Vanilla writing and my favourite ice cream.

Vanilla.

The code word for inoffensive and bland, the beige of flavours, and yet it’s my favourite ice cream flavour.

And my least favourite reading material – vanilla writing.

 

I flirt with vanilla writing though.

Composing blog posts for maximum appeal, with beige content, that won’t offend.

Vanilla writing.

Except, I feel now, after events exactly one year ago, that I need to flavour my posts with a dash of rum and raisin, or to cause a ripple of raspberry after what happened to me, one year ago this week.

So what did happen, I hear you murmur?

Do you really want to know?

Switching from vanilla to blood-ridden retaliatory words (I don’t think Ben and Jerry’s will trademark that anytime soon) may be what I want to do.

Indeed it’s to be expected, given what occurred.

I could have a cathartic release, kissing and telling, revealing all, showing and telling, about what happened and what has happened since.

I’d feel great.

I know I would.

But would that great feeling last?

Or would it melt?

Am I better sticking to vanilla ice cream and vanilla writing and keeping what happened enclosed behind a metaphorical freezer door?

You tell me.

 

 

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