You can be the first to try it!"
"What? Try it?" I look at the jar with waning interest. The liquid inside fills half the jar and is a chartreuse colour, thin and innocent-looking, calm, translucent, and yet somehow sinister.
"Oh I know!" I suddenly understand. "It looks like snot, that's why. It's the same colour."
Suddenly a voice speaks right next to my ear. "Darma, ok-"
I scream and drop the jar. It bounces on the carpet, the liquid splashes out over Lily's wooden bed-frame and purple sheet covers, then the jar rolls right under her desk.
Lily snatches it up like a lightning strike from a vexed and well-trained Zeus.
There's banging from downstairs. "You girls better not be making another potion in there!" Lily's mother's voice floats up.
Lily sighs. "We're doing homework!" she yells back.
"Does she have a super long bat down there or something? To hit the ceiling like that?"
"Listen, seriously, stop being so jumpy ok?" Lily says as she dips the jar back into the cauldron.
"There was still a bit left!" I exclaim, outraged at being presented with fresh potion.
"Just so you know, I am not a ninja, I just hate wearing shoes so no one ever hears me walk. It's not a super power, it's just practicality."
I let out a breath. "Lily, where did you go that day from the arch? Also, I have an avocado plant I need to change the water so I have to go home, I'll try your potion next-"
"Darma." Lily walks slowly over to me, making sure to press each foot heavily into the carpet, holding the potion in both hands and looking like an angry flowergirl at her enemy's wedding. "I have admired you since we met."
"Girls!" Lily's mother calls up again. "What did I say?"
"I'm just walking!" Lily yells.
"Can you possibly be more feminine about it?"
My head starts to ache. I watch as Lily walks right up to me. She holds the jar out. I remember when her hair was a golden brown and her face was round. She used to wear jeans, glittery jewellery, and had never even been inside a piercing store. Now she dresses in black, dyes her hair black, has twenty nine piercings and lost so much weight her cheeks collapsed into themselves and her hip bones press into my flesh whenever we hug.
"Really, where did you go?"
Lily smiles. "The jar holds all answers."
"Come on, I was your best friend. You can tell me."
Her smile widens. "The Jar."
I sigh loud and long. Then all of a sudden I hear a hissing sound. "Oh! That's not me!" I say automatically.
"SHIT!" Lily points past me.
I whirl around and see wafts of smoke rising up from the bed-frame.
We both gasp in unison. "But there's no fire?" I say, confounded and entranced in equal measure.
"Oh noooo," Lily moans, running to her desk. She flips papers over, muttering. I watch the smoke curling into elegant tendrils like mysterious orphaned acrobats, until she gives a mild scream of panic. "Darma, they're melting!"
"What?"
"EXCUSE ME LADIES!"
"What's melting?" I ask stupidly as the hissing grows louder, much like a swarm of peeved bees.
Lily's great-grandfather storms into the room, rather grand and rather rotund, carrying a gigantic purple fire extinguisher. He grabs hold of the nozzle, pulls the pin, and presses a button. There's a loud sound like a car horn. "Whoops!" he cackles, and pulls another pin, and presses another button. A stream of bubbles come out of the nozzle.
"You're pulling all the wrong pins!" Lily shouts.
"And most likely pressing all the wrong buttons!" I add, to feel useful.
Without any warning, the floor under Lily's bed gives way and crashes down onto the floor below.
"Christ almighty!" Lily's great-grandfather cries out.
"It's the broom!" Lily says, "I shouldn't have brought it into the house!"
"GIRLS!" Lily's mother's voice shoots up from the hole, now much clearer and angrier.
I turn to Lily, "You wanted me to drink that?"

    &
(^_@)v     ० * ০ ⁰ ੦ ۰೦

... but I'm still in the tub!

How many speeds does a broomstick have?

Apart from the heat and sitting in his favourite outdoor chair (a large round-backed cafe chair that could seat two men, painted red, with tiny holes in the shape of hearts), Chester had no plans whatsoever.
So it irked him when the telephone rang. He groaned with effort as he hoisted himself out of his beloved chair, set down his mug of raspberry leaf tea with such force that liquid spilled over the edges, and hurried inside as fast as his little legs would carry him.
"Yes! Hello?!" he squeaked with an off-putting rasp.
"Hello, is this Chester Mortimer, from 19-49 Surmsace Potting Lane, a mile from Lorten, which happens to be south of Winchester Awn-"
"Yes! Yes!" Chester cut in impatiently. "It Christ well is! Christ!"
"Sorry?" The woman at the other end said, sounding as though she hadn't understood a word Chester had said.
"I said 'yes! This is Chester Mortimer', what do you want?"
"Oh, I see, so you are Chester Mo-"
"Woman! I am sunbathing in my most comfortable chair under the hottest sun England has ever experienced- which isn't all that hot mind, but we have to do- and I will be damned if I am interrupted by some sales clerk who wastes my time asking me the same questions the entire phone call!"
"I'm terribly sorry, sir," the woman continued in her calm, high-pitched voice. "Are you alright?"
"Am I what?" Chester squeaked.
"I said 'A R E  Y O U  A L L RIGHT?', I'm ringing to speak with a Mr Chester Mortimer, you sa-"
Chester abruptly hung up the phone and trotted back outside to sit in his favourite chair under the sun, where he had peace and tea in the sweetest taste of berry that money could buy.


