Do a postgrad they said…

One of the big reasons I stopped blogging in March was that I decided to go back to university and get my Masters. University the first time around for me was about as far from fun as you can get. It ended up being the toughest four years of my life so far.

Growing up, I was an independent girl. I started working at 16 and had lived in different countries across Europe. I thought going to uni would be me some time so I could figure out what I wanted to do with my life. Unfortunately, I didn’t cope well with uni; the pressures and trying to fit in drove me to depression which I’ve battled ever since.


I’ve never been particularly career orientated, instead preferring to use work as a way to pay for the more fun stuff. So when someone suggested that I should look at doing an MBA, I laughed; like full-on, deep in the belly folded-over laughed. There is no way little old me was getting into an MBA program. It took 6-months of tooing and froing before I actually put in an application and had my interview. Even after I got in, I kept expecting them to call me and say “Sorry, we made a mistake.”

Nobody called and the online system even let me enrol for units of study! I started my MBA just over three months ago and it’s been absolutely mental! I’ve just finished this semester and can finally come up for some non-MBA air. I have over 25 hours of recorded TV (most of it trash) to watch and at least five weeks of washing to do.

Fun Times!

It’s All in the Lyrics

How dare he?

How fucking dare he?!

I slammed down on the emergency exit door in anger, relishing at the sting in my hands at the contact.

I stumbled out into the rain, cold on my skin from the close heat of the packed bar.

How could he do that? To me?

Had I been misreading him this whole time?

I paced as the stone-cold rain soaked me to the bone, until the exit door slammed open behind me.

“For fucks sake, Bella, why did you storm off like that?”

His eyes flashed in the pale light of the “EXIT” sign. For a second my body thrilled at the emotion but it was gone too fast, replaced with anger and confusion.

“You lied!” I pummeled my fists against his chest, feeling the solid muscle underneath.

“You said it was just for me, and then you played…” I drew a breath, my voice shaking. “In front of all those people.”

“What the hell are you going on about, Bella?”

Was he for real?

“Ah” I pounded Edward’s chest again.

Strong hands clamped down on my wrists, restraining me. Edward walked us backwards until my back met the wall.

“Stop hitting me!” He growled. “Now, what the fuck are you shouting about?”

My gaze met his. “That song,” I spat, “is my song. You said you wrote it only for me.”

“I did!”

“Why did you play it to the entire club then?” My anger dissolved and my heart broke. “How could you do that?”

Edward released my wrists, instead caging me with his hands by my head.

“If you’d have stuck around, you would have heard the dedication.” His voice grew soft. “I dedicated to the girl I’ve fallen in love. I sung it for you…to you.”

Prompt: bar, song, live
Word Count: 297 words

Skinny Dipping in September


I yanked the shirt over my head, allowing the midday breeze to kiss my skin. Peter’s already ahead of me, trying to pull off his shorts while still running. He trips over the fabric before landing in a heap on the ground.

A loud laugh echoes around us, bouncing off the surrounding trees.

“Come on, Fuller!” I yell as I dash past him.

I have the good sense to stop to remove my own bottoms, leaving me in my underwear, my shoes left somewhere near the car. I take off at full pelt again.

“Jesus, Cassie, slow down!”

Concern colours his voice, but I’m too free to pay much heed. We’ve been here thousands of times before; I know the land well.

Not even slowing down, I hurl myself over the small outcrop and down into the deep pool below. I surface laughing as the coldish water stings my skin. Looking up, Peter is staring down at me. Such a worry wart.

Without a second thought, he joins me, dragging me down for an under the water for a kiss that makes my body hunger. We horse around, enjoying the freedom to just be for a while. Our play turns heated, hands pulling each other closer. Our love is clumsy and awkward in the water, but it’s all us.

Eventually, we make our way back to the car as the day begins to wane. I can’t resist straddling Edward as he sits in the passenger seat tying his shoes.

Despite earlier, our kisses grow more passionate, more frantic. His cell phone ringing interrupts us. I groan.

“That was mom. The kids are ready.”

I go to climb off him, but he holds me still for a second.

“Promise me it will always be like this,” he whispers.


Prompt: Picture prompt
Word Count: 298 words



Those moments as you wake are bliss. They can’t be found anywhere else. As I stretch out, I feel a delicious ache that speaks of a debaucherous night where my body was played like a fine violin. I can’t help but smile.

“I told you, you’d feel me even when I wasn’t in you.”

And just like that, my bliss evaporates. John stands, leaning against the doorjamb of his en-suite. His body is the thing of Greek statues and sonnets. The smile on his face is a look of smug satisfaction that not even his low-slung towel and wet body can distract from.I school my features to protect my already fractured heart. John wants me only as his in-house booty call. I see him as so much more.

‘”Never again,” I vow silently, but who am I kidding?

I glance at his bed side clock.

“Shit, why didn’t you wake me?”

He shrugs his shoulders before dropping his towel.



Family breakfast is a mandatory requirement in the Cummingham-Hall household – like some bastardized modern-day version of The Walton’s.

I feel him before I see him. Warm fingertips slip down my arm leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. I shiver to my core. He’s my kryptonite. Slowly, he sinks into the seat beside me, his nose brushing up my neck to my ear.

