seeking eldorado in finery and garters
enshrouding every flaw with the vigour of a martyr

commit cheap parlour tricks to relinquish prying eyes
stifling your melodies to melancholic chimes

buried deep beneath your velveteen cordon of pretence
pearlescent dreams swim slow in marbled confluence

won’t you shed the carrion you bear across your back
and relent the mask to bare the skin you buried under rags



Bet you thought you’d got rid of me, huh?

Sorry to disappoint.

It’s been a hella-long while… I’ve been super-duper busy since September, so I shall fill you in…

I started my Upper Sixth. A2 Levels have already killed me. You are talking to the spirit of Zae from beyond the grave. Reporting live from the circle of hell reserved for students with no motivation. WAHEEYY.

They’re not completely bad though. Some lessons are super fun and I sent off my university applications so I should be starting to (hopefully, fingers-crossed, touch wood, pray to the lord jesus mary and joseph hallelujah praise the lord almighty pie in the sky pls pls pls) get offers sooooon.


There is also a boy.

An actual boy.

No, I did not make him up.

No, he is not fictional.

And, no, I did not brainwash/hypnotise/indoctrinate/blackmail him (promise).

I met him late October time at a party, and we’ve been together ever since and yah. I’m grinning like un poco idiota right now and yeah and it makes me really happy and he’s already helped me cross of like four things on my bucket list and it’s kind of great because i’m super comfortable around him and i’m just totally and completely–

soz snape.


I can’t think of anything else to talk about.

I’ve embarrassed myself a lot in the past few months (surprise, surprise).

why did i even say that that’s not an update it’s a bloody dispositional trait i. am. an. idiot.

OOOH I’ve recently become unhealthily obsessed with a TV show called Teen Wolf and I’m in love with it!! It literally has the most attractive cast I think I have ever seen in my LIFE. Crystal Reed’s jawline anyone??? Or Daniel Sharman. Or DYLaN o’bRiEN oH mY lORd.


Right now I should be revising for the mock exams I have this week (had an English Language one today and i swear the school is out to destroy ma frickin carpal tunnel i wrote two essays in two and a half hours and i am deaded). Tomorrow I have psychology (hahahahahahahaha no pls no) and Wednesday is English Literature. Fack.

I should really start caring about my education more.

But anywhoo, I’m going to try and keep up le blogging because I do really love writing (even though i just ramble like a lunatic) so I’ll try keep you posted on life.




A Response to ‘Wintergirls’


Warning: This book is possibly triggering, so please keep this in mind if you are thinking about or currently reading it.

I had vaguely heard about this book before I read it.

A whirlwind of controversy, criticism, and above all, praise.

It deals with the ever-contentious issue of anorexia and eating disorders, along with elements of depression and other mental health issues.

I picked it up when I saw it on display in my school library. I delved into it completely unaware of the fact I was being thrown into what is probably the most affecting book I have ever opened.

The story itself begins with the narrator, 18-year-old Lia Overbrook, learning of the death of her former best friend, Cassie.

Following this, it quickly becomes clear that Lia suffers from anorexia, her mind, and consequently her narration, riddled with conflict between the need to eat and the urge to starve, between her needs and her compulsions; between reality and what lurks within her mind, pushing her further and further to become less and less.

The first thing that grabbed me about Wintergirls is the style of writing. It’s almost like new-age Virginia Woolf in the way that it meanders and diverts and settles within the narrator’s conscious so that it is no longer the author forming the words, it is the character.

It’s not just the conventional layout of words on a line on a page that Anderson uses; there are smatterings of crossings out, words dotted over the page and, in one instance, a three page spread of “Must. Not. Eat.” that really made me think I was just reading a direct transcription of Lia’s thoughts.


I’m not going to sugarcoat this – Wintergirls is bleak. There’s no tiptoeing around the nitty-gritty on Anderson’s part. She doesn’t shy away from making Lia undeniably, achingly real, no matter how hard it is.

That being said, there is one point I cannot stress enough: it would have been very, very easy for Anderson to make this book morbid and nihilistic and with no redeeming element to such a disturbing subject matter. There is hope though; a brief shimmer of optimism that alleviates some of the grief within it. Still, do not expect to finish this book without feeling changed.

I’ve been prettily dancing around the point here. I felt the compulsion to write this response because I can’t remember ever being affected so deeply by a book before. Sure, The Fault in Our Stars made me tear up a little, and of course, Perks of Being a Wallflower made me think after I closed the cover. But Wintergirls? This is a whole other league of personal.

I’m going to deflate the elephant in the room now and admit that I used to have an eating disorder, and I am still not entirely positive about myself.

At one point in this book, I honestly thought that it was going to end up being a trigger. And in a way, that is a compliment. Nothing else I have ever read has come close to describing how I felt when I was in the depths of my low points. Nothing has fully encapsulated the real helplessness of it all. It’s a constant onslaught of self-doubt and inward hatred and punishing yourself for being too alive.

