I love writing, it’s what I think about, dream about, fantasize about. My head is chock-a-block with long stories and one-sentence ideas and pictures made of words and the beginning of some novel and the end of another. And yet, I spend 400 percent more time thinking about writing than actually, well, writing. Does this happen to you? I can’t imagine Picasso yapping on about how a bunch of sunflowers would make a rad painting. Or Oscar Pistorius lying on the couch, eating Nik Naks, pondering running at the speed of a cheetah.
‘Just Do It’. Nike said it first, or at least the loudest. And maybe they’ve been right all along. But why does it seem so impossible? What cruel twist of fate makes the act of doing something that brings you joy, feel so frightening? As if you are standing, in your Lady gaga meat dress, in front of a one-eyed, salivating rottweiler, but you have no choice, because that meat dress makes you feel alive and happy and Here.
I have no conclusion, dear ameezing reader. No neat rounding up and boomerang-ing back to Picasso and Nik Naks. Just a worded throwing up of hands at my myself. A literary slap in the face. And ass. To get moving.
Doing what you love even though it terrifies you: Ameezing.
Last week, these moments had me looking a little longer.
Just over a week ago now, I moved into a lovely, old flat with my brother, Joel. I love everything about the space. The way the sunlight falls in crossword blocks across the wooden lounge floor, the way we call the front room turned work space ‘the studio’, the way the mismatched, vintage cutlery lies just so in the cutlery draw. Yes, this is love and I’ve fallen hard. So now, my eyes are freshly peeled (eeww) for wonderous and interesting things to fill this beloved space with. Here is the inevitable post of some ameezing ideas for playing house house.
[These pics come from a maze of picture references in a file whose filing system is like throwing papers into a wind machine and running around with a shoe box like it’s a butterfly net. I’m not able to say where they are from. If you know, please holler. That would be ameezing.]
Yes, love is patient, love is kind… But love is a bunch of other stuff too. Like unglamourous, unexpected and sometimes in forms that knock your socks off and leaves your heart all a-pounding before you had even realised there was a beat.
I don’t just mean the ‘…sitting in a tree’ kind of love. But the love of a friend who, during a wedding when you are crying your eyes out, lets you wipe your snotty nose on the sleeve of her new Country Road jacket. The love of a Mom who, even though you are terrible at replying, sends smses to wish you a good day. Of endlessly supportive and ameezing brothers. Of partners who teach you about calmness, happiness and wasabi. And of the people who you share life with, who let you be yourself. Um, I love you.
[Picture Source Unknown]
James’ exact words in his email were “I would give my puppy to a homeless man for…” Cars and girls. Not just any car or any girl. This fancy pants, black Ferrari 308 GTS (like Magnum PI used to drive, James tells me). I don’t know much about cars, I drive a Daihatsu (Air con and SIX cup holders, what more could a gal ask for?) but I can see why you’d be giving your pets away for this sleek, retro ameezingness.
And Natalie, ah Natalie. I think it’s safe to say we would all sell our puppies for Natalie Portman. Or give them to her. Whichever Natalie wanted. Nice One James.
Wait, don’t call the SPCA before checking out the original puppy selling wish list here and The Lovely Cara’s puppy selling wish list here. Send your wish list to camillajvv(at)gmail(dot)com and see it on Ameezing too.
Ameezing is super excited to announce a guest post coming soon! Watch this space…