I’m back!

Hello world!

I’m back after an unplanned, 5-month hiatus!! Yay!

Basically…finishing my thesis was tougher than intended and as a result, I lost my voice for a short while. Or, at least my interest in sharing what I had to say with others. Mostly because I started thinking, ‘why would/should anyone give a shit about me and what I have to say?’

To be honest…even while writing this blog post, there’s still a small part of me that feels this way, but luckily, the mindful Molly (TM!!) can recognize that it’s just a negative thought. And as a result, that thought has less emotional power!

I love writing. Mostly because I think of it as another form of talking (to myself or to my imaginary reader) and I REALLY love talking. And singing for that matter.

So, fuck that whiny voice inside my head telling me to stop being me!

I’m going to aim to write one blog a week, on average, indefinitely. If that changes, I will let y’all know!

If you have any constructive criticism and/or positive feedback on what I’ve written so far, get in touch! If you have any suggestions for future blog post/collaborations, that’s cool too!

Love you all,


PS I’m moving back to Brighton on Friday for a few months :0) YAY!



How to stop time.

T minus 19 days until I submit my thesis and I had the luxury of spending most of the weekend with my boyfriend in Brighton.

I haven’t seen him in over a week, which is unusual, because we live together. But alas alak,  that’s how the cookie crumbles sometimes.

Luckily, absence DOES make the heart grow fonder or whatevs so ended up having an especially magical weekend (managing to interact with no one else! #winning).

As per usual (as long as I take the time to listen), he made an especially perceptive comment about humanity (one that when made earlier in the form of a suggestion, I wholeheartedly disagreed with).


Basically, his suggestion was that I ought to read the news less . Being the rebellious gal I am, I  started reading the news more often when he first suggested it a few months ago.

One of his arguments for encouraging me (and everyone) to make