IT'S OFFICIAL BY FIONA CUMMINGS

OK, this will clarify I’m mad… so, the other day we went to watch a horror movie at the cinema called US. A little girl was at a fairground she went by herself into a one of those mirrored houses. She was alone at first. Got lost couldn’t find her way out, saw the red lit up exit sign, headed towards that to learn it was a reflection. She then saw a girl exactly like her. Well the little girl was so afraid for whatever reason, she began to whistle. She stopped whistling to hear the exact sound of her whistle as if an echo. There is a reason I’m telling you this, honestly. Bear with!

 

So, every little scary tune the girl did, the echoed copied. Well, that brings me to my own madness. So, I decided to change the bedding today. I always do up the poppers on the duvet so the other bedding doesn’t trap inside of the cover in the wash. It’s rather therapeutic…. Like those bubble wraps you get in parcels. Pop. Pop. Pop.

Only thing is, at the other side of the bedroom, an echo also popped popped popped. Exactly when I finished my pop, that copied.

 

Well, first pop, I just thought a fly with pit boots and a leather biking jacket had hit the window.

Nope, as I popped again, it popped. So, on the third pop, I stopped to listen. It popped. But I didn’t do anything but I knew where the popping was now coming from in the room. OK Fifi time for action, I can do this, I can beat that demon or poltergeist with a pillow. It went quiet. Dam, where is it? So, I did another popper. Well, ready I was going to get it, so tough. So hard, so ready for this dude.

It popped.

I froze.

Only thing, it popped again, and again.

Oh, and again.

I moved towards it to restart my heart. As it really had stopped. Only to realise, it was some cellophane wrap from a birthday card that was blowing in the breeze from the open window in the bathroom.

Oh!

Oops!

 

 Jogging on with my day. Today is the day I’m determined I’m going to do some of my Yoga. Since my lovely Yoga teacher stopped coming, my request as it was just too much money, I have not been good. In fact, I was saying to Hub yesterday, I’m just rubbish at giving myself me, time. If I’m not writing I’m cleaning or out somewhere and writing is my time in a way, but doesn’t do my body any good just my mind. Haha. And that needs time, believe me.

 

My dream is to be a writer in the South of France or Italy. With the beach at my back door and my house is a whitewashed house with a pool and a room for massage and relaxing, yoga and around me is the smell of lemons.

 

Each day would start with yoga. Then breakfast on the veranda of freshly squeezed oranges and fresh crusty bread and cheese bought that morning locally. Hub could be getting that as I’m having my time. Smile. His time would come later as of course we would have our own personal masseuse, well if he’s lucky, otherwise if he’s been naughty, then he will get a big burly brute of a masseur.

 

And I shall keep dreaming.

Oh, and popping…