Collaborations of Abstraction

Rebecca A. Watson:

I love me some blogging advice and I think this is a good mix of practical and esoteric. Enjoy!

Originally posted on HarsH ReaLiTy:

I’m still relatively new out here but I was your poster blogger for clueless newbies a year ago. I wasn’t familiar with blogs; it was a friend who introduced me to WordPress. Once he sat me in my dash and taught me how to pilot the thing, I just wrote like I was drunk. Well, writing is one thing but getting it out there another. These are some things I wish I’d known in the cyberworld fresh off the ship from Earth.

1. Don’t wait last-minute to come up with a good title. After putting in all that thought and time into the post, I would scrounge for a good title just before publishing. There were times I didn’t do justice to the text just because I hadn’t prepared. I’ve since learned: good title, good views. It’s our first – and possibly last – shot at inviting a reader in. It…

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Rebecca A. Watson:

When is the last time you too a leap of faith like this? Sometimes in order for amazing things to happen, you need to create space for them to land in your life.

Originally posted on The Well:

For most of my twenties I focused on becoming financially independent, but as I drew closer to my thirtieth birthday, there was a shift.

Is living for a paycheck a safe choice? Is living for something we believe in a scary choice? I’ve been thinking a lot about how we define “risk” in our lives. It is often described by monetary loss or gain. We equate a job with security and those pursuits that don’t lead to financial stability or material comfort are risky.

Risk is the potential of losing something of value.

What do we consider valuable? It may be financial security; we want to clear our debts or invest in a home. It may be artistic satisfaction; we want to make something meaningful and put it out into the world. It may be love; we want to nurture those closest to us or build a family. These values vary from person to person…

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Rebecca A. Watson:

So often I would wonder if I met the “definition” of an alcoholic. Like, if I took some test and was told definitively that yes, I had a problem, then I would get help. It would’ve been great to have read this article then. Not sure if I would’ve listened, but hey! I’m sharing it on my site because maybe it will help someone else :)

Originally posted on FitFatFood- Blogging to Stay Sober:

I was looking through old computer bookmarks this morning, and I came across this wonderful article by Veronica Valli. She could not have made answering the question ‘An am I an alcoholic?’ easier for me. My experience of alcoholism, which she summarises so wonderfully here, is that it’s about how I THINK and FEEL as much as how I drank. That’s why it’s been really hard to explain to my binge drinking friends I’ve confided in how I differ to them, without turning myself inside out before their eyes. 

Have a read of the article, and take a look at Veronica’s site, which I have found packed full of great insights:

Am I an alcoholic?

That’s a very good question.

Are you?

Image courtesy of luigi diamanti /

In all honesty, there is no straightforward answer to that and whichever ‘expert’ or professional you speak to will give you a totally different, if not conflicting…

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Rebecca A. Watson:

I haven’t been writing on this blog for a LONG time but have decided to start reblogging and writing some poetry, which I did last week. I thought this would be a fitting start to my reblogging: fitness, health and being lucid. Another reason to skip the booze right now (Neptune Retrograde), even if you don’t have “a problem.”

Originally posted on taking a new path:

yum yum London!

yum yum London!

this title is taken from a recent Guardian article, How does alcohol affect your athletic performance? thought others might find it as interesting as I did, not just from an athletic perspective but also from a “why the hell aren’t I losing weight now I’ve stopped drinking?” one.

the whole article is well worth reading but the two key points for me were, firstly, that the dehydration caused by consuming alcohol is an appetite suppressant. so when we stop drinking excessively our natural hunger levels return to a higher level than that to which we are accustomed. it is not just a matter of subtracting the calories we are no longer consuming as wine, because our natural, appropriate appetites are returning and we need to re-accustom ourselves to those levels. which is no easy task given that many of us have at best a fragile truce with…

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Sitting modestly in the corner,
pipes and hoses hidden from view
in the most abused nook of home.

Every morning I greet
your jaws to the promise
of less sighs, more snuggle time
my exploded workspace
no longer an excuse
no more a source for
my barely controlled contempt
bringing me back to the place where nothing was
ever done
right (?)

