MS + single on Valentine’s Day?
You can channel your inner delightfully, dazzling diva while wearing pyjamas, dog-shaped winter socks, leg warmers and your turban hair towel.
MS and single on Valentine’s Day?
You can channel your inner delightfully, dazzling diva while wearing pyjamas, dog-shaped winter socks, leg warmers and your turban hair towel. You can drag your duvet to the living room, watch Romeo + Juliet and cry for an hour afterward because Leo died when he shouldn't have (Damn you William Shakespeare!)
Writing, a quiet observation
There is something about words, something fluid, warm, recognisable and true. Just a short while ago I was again reminded of my love for anything written, and how it more than likely, came to be. Early on in life, I was already a dedicated library-lover. Living above one eased the path towards it, and it definitely turned me into a bibliophile. Countless hours and days were spent walking around in it, searching and nurturing books. When my Dutch language teacher put me on the spot when I was 14 years old, he made me admit blame for a silly grammatical mistake in front of the whole class, asking me if I had any dictionaries at home, and if so, why they weren’t on my desk when I wrote that particular essay. While…
Relapse!
Yesterday I received an email from the Daily Post at WordPress that said ‘Competition: What activity, task, or game most brings out your competitive streak?’ Activity: having multiple sclerosis. Task: not going to bed when my body screams to should stop doing what I’m doing and make a triple Salchow backwards to land myself under my duvet instead. Game: enjoying life. Competitor: myself. It was an easy enough question to answer because I (still) consider myself my own worst competition, especially right now.
