Anna Spargo-Ryan – Page 27 – Anna Spargo-Ryan

Author: Anna Spargo-Ryan

Must keep typing

I'm typing because everyone knows what will happen if I don't. I'll pick up the damn phone and I'll press the stupid buttons and have a conversation that doesn't fix anything and then cry until I'm ninety. It wouldn't even be the right conversation. My prediction


Sunday night

I used to dread Sunday night. Everything from 4pm onwards felt like winding down, and there's nothing I like less than winding down. The feeling of inevitable endings. I used to fear that moment at about 7pm on Sundays when the nighttime crept around and


But then writing poured out

“I don’t want to be in this relationship anymore.” Hang on, this isn’t what we rehearsed! Take it back! He’ll leave! “I can’t - I hate it. We fight constantly. When we’re not fighting, I’m just waiting for us to start fighting. Even when it’s good. It


Writing is broken

It's a funny thing, being too depressed to write. And by 'funny' I mean 'so horrifically unfair and devastating', P.S. I write much better about the sad things when I'm not sad (though it usually takes me a couple of days afterward to feel anything


Out of my depth

This afternoon I met with Georgia's teacher again, to discuss the ongoing friendship and social issues that she's having. More and more, she comes home from school with tears in her eyes and with her little shoulders slumped and that is just not on. Part of


Mothers’ Group

I've just started reading the widely and highly acclaimed The Mothers' Group. Obviously, this has given me cause to reflect on my own experiences with mothers' groups. When Georgia was a baby, I made a proper effort to make friends with other people with babies.


Mother Crime

I am a terrible, awful parent. Lily was brushing her hair in the car on the way to school. That's not The Crime, though it might sound like one. No, what happened after that was that Georgia thought Lily was brushing too slowly, so she grabbed


I talk to my dog about boobs

Here's an excerpt of a piece I wrote for Mamamia on the superficiality of breast implants: After reading an article a little while ago about women’s superficiality in the matter of breast implants, I became flummoxed, furrowing my brow and scratching my noggin. Why was it, I thought,