Granmarpunk

9 months and 8 days. 40 weeks. 6768 hours. 406,080 minutes. 24,364,800 seconds. (Tagging might be annoying, but it's stuff I'd LIKE you all to read, even if you DON'T, I tried!) My life was put on hold. A baby who wouldn't stop crying turned into a baby who wanted a cuddle, who became a baby with a lump in his tummy, which became a growth on his liver, which became a trip to Brisbane within an hour, which was meant to only last 3 or 4 days, which lasted 9 months. Never once did I consider the concept that having a baby might mean losing my baby. I always assumed that once the pregnancy was over, that everything would be fine, just don

Written the other night: I sit outside the laundromat trying to look busy so that the strange, buck-toothed old man doesn't approach me with questions about my easter. It's about 9pm on a monday night. I don't like talking to older men in laundromat's after dark. It's creepy. They always come across as having an alternate agenda than just discussing the weather. So here I sit, on a bench next to the main road, watching cars pass with gusto. I can't see the people inside, but I assume they watch me. Even if they're not. I flick through my iPod, trying to find something to motivate me, but I feel I'm swimming against the stream, getting now

Here I am, a desperate attempt to make something of what a lot of people have called talent. It's more tedious than I ever believed! Oh well. I'm trying! About meeeee.... Where to start? I've spent almost the last 9 months in a different state to home, because my now 22 month old son (Who was only 15 months at the time) was diagnosed with cancer. He had a liver transplant on christmas day, so he's rid the cancer with the aid of an amazing group of talented surgeons, doctors and medical personnel alike, and with a great huge scar slashed across his stomach, that I'm sure, when the time comes, will woo all the girls with ease. Every time I