“Do you still feel me?” he asks, sucking my earlobe into his mouth.

I gasp, pushing him away as my mother sits opposite us.

John’s hand finds my thigh, inching higher.

“We have an announcement.” my step-father starts.

“I’m pregnant.”

I push Johns hand away and hurry away from the table. Tears fill my eyes. Hopes are crushed, and I feel dirty. There is more than just sex between us now. There’s blood too.

Prompt: family breakfast
Word Count: 300 words

My Hashie’s Journey

back in October, I went to see the doctor about my hair falling out. Turns out that there was a lot more going on that being folically challenged. The more I chatted with my Doc, Doc M, the more it became apparent something serious was going on:

  • Skin so dry it was cracked and peeling off  
  • I put on 9kg in 6 months after maintaining a stable weight for 5 years
  • A complete loss of control of my brain and speaking mixed up words (nope, not learning a new language)
  • Deep gravelly voice that had gone from Taylor Swift to Aretha Franklin
  • Exhaustion and insomnia
  • Winter was hell, I froze pretty most most of the season – not a usual occurance in sunny Sydney
  • Pain in my shoulder joints that made boxing impossible


So off for. Whole round of blood tests, and I do mean rounds – 4 in total. Doc M also could feel a small lump in my throat. It was a wait and a half for the results but the blood tests painted a picture that maybe all to familiar for some people. My TSH (thyroid simulation hormone) was in the upper range of normal, I was ferric aneamic and my thyroid antibodies were 15 times, yes 15 times the upper normal limits. Doc M’s diagnose was Hashimotos Disease, pending ultrasound confirmation.

And this is where my Hashie’s journey started. It’s a common disease, 1 in 10 women will be diagnosed with Hashimotos, and 1 in 6 women overall will will experience hypothyroidism in their lifetime. So my blog is changing direction, at least for now. Writing is an outlet for me, and I just want to tell my Hashimotos tale. I don’t claim to be an expert, I’m certainly no WebMD on the subject, but I am a suffer imparting what little wisdom I have.

I’d love to hear from other people with Hashie’s, share your story, your advice, you shoulder to someone else who’s just begining their own Hasie’s Journey.

Why Is My Hair Falling Out?

I’ve kinda taken some time out from blogging. For around 6 months, my health has been niggling at me. Small things like gaining 10 kgs despite the fact that I was working out at the gym five times a week. I was eating much better than I used to (only one Big Mac a month instead of once a week). My hair is also falling out, I mean clog the drain, coating everything falling out. Then there was the really dry skin which made me buy shares in Garnier and the deep throat that was put down to scarring after laryngitis.

Eventually my friend convinced me to go see the Doc, even if it was just to be told to cut out the Big Mac all together (hell, no!!). So off I toddle. Doc thinks that it could be one of a couple of things; poly cystic ovary syndrome, Cushing syndrome or, given my family history, thyroid issues and so began a whole round of blood tests. I was pricked twice for more blood than would sustain a vampire and then packed off to get an ultrasound on my throat. 

I’ve got to wait a few days for the result but given the ultrasound technician said “wow, that’s some lump!” I’m not holding my breath for an easy result.

All trousers were created equal

As any woman – and probably a fair few men too – will tell you, not all trousers were created equal. I have no problem in admitting I am a curvy lady! I have that classic hourglass figure that people admire…until they try to dress it. My small waist, child-bearing hips and tree-trunk thighs that even a lumberjack would have problems with were not designed to take any trousers off the rack. For most of my adult life, I searched for the ‘perfect pant’. The one that fits at the waist but doesn’t stretch across my thighs so they look like sausages in skin. The ones that fit in the thigh but don’t gape at the waist when I sit down (a.k.a. an open invitation for frat boys to stick pencils down the gap in class)!

Levi comes with pretty close with its CurveID range – I’m a demi curve for anyone interested – but I can’t wear jeans to work. So when I learned to sew over 5 years ago, it was always with the intention of learning to sew a tailored, form-fitting, non-muffin-topping pair of Made FOR Zoe trousers. And now I’ve done it.


Presenting my own custom-fit trousers! I used a pattern as my base for developing a mock-up in calico – it was enough just to make trousers never mind draft a new pattern. I chose the Thurlow Trouser by Sewaholics – Australian sewers can purchase it from SewSquirrel without incurring the nightmare exchange and postage rates. Sewaholic patterns are specifically made for the more pear-shaped figure so their trousers are perfect for my shape. I picked my size and only had to make very minor adjustments to the thighs and straighten the flare leg. The instructions are a breeze, especially with the elements such as a zipper fly and welt back pockets, which i had never done before.

I picked up a nice cotton sateen from Spotlight as my main fabric and a cotton/silk mix for the pocket linings as I wasn’t splashing out on my first try. Cotton sateen is really easy to sew and it also has a bit of stretch to it which was perfect. As you can see from the photo, I picked a more dressy looking fabric than I would normally wear to work so me and the girls are hitting a Spanish restaurant on Friday night to officially launch my trousers – hopefully I get a “Hola Bella dama”!