Water-spotted goblets for wine
or sparkling juice pitchers
I’m certainly no connoisseur
of clean.

Your low rumble sings
me to sleep as my mind dreams
of fluffy soufflés
rich chocolate tart
moist spicy crisp pork,
pulled and set on toasted love
with a side of
my newest vinegary concoction.

Not once does the nightmare surface,
the ugly hangover of
my kitchen ambition.
You sweep it all away
for me to begin again
my menu’s manifesto.

I’m wearing my skinny jeans I bought in Norway, with sky blue socks pulled over them. Padding down the sidewalk in my red ballet flats, I head down  a dark tunnel toward a dark sea and grey sky. It’s like a reverse sort of Wizard of Oz.

Sante’s with me and we hear the whales before we see them. They click like dolphins do, and I coo back to them. That’s when they start to breach. Sante runs back to grab his camera.


I walk down the tunnel, understanding now it’s a boat landing with a very deep harbor. Folks kayak around with all of their worldly possessions heaped in their little boats. The whales erupt from the water around them.

I coo again and again, walking closer and closer to the landing. The sand and cement meld together and disappear under the dark liquid of the ocean.

My stomach lurches as I hear an answer to my calls, much closer than I expected. A duck-billed whale leaps into the air and up toward the sky. I shake my head, trying to clear my eyes and run closer.

The great sea creature lunges out of the water again, this time right at the end of the landing. Too close, I think as I back up from the water. But I know it’s too late. I edge backwards, leaning into the cement, praying the sand will give underneath.

Its great body leans up out of the sea and toward me, its duck-billed face bearing down on my frightened figure. I  stop fighting, knowing that I can do nothing but wait for it to crush me.

I watch and see now the real beauty of this giant coming toward me. I smile, reach out my hands and greet it.

The bill washes over me, along will cold salt water. It caresses me, and coos at me in a much more beautiful, haunting voice than I could ever imitate. It slides down the landing and back into the dark water.

I lay there, heart beating in my ears and my chest, staring at the grey sky. This key from the sea, it will be my salvation. I race away to tell Sante.

beach footprints

Counting invisible calories.
The regression begins.
My hometown returns to find me acceptable.
Refuse to use the toilet until it can’t wait.
Fear of the bathroom at night.
My hands live in constant fists.
Bottles empty without any satisfaction.
Journals filled with impossible questions.
People I love may appear further away than they appear.
May November 26th just effing get here.


“What are you doing now?”

“Are you going to college?”

“Will you bring some wine for Thanksgiving?”

“Not that much.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I miss you.”

Y’know that’s why everyone is uncomfortable around you.”

“Do you like them better than us?”

“Why don’t you want to come home?”

“I’m making turkey for the first time.”

“Mom made Aunt Sheryl answer the phone”

“He’s still not home.”

“Your boobs have gotten bigger.”

“These ni**ers coming into my shop…the way they say sausage, I just can’t stand it.”

“Have another drink. You know, you’re welcome to stay overnight.”

“Where are you going?”

“Why don’t you invite us?”


“If you want, you’re always welcome at our house.”

“How are you?”

“The bread you baked looks amazing.”

“Let’s leave the kitchen. We can do the dishes later.”

“Our neighbor is stopping in for dinner.”

“Alex, Dad’s renter is coming too.”

“Wouldn’t it be great if there was a giant planet right in the sky? Bigger than the moon?”

“Palm trees are like giant, skinny pineapples.”

“Can you teach me to crochet?”

“A friend picked these mushrooms.”

“Don’t you wish that our planet had, like three moons?”

“Yeah, but then the ocean would be crazy.”

“You couldn’t surf.”

“Or live here.”

“I love you.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

Collaborations of Abstraction

Two close (though, unfortunately, not in proximity) friends–a Welsh man living in Ireland and a Minnesotan woman living in California–come together to share musings, wit and random things of interest in this journey called life




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