Hello Wall - Hormonal Heart Poetry

To pee or not to pee, that was never really a question ? Sleep Stanza — with ND line added (for texture) When I lie down, there’s no sensation at all — just part of the sleep ritual, waking at 4 a.m. thinking, “I should go,” but not knowing if I actually need to. Sometimes a waterfall flows, sometimes a trickle that barely goes. And only recently I learned this is an ND thing — to not have the feeling at all. Footnote full poem https://hello-wall-hormonal-heart-poetry.blogspot.com/2026/03/to-pee-or-not-to-pee.html

  To Pee or Not to Pee To pee or not to pee — that is the question I never knew. This is about finding out that you never know when you need to go to the toilet or you don’t. I’ve never really had the sensation of needing to wee. I think it was something I always did with my children when they were young, because I don’t really remember being a child and dealing with this problem. I think I did wet the bed late, but then I had a lot of childhood stuff going on, so I just put it down to that. As an adult, I think I would just go to the toilet when everybody else did — just for the sake of going. It never occurred to me until a few years back that I would suggest you went to the toilet before we left the house. You know — you’d go in the morning or at night, but I never really had the feeling of needing to go. And then it gets worse, my story. Around my 30s, I kept getting to the front door after a run, putting the key in the lock, and I ...

  Life’s Potential / Possibility I. Potential Life’s potential. Life’s potential. Every day, this potential. Every day, there’s life. Everyday life has potential. And everyday, life is taken without potential. So, potentially, I could win. Or potentially, I could fail. Potentially, eventually, I will be successful. I just have to keep trying. II. Possibility Do we have infinite possibilities, or only a finite handful? Is there a moment in life when you’ve had all of yours, and that’s it — the rest is just aftershocks? Am I possibility ed out, or is there still something waiting for me? Have I reached my full potential, or are my possibilities only just beginning? Here’s what I know: possibility doesn’t run out. It shifts. It changes shape. It waits for you to notice it again.

  Memoir Blast — Childhood & Marriage Number Three Three: Mr V & Lucky I was about eleven, the age where I’d already been reprimanded from going to Derek’s house because I’d run away once (caught, obviously — that’s another blast). My brothers were there that night, but I refused to go. So I ended up at my auntie and uncle’s house party instead — proper 80's style, everyone in the kitchen, cans of beer, the whole house party as culture thing.    The whole room was full of barely‑adults themselves — alcohol, children, smoking, dancing — everyone pretending they knew what they were doing. That’s where I met him. A kind man in the kitchen. Tall Paul. Black hair. Huge hands. Ice blue eyes.  (he knew my uncle some how) I can still see him now — sitting in the window ledge part of the kitchen, flicking his hand through his fringe. Black hair is soft; it never stayed back. It looked like a reflex, nerves or confidence or both. (He...

Memoir Blast 20 — Torquay, the Mirrored Bedroom, and the Canal Story This was Mr V’s friends — Mick and Marie — in Torquay. They’d just got married, My Mum to Mr V so honeymoon or maybe it was simply a holiday, but in my memory it arrived labelled honeymoon, so that’s what it became. And there we were: all four of us children, turning up like an unexpected travelling troupe. What kind of honeymoon includes four kids is beyond me, but that’s how it happened. Their house sat on the steepest hill I’d ever seen, a proper Torquay incline that made the world feel tilted. And the palm trees — I’d never seen them before. They looked like something from a postcard, not England. Their garden was wild and rocky, full of tropical plants thriving in the seaside warmth. It felt like a different country. The whole house felt like another planet. They even had a bar — an actual bar — which blew my mind because bars belonged in pubs, not people’s homes. Another sign that adults lived differently, on so...

  Memory Blast: The Malta Sandwich   The best sandwich I ever had was made by a millionaire on his boat, moored in a harbour in Malta. We were sitting in the sun when he asked if it was okay to make us lunch — the traditional sandwich he’d grown up with. We said yes, and he started making it right there, no fuss, no washing his hands first, which would normally bug me, but somehow didn’t. He rubbed mint and oil straight into the bread with his hands, pressing everything in the way he’d learned as a child. Flavoursome, strong, simple, poor man’s food. Everything had to be rubbed, worked in, coaxed. Then he squashed the sandwich together so the oil and herbs could soak and marinate — olive oil, proper oil, the good stuff. When I say the taste exploded in my mouth, I’m not exaggerating. It was unforgettable. Easily in my top five sandwiches ever — probably number one. He didn’t ask what we wanted; he just made it. I think that made it taste even better. And the sun...

  Going Shopping in the Menopausal Way A menopausal purchase is planetary. The sun must shine. The temperature must be just right. You must be neither dipping nor surging — just perfectly balanced in the hormonal moment. Because unless you buy exactly when the stars align, it will get returned. You’ll love it on the day. But if the scales tip even slightly — by the next morning, it’s on the fence. If you’re lucky, you’ll return it. If not, it’ll sit in your wardrobe for 28 days until the return window closes. Then it’s either sold on Vinted for a quarter of the price or left to haunt you. There’s a lot resting on a menopausal buy. It’s not just a purchase — it’s a mood, a moment, a miracle. I never realised this until I saw how small my wardrobe was. Not because the shops weren’t there — but because I wasn’t there when I got there. You leave the house feeling great. You arrive at the shops and suddenly… not so great. So the purchase is less than mediocre. ...