Wintergirls is the only book gutsy enough to face up to that in a raw and painfully truthful manner; it shoves itself under the noses of those who turn away from issues such as anorexia and demands to be heard. It makes for a difficult read, but it rewards the reader a thousand times over with its unique insight.

It’s a twisted compliment, but a compliment nonetheless.

I read this book on Wednesday.

It hasn’t left my mind since.

Today is Friday.

I want to hate this book for dredging up all of the feelings I’d worked so carefully to bury. I wanted to absolutely slate it and dismiss it as another sob-story teen fic. But it isn’t. It is so so far from it.

I finally feel as if someone who has not suffered from an eating disorder really understands what it’s like to want to wake up in a different skin or not wake up at all.

If I could say one thing to Laurie Halse Anderson, it would be thank-you — for being uncompromisingly, unapologetically honest. The fact is, this book does not purport to be an anorexic bible, nor does it claim to be a manifesto for tearing down the disorder.

It is a story told in a voice that will stay with me for as long as my memory does.

It is a pure, unadulterated truth.

Nothing more, nothing less.


Updates and Promises

It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

Sorry about that.


The last two weeks have been frantic to say the least.

My first day back at school was last Tuesday. Upper Sixth is killing me already and I haven’t even finished the second week yet. The workload is ridiculous and the pace is slaughtering my brain, one neuron at a time.

And nowadays, all anyone can talk about is UCAS and university and predicted grades and resits and modules and applications and references and personal statements and futures and jobs and preparations and the rest of our lives and life and life and life and more life rolled on top of it.




On a lighter note, I had my first driving lesson! It scared the bejeezus out of me, but it was good. I managed to get up to 60mph on the drive home, which I was pretty proud about.

Aaaaaand, I’ve recently been finding a load of new music since I’ve started to use SoundCloud, so if you have any spare seconds, check out Ben Khan (listen to Youth) or Made In Heights (check out All The Places). They’re both amazing and I’ve been listening to them both on loop for days.



I will post more. No, really.

I will try to stay more positive and not have these stupid falterings in confidence that translate into shitty blog posts about how purportedly fucked up I am as a person.

I will try to make my blog posts less shitty overall, to be honest. I’m uppin ma gaaame mothafuckah.

Oh, and I’ll try to stop swearing as much. I know some people don’t like that. So I’ll try to replace said expletives with nicer words. Like… flowerpot.





I have a new post in the works, so that’ll be on its way out to y’all soon. It’s about a book I read yesterday (yes, I read it in a day) called Wintergirls, and it’s accounts the story of a girl called Lia Overbrook who suffers from anorexia nervosa. This book made me wince in all the wrong ways, and I want to hate it but I can’tI can’t because it’s true. It’s the truest book I’ve read in a long time.


Much like to y’all



Ah, I love airports.

Howdy, y’all!

So, right now I’m sitting in a shopping area at Heathrow trying not to stare at a woman wearing the most absurd hat in existence.

Imagine a plain black snapback cap.

Now add pink fluffy trim.

Then add the words “Mummy Swag” in little jewel studs along the front.

As I said, pretty absurd.

This is why I love airports. They attract every kind of person from the farthest reaches of the world and chuck them together in a confined space.

Plus, the place has a feeling of transience about it, where a unique set of people momentarily cross paths in a situation that within itself is so wholly unlikely that it makes the entire instance seem astounding…

That sounds very pseudo-philosophical, but oh well.

Back to people-watching.

A group of Japanese tourists is walking past.

They all have matching hats on, this is glorious.

Okay, what the hell just happened?!

Here I am, minding my own business, and an elderly woman from the Japanese group turns to me and says,

“You are cute white girl! We like cute white girl!”

That said, she snaps a photo of me and scuttles away.

Whatever floats your boat, I guess.

Oh God. I’m sat on those rows of chairs arranged back-to-back with other rows, and there’s a man behind me snoring and his head looks like it is dangerously close to lolling back onto my shoulder.

Please no.



Oh no.








oh thank god he woke up.

Crisis averted.

I’m now at outside a Yo! Sushi.

I nearly got run over by one of those buggy things on the way here.

In all fairness, the guy who was driving it looked like he was on a homicidal rampage.

And there was an old guy in the back egging him on, wielding his walking stick like he was some sort of warlord.


I’m about to get on a flight to Warsaw, and I have no idea whether I’ll have internet access in the hotel so if I go AWOL for the rest of the week, that’s why.

Also, if anyone has ever been to Warsaw and recommends anything to do in particular, please let me know!

Much like!


Anecdotes., Uncategorized

Shopping Pandemonium

This was a shopping excursion with me and my mother.

It was bound for chaos from the outset.

We went to Costco (it’s basically a huge warehouse that sells products in bulk to representatives of businesses etc.)

The journey wasn’t exactly harmonious.