Oh she's sweet but a psycho..

How bout unabashedly bawling your eyes out?

~

How bout getting off these antibiotics

How bout stopping eating when I'm full up

How bout them transparent dangling carrots

How bout that ever elusive Kudo


Thank you India
Thank you terror
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you frailty
Thank you consequence
Thank you thank you silence


How bout me not blaming you for everything

How bout me enjoying the moment for once

How bout how good it feels to finally forgive you

How bout grieving it all one at a time


The moment I let go of it was the moment
I got more than I could handle
The moment I jumped off of it
Was the moment I  t o u c h e d  d o w n


How bout no longer being masochistic 

How bout remembering your divinity

How bout unabashedly bawling your eyes out

How bout not equating death with stopping


Thank you India
Thank you providence
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you nothingness
Thank you clarity
Thank you thank your silence

~

Where to purchase 'Flying Free: An Instruction Manual' for only 3.99?

Herman was rushing forwards, his arms held protectively over his bowed head, his tiny feet scurrying over thin twigs and powdered pebbles, and his over-sized shorts slipping dangerously as they ballooned out from the wind.

"I've had it!!" he screamed up into the sky.

Above him circled and swooped at least ten colourful birds, all of them calling out in gleeful squawks.

"You'll get yours!!" Herman shouted. He dived out from the dried patchy grass that he had been running in and slid to a stop in front of his dearest, oldest friend Tenstal.

"Herman, old fellow!" Tenstal boomed. "What a comical surprise this is! I can't quite understand why you must slide into my presence whenever we meet, but however, I am very pleased you do."

"Oh shut it!" Herman staggered upright and brushed himself off grumpily.

Tenstal chuckled. "Have some tea," he motioned to the absurdly large teapot that sported a ridiculously curvaceous spout sitting on the little table next to him.

"You think you're protected, do you?" Herman grumbled, reaching for the teapot.

"Under here," Tenstal spread his arms wide, motioning to the veranda he was sitting under, "Nothing evil shall enter."

"Oh go boil your left toe." Herman was having quite a difficult time lifting up the teapot. It was just far too heavy. He decided to heave the pot forwards without even lifting it, ignoring the scratches it made on the wooden table, and he aimed the spout at the tiny teacup. Nothing came out. He waited, sweat forming on his brow, his eyes glancing in a spasmodic way to the scratches.

"Allow me," Tenstal said.

Herman shrieked and let go. "Must you yell!"

The teapot swayed from side to side in an unnerving manner- as it was clearly too heavy to move by human hand.

"Is this a normal thing!?" Herman demanded. "I have just ran from my house under siege of your birds, the least I can be offered in return is some hot tea! Why is this so hard to use?!"

"Sit! Sit!" Tenstal gestured, enjoying his little friend. It had been far too long since they interacted in such a humorous way. Herman had a flair for the dramatics that Tenstal found delightful.

"Are you enjoying your persimmons and parsnips?" he asked Herman as he lifted the pot in one easy motion and poured out the steaming pink liquid.

Herman stared.

"Boursella has been in such an alphabetic mood lately," Tenstal continued without missing a beat. "All she does involves the letter P. It would drive me crazy if she were not so utterly beautiful."

"Are you a wizard?" Herman demanded in a fit of unhealthy rage. 

"Hmmm?" Tenstal looked up.

"YOU ARE CLEARLY A MAN OF TRICKS! ARE YOU NOT?"

Herman felt his insides squirm uncomfortably. He vaguely entertained the thought of hosting a hex, one that produced living, crawling things inside the body for an afternoon of entertainment in the utmost hideous horror one can experience. But he shrugged these thoughts away. Tenstal was the most mild-mannered friend he had the pleasure of encountering, and, if proven to be a wizard, would only use his magic for healing injured animals and growing Herman longer legs so he could reach the top shelf.

"Herman, oldest friend, sit and have this tea. You will feel right as the day you were born, I insist." Tenstal set the teacup with painted faces of kittens across the table and Herman sat begrudgingly down upon the brightly painted spindly wooden chair. 

Tenstal could hear mumblings such as pain in my manicured ass and kind of magic potion nonsense is this, but he chose to ignore and smile on serenely out to his feathered friends in the sky,

"I must say, it is good to be sitting down," Herman said after a few mouthfuls.

Tenstal sighed suddenly. "Alas! All those hours of my time gazing upon the fine workmen of today and all the golden coins from my pocket and still, still, this post is to display itself crooked."

And much to Hermans disbelief, Tenstal waved a crooked-looking tree branch and the veranda post visibly straightened.

 

   

   ;;

  /_\

,./~\.,

(6_6)