Rosetinted

Some things I have, as a modern person, come to rely on whether or not, evolutionary speaking, it does me a scrap of good. I am a good few generations in from having to make fire or dig a well for water. Perhaps, I am a dullard from becoming too soft and reliant on switching a switch for survival and placing my basic needs in the care of others but, in my defence, I have known no other way and I cannot recall much protest from those who inhabit the western world. Of course there has been moments when we realise the whole earth does not wake each morning to running water or functioning electricity, but on the whole - most of us pampered folk have fashioned our lives around these two facts: we will wake up with clean water and electricity.  For many of us, our survivalist skills are all but forgotten, hence the abundance of adrenaline that courses around our veins. Living without a daily near death experience to expend it we've become anxious of shadows and invented fears amongst ou

I am well acquainted with one of the many formulae of genius, there is a theory that any reasonably intelligent person will reach 'genius' status just through the amount of hours they dedicate themselves to the acquisition of a skill or knowledge.  I have used this theory to try and cajole myself to partake in daily practise: you know the kind of things: yoga, running, writing etc etc. I have tried and failed. Yet, I do not fail at daily practise, I can eat, sleep, urinate and defecate with daily precision, even so I am still not a genius nor skilled at the ablutions I manage to do daily.  View this post on Instagram A post shared by Deborah Darko Davies (@roseytintz) Over the years I have persuaded myself into 'little and often'- that is the most I have managed to achieve: I often run, little. I write little, often and I continue to do little yoga, frequently. Little and often is the way to go, I reassure myself. With this in mind, I have begun

Somewhere on some social media outlet, I made vague promises that this week's lockdown journal would be on the subject of female anger. I got about 200 words in, fueled by whisky and some musky, heavy female hormones and realised I was far too pissed off to write it. I had two options, carry on with the words I had scribbled together, because I said I would - but that just made me angry... so I thought screw it, it is my blog I will write what the hell I want.  I voiced my sentiments, mainly to myself, because no-one gave any shits, and came to understand, somewhat angrily that I had covered some of the bases- so I moved on.  And if you have a problem with that you can take it up with my manager, alright?         View this post on Instagram A post shared by Deborah Darko Davies (@roseytintz) It has been a long weekend of muddy running and promised snow. Only the snow didn't arrive (yet) and if I am really honest I am just longing for spring. I need some co