Yesterday felt like mine.
Not “mum.”
Not “organiser of everyone else’s life.”
Just me.
It started the usual way — dropping Joel to work, heading to Mum’s to help with her life admin (because I am unofficial family PA), then taking Tilly to her dad’s. The rhythm of responsibility. The constant motion.
But then something shifted.
Sarah and I had rearranged our Ashanti trip after the Wednesday fail (closed, obviously — because of course it was 🙄). We met in town with Miss E, wandered up with coffee energy and gossip momentum… and this time it was open.
Ashanti
And on a bit of a whim — because apparently I am now this woman — I got my conch pierced.
It was spicy.
Not cute spicy. Not “little sting” spicy.
Proper throbbing, radiating, “oh this is alive” pain.
But it looks beautiful. Delicate and defiant. Worth it.
After that I battled the usual Saturday traffic chaos to pick Joel up and we decided to chance it at Ritual because Stevie had walk-ins.
Ritual Tattoo
She’d just left.
Of course she had.
But — fate, timing, alignment, whatever you want to call it — she’d forgotten something and Adam texted her. Mentioned I was there. And she came back.
That felt… meant.
I’ve wanted memento mori for years. The drama of it. The Victoriana of it. The reminder that life is fragile. But Pinterest has swallowed it whole — endless skulls and scripted sameness.
So I changed it.
Amor ultra tumulum.
Love beyond the grave.
Not fear of death.
Not fixation on endings.
But love that outlives them.
It sits opposite my “stay weird,” in the same script. Balanced. Intentional. Me.
It feels aligned with everything I’ve learned lately — Gran, Dad, the fragility of bodies, the strange numbness that creeps in when life feels too heavy. I don’t need reminding that I will die. I know that.
Sometimes I need reminding to live.
And to love loudly while I’m here.
The piercing and tattoo were covered by Mum’s birthday money, which makes it feel like a layered gift — from her, from the women before me, from myself.
Joel and I washed the car later. He soaked me (accidentally allegedly) and I shouted at him like a gremlin. Then we laughed. Then we watched the last 20 minutes of our programme curled up together.
No drama.
No crisis.
Just warmth and skin and comfort.
It was a proper me day.
And I think — especially lately — I needed one of those.
Love beyond the grave.
But also love in the ordinary Saturday afternoon.
That might be the real magic. ❤️