Hello and welcome to Love in the Time of the Pre-Apocalypse, an anxious little blog about anxious little things. What you’ll find here are essentially the musings, anecdotes, and anxieties of a young suburbanite in the 21st century. Enchantée.
What is love in the time of the pre-apocalypse? The ramblings of a mad woman? Anxiety? Some honesty for once? Or is it simply just angsty teenage bullshit from someone who’s too old to be an angsty teenager, but skipped that stage in high school and has to make up for it now? I might say all of the above. What it is is un-pegging the washing from the line outside because it’s all beginning to smell like smoke, whilst rapidly being eaten by mosquitoes, causing you to wonder, if vampires were to exist, would you be totally screwed or would you manage to pull a Bella and snag an Edward? Love in the time of the pre-apocalypse is unpegging the washing from the line outside because it’s all beginning to smell like smoke and feeling guilty about daydreaming about something so ridiculously trivial as cute (if extremely problematic) vampires when your country is quite literally burning down around you. But then…what else is there to do? I am honestly asking. Because I have no fucking clue. Love in the time of the pre-apocalypse is that reflex in the thumb that endlessly swipes left. It’s the cat who makes good company while he’s begging for attention, but then casually slaughters a rat in the corner of the bedroom at 1am. It’s the moment you’re standing in the middle of a climate protest and it hits you like a tonne of bricks that you can never have children, not now at least, because this has become a selfish want. It is the crying that happens in the car on the way back to an empty house. It’s not pretty, or neat, or easy. But it’s also not without its moments. Love in the time of the pre-apocalypse is laughing for a full twenty minutes because you’ve never come across the card in Cards Against Humanity about the micro-pig wearing a raincoat and teeny tiny booties and you think it might be the cutest thing a human being could possibly conceive of. It’s all the inside jokes you have with your sisters, all the movies you can quote, all the poetry and the books that shatter you and all the ones that make your barely-smothered laughter on the bus sound like a pug’s breathing after it’s run 20 metres. It’s the family you’re blessed with and the family you choose and its every moment that tells you that you couldn’t have chosen better. Hope is a funny word and never quite accurate. Hope implies a feeling that things will get better, that the pre-apocalypse will never become apocalypse. This is not what I know. It may sound awfully bleak, but it’s not where I’m at right now. So no, these moments are not moments of hope, but simply moments of peace. Moments that make the idea of impending doom a little less scary. And they are moments I never forget to be grateful for. So. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here, but don’t forget to laugh like a pug, swipe right occasionally, picture micro pigs in tiny booties, eventually forgive the cat because he’s just being a cat, and daydream about Edward Cullen (but never Jacob Black. If you’re team Jacob, you can get off my blog.) All my love (anxious or otherwise), Gillian
1 Comment
Lauren
19/2/2020 13:31:58
Such a beautifully written, truthful introduction, cannot wait to read more!!
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Love in the time of the pre-apocalypseWelcome to my blog! And good luck to you. What you'll find here are the musings, anecdotes, and anxieties of a young suburbanite in the 21st century. Archives
January 2024
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