Are You Thinking What I’m Thinking?

I’m almost 32 and opening a bottle of wine, using a bottle opener, without needing stitches or spilling everywhere still makes me secretly super proud.

I love costume jewellery, love it.  I’m up to my mascared eyeballs in cool skull necklaces and edgy earrings and vintage brooches to make your granny jealous, but every now and again, just every now and again, I’d trade it all in for a ridiculously classic, fancy pants diamond something-something, you know?

I always thought the pinnacle of grown-up-ness would be matching side table lamps, and then I got them and all I could think was, to be a real real grown up I would need matching bed side tables too.

I sometimes worry that I left a big chunk of my soul in my twenties.

I sometimes worry that writing sentences like ‘I sometimes worry that I left a big chunk of my soul in my twenties’ makes me sound like a wet wipe.  A Dawson’s Creek-esque wet wipe.  Shamesies.

Ah, ‘Dawson’s Creek’.

And ‘My So Called Life’.  Jared Leto pre-music and vests.  And hair putty.

Summer is coming.  It’s time for more tattoos.  And more kissing.  ‘More tattoos and more kissing’.  That might just be what my next tattoo says.

You know what is ameezing?  Friends are ameezing.  Friends who are friends even when you are annoying or insecure or sending one million WhatsApps to tell them point by point what is going on in your day.  Friends who respond like in that moment, no matter how ridiculous it may be, they are in the boat with you.  Wearing the paper sailor hat and temporary anchor tattoos and fighting through the choppy waters.  With you.  Thank you, Friends.

More than snakes and hell and aeroplanes and dying alone, I fear that I may never learn to cook.  That I will die, 107 years old, in my hover bed, surrounded by my ridiculously good looking grand children, having never made a lasagna.  Or bread.  Or a really scrummy quiche’.  Must. Do. Something. About. That.

Hot Air Balloons.

Twice last week I feel asleep still wearing shoes.

The soul shuddering, soul awakening yet wonderously simple act of writing.  Plain little words like ‘tattoos’ and ‘lasagna’ and ‘choppy waters’.  And the weirdly exhilarating, fragile joy that lacing them together brings.

[I am also thinking that there has never been a better time for a sunset beach picnic, like the one above, than right now.  In the burrowed throes of Winter.]


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Comments

  1. Megan says:

    Camilla…. have you secretly been listening inside my head?

    • little one says:

      jeez meean, your writing isn’t like reading words its like looking at a magical painting that keeps changing x

  2. Ms. Ameezing says:

    Megan – yes! :)
    And thanks little one x

  3. lara says:

    i love your writing and i want to be friends. i have thought this every time i browse through your blog, so i wanted to tell you.

  4. Ms. Ameezing says:

    Hey lara, thanks so much! Yes, let’s be friends :)

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