ness talks about life

i’m not dead

Time flies by, pretty quick, huh? One moment, you’re looking at the snow (IN APRIL) and really wishing winter would hurry up and leave already – the next you are nursing a nice sunburn. (This probably has more to do with my natural deathly milk white paleness English Rose complexion.)


I’ve been living in Canada for the better part of a year now, and boy oh boy, do I miss my books. (Oh. And my family. Them too.)


Okay. Fine. I haven’t. I’ve drafted lots and lots of blog posts (probably five. or four. or three) – rants and ravings about winter and loathing coats and wonderful things like that, but – much like my ability to sprout wings and fly and boil eggs and that sort of thing – they never happened.

I am alive though. Even though I seem to try very hard not to be; I still sometimes look the wrong way when crossing the road. Bad idea. Very bad idea.

PROOF OF LIVENESS. (Is it even me though?)


This year has been like one giant working holiday. (With emphasis on the working.) I work pretty much full-time, harass colleagues with Very Bad And Punny Jokes, harass everyone with Very Bad And Punny Jokes, have a weekend adventure or two, sing, go for long romantic side-walk walks for one, visit the library, hang out with friends, speak Very Bad French, spend money wisely, and occasionally put my big girl socks on and write.

Okay. So the walk has happened twice, one of my friends deserted me for England, and I don’t visit the library all the time. Pfft. (I just get a shelf load of books out and stare at them lovingly.)

I do think that buying an expensive top which pictures a cat riding a unicorn to be a good investment.┬áThink about it; the top is clothing. Clothing stops you from being naked. BOOM. It’s vital.

recent weekend adventure: A tulip festival


Yes!!!! I do. I do.

(But, not in a marriage sense.)

I – she of the pen name Ness Kingsley – am going to a gym tomorrow. Yes. I know. WHAAAATTTT?!!!!!! How exciting. And very, very all-the-world-does-it-or-has-a-membership-they-don’t-use of you. I’ve never set a toe in a proper one before. I fully expect to develop abs on my thighs by mere osmosis. It’ll totally happen!

thumbs up.gif


Okay. Gather round, friends – time for a quick life lesson in the form of two quotes from me:

Gee! Let me use this used make-up with its used make-up brushes! Why golly gosh! Nothing bad will happen!

me – tuesday evening

Oh. Bother.

me – wednesday morning

Infection. That’s what happens. (Infection or an allergic reaction, but probably most likely an infection.)

Infection and red, red demon eyes that look like you’ve:

  • just murdered someone
  • been strangled
  • cried buckets and buckets of soul tears because of Infinity Wars

Don’t be me, kids. Don’t use used make-up brushes or make-up. Yes, the war face you made was EPIC, but was it worth it? Was it really worth it?

No … well, probably not.

(The war face was pretty epic.)

ness rambles, ness talks about life

Dedicated Cat Lady Supporter

Reading with cat. (Georgiana Chitac):
via Pinterest

I really want to know what the problem with being a cat lady is. Or – even worse! – an old cat lady. And even worse than that (perish the thought!) – an old unmarried cat lady. With knitting needles. And rocking chair.

Because who makes the rules? Who says that an unmarried cat lady is a someone who has had a disappointing life? Why should the fact that you’ve not got an old cat-owning man at your side bring stigma?

What if you sit on the battered old rocking chair because your battle wounds ache, you knit with knitting needles that you can throw with deadly accuracy (pin a fly’s wings at twenty paces!) and your cats are rescued from an Evil Drugs Testing Company?

Or, to be more realistic: what if you’re unmarried because you chose to be alone, but not lonely? There are a thousand reasons why a single, cat owning lady becomes who she is, and none of them are ‘failure at life’.

Ending up single doesn’t nullify your life and what you’ve done. It doesn’t make you worth less than a married woman with a bustling and steadily growing clan of grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

Your value is still the same – infinite in the eyes of God.

Each life is different. Becoming a cat lady – unmarried, single and growing aged – is not the same as catching the Bubonic Plague.

The point of this ramble can be put simply thus:

don’t dis them cat ladies.

-signed, a dedicated cat lady supporter