Muzu Creative

    You know......, I thought this blog was going to be different. Not this particular one...all of them. When I first started I was going to write about my love with colour, my OBSESSION with Moroccan styling and all things fabric-y and textural. But it's not. This blog is about me and that's pretty much all. It seems to be an outpouring of my own thoughts to myself, about myself. I'm not sure now if anyone at all is interested in reading this. Why would they be? What is to gain? I'm not sure if it is extremely selfish and egotistical. Not sure. What I do know is that I started this blog because I wanted to write. Loved to write. Needed to write. When I'm writing my world makes sense, I feel whole. I would write more often if only I could quiet the doubt. To be honest, and in my very first blog I promised I would be, I am terribly, terribly afraid to share my writing. I am afraid of ridicule. True. Always have been, and  not only when it comes to writing, a...

Twenty years ago I asked my future husband out on a date. A group of us were going to a club and after a very serious campaign by my cousins, I nervously asked him to join us. The rest, as they say, is history. Since that fateful Saturday night in June 1994, my husband and I have not been apart for longer than five days - and that has only happened twice! I remember very early on in the relationship thinking to myself that this was too good to be true and I actually had a small fling just to test the waters. Talk about self sabotage! Luckily I saw sense and in a few short weeks, nine I think it was, he proposed. A whirl wind romance. I doubted that he could keep up the constant adoration, the constant loving touch, the willingness to fulfil my every desire. He of course told me straight out that this was the way he rolled and that nothing would ever change. So has it? Sometimes I find myself pushing him away. "For Gods Sake" I exclaim,"can I just walk past withou...

I'm sick. Toxic they tell me. A bit like the 12 step programs, owning up to it is the first step to recovery. My name is Den and I am toxic. I have been sick for so long that I don't know how it feels to be well. This is what I am being told. I am also being told that my digestive system, in its entirety, is not working. I am not receiving enough nutrients from food, my liver is compromised my bowel dysfunctional and this has all been this way probably since childhood. Oh and I am completely stressed and my adrenal system is flat and barely giving me the energy to perform any normal activity - such as going to work, cleaning the house, singing, walking...being. But wait..!I cry. That's not possible. I am the healthy one, I am the one that knows all about nutrition and what the body needs, how can this be? I am the one that really does have AFD's (Alcohol Free Days) Five out of seven in fact. Two glasses of wine, two nights a week cant be bad for me. I am the one who ...

A nice cup of tea. That's what I need. Today I have promised myself that I will not do anything physically challenging or mentally challenging. I will just relax, flop around the house in my PJ's, not clean, not even wipe. Read a book or even just flick through a mag, sit in the garden, drink tea. So far I have done 3 loads of washing, splashed some bleach around the bathrooms, stripped the sheets off the beds, folded washing, checked emails, worried about money, my weight, my neck pain, my weight, my weight...oh did I mention my weight. I have also just wandered around the house, aimlessly. A nice cup of tea....and read a book. Yes, that was the plan. So I put the jug on, prepare the tea. A little biscuit would be nice. And then it begins....the inner dialogue. "You cant have that!, Too many carbs, too much sugar, artificial additives! What about your weight? " I don't really eat biscuits, but sometimes its just nice. Makes a bit of a ceremony of the whole ...

    I'm in that place. Again. So close and small, silent. So far below, cant feel the flow. Nothing moving, nothing touching. Breath in, out. On the surface, normality, daily tasks dutifully performed. Duty Filled. Down below, cant feel the flow. Oppressed, depressed, distressed. I wait. Longing for that moment, that whisper, a distant flicker. A flash of petticoat possibility, butterfly wing caress. I wait. Breath in, out...repeat. The sun tinged moment of hopefulness, of maybes. Look for it, yearn for it. Know it will come. Has to.

I need new swimmers. The ones I have are no longer comfortable. Apart from my body now gaining excess flab at a rate of knots not dissimilar to an impending cyclone, I have lost a breast. Not on the bus, not at the beach or left behind on the back of a chair at a restaurant (I miss that jacket) but on the operating table. Breast Cancer. Bummer. I never had knock out boobs. You could barely call them boobs. More like good looking nipples on a slightly raised chest muscle. "Arty Boobs" is what my husband calls (called) them. They were never going to sag, or hurt my neck, or get heat rash underneath them. They never made exercise torture. Mind you they never made boys look, or got me into clubs for free. My boobs were never the focus of discussion and certainly never hurt me physically. Emotionally there was pain. When I was younger I desperately wanted to wear beautiful lingerie, have low cut tops and longed to buy a dress that fitted my voluptuous bum without just gaping an...

Today's colour is black. My sister will tell me that black is all colours, or is it the absence of all colour...or is that white??? Obviously she is the artist, I am not. My love of colour does not come from a technical knowledge of the colour spectrum, it comes from feeling. I feel colours. I see colours. If you were standing in front of me I would see and feel your colour. My colour today is black. For someone who loves colour so much, for years I wore black. LOTS of black. I thought a was wearing black for it's renowned slimming effect, for edgy funk and tough girl image. But the truth is I hid in black. I hid away my colours. My energy for life. I was afraid that if I wore the sort of colours I felt, that I would not fit in or worse still, I would be laughed at. These things were very important to me at the time. Fitting in, being accepted. Even now, although I have come along way, I still hold back. Inside I am just a rainbow of colour, spinning and swirling and shining....