The short of it is that we ended up taking a wrong turn, swearing profusely, cutting up three lanes of angry rush hour traffic and getting eyeballed by a creepy businessman at some traffic lights.


Okay, at this point I’m going to do a quick blame-shifting exercise: the trolleys at Costco are humungous (you could probably fit two of me in there, for crying out loud) and the back wheels don’t turn side-to-side so you’re basically throwing the thing around a corner and praying you don’t take out a nun or something.

This will be of import later on.


We went in and grabbed our complementary coffee/tea (cool, right?) and started to mooch.

On our right, there were flatscreen TVs, games consoles, mobile phones, all the flashy tech you could imagine.

On our left, there was a massive cabinet of expensive jewellery, some with rocks so big they looked fake.

And what did the mother say?

“OH MY GOD. LOOK. THEY HAVE VARIABLE VOLUME STORAGE!” and ran away to basically fangirl over glorified plastic boxes.

So I slid away to look at the books, and was disappointed. Nothing but airport fiction. I did see a pair of gorgeous black Levi’s but they didn’t have my size (me cries.)

Upon meeting up with the motherbird again, we went up to the foodstuffs section, and this is where I renewed my daily tradition of horrifically embarrassing myself.

My first mistake?

I offered to push the trolley.

Bad, bad idea.

So I was trundling along, and we found ourselves in a long stretch of empty aisle.

I don’t know about any of you, but I cannot restrain myself in these situations.

I slowly backed up to the end of the aisle and psyched myself up.

Then, I ran full pelt for a few feet, jumping onto the back of the trolley and flying at hyperspeed down the aisle.

Just before the end I leaped off and pulled the trolley to a halt, giggling like an idiot.

And then I looked behind me.

Three shop employees were staring after me, a mix of confusion and utter bewilderment on their faces.

I just grinned and ran off. Well, as fast as you can run with a trolley laden with enough ground coffee and peanut butter to last a couple of decades.


We carried on having a browse (ducking behind nearby crates when one of the employees materialised who beared witness to my trolley land-speed record) and stocked up on enough everything to survive a few apocalypses and then some.

At one point, I got a little over-zealous with my trolley-handling and I didn’t bother to look when I turned a corner.

I literally came about a centimetre away from full-on mowing down a child. He looked about six and I think I may have inadvertently made him shit his pants.

Oh, did I mention that my evade-making-child-pâté manoeuvre involved off-roading onto an empty crate, almost capsizing my overloaded trolley and nearly T-boning a little old lady carrying an industrial sized pack of napkins?


I managed to get out of the place without killing myself/anyone else thankfully.

The only things I gained from the experience were chicken noodles and an affirmation of my dorkishness.

So yeah.

I’m essentially disaster-on-legs.

At least it makes a good (ish) blog post though.



I regret nothing.


Izaezel: wreaking havoc on wholesale supermarket chains since 1997



Quick sidenotes: I ended up deleting the last post I published (The ‘Proactive’ Summer) because it sounded plain stupid. Sorry for any glitchiness that may have occurred because of that.

Aaaand a superquick THANK-YOU. My follower count has shot up by about 25 in less that two weeks (that may sound pitiful to some of you luminaries of the blogosphere, but it’s all proportional). For me it’s pretty crazy that y’all would want to read my rants/ramblings/the crap that spouts out of my brain, so it means a lot. In other words: you’re marvellous


Birthday Celebrations… Yay Or Nay?

I am faced with a potentially awkward predicament (what am I talking about my whole life is an awkward predicament urgh).

My birthday is next week.

I don’t really like my birthday.

*Cue cries of indignation and disbelief*

I know!

All the pomp and being the centre of attention and being spoiled really isn’t me.

Plus the awkwardness of receiving presents. For some reason I hate possibility that someone would stress out/spend their money on me.

I’m bad at seeming thankful as well. My only marketable talent is that I’m a world-class liar, but whenever I say I like a present, even if I actually do, I don’t sound at all genuine.

I tend to go down one of three routes with my thank-yous:

1.     fakesmile

Stupidly-bad polite smile (usually reserved for distant relatives, grandparents and those of a sensitive/touchy disposition)

2.     sobeautiful

Overly emotional breakdown due to the perfection of the gift — frequently accompanied by blubbing, delirium and visits to the local mental hospital.

3.     heathermorris-freakingout

(My personal favourite) All-out, full-on, no-holds-barred freakout. Expect hyperventilation, smashing surrounding objects and a strong possibility of passing out.

So, besides the gift-related weirdness, why else don’t I like to celebrate the anniversary of my entry into existence?

The P Word.

I’m fine with them when it’s just casual, but when it’s for my birthday I don’t want to disappoint and I feel a load of pressure and…





you sick people.



So, no.

Also, my drunk dancing is HORRENDOUS. I literally channel this gorgeous specimen:






So, I’m leaning towards a big, fuckoff NAYYYYY right now.

Eurgh, I can’t even think about it *shudder*



What do you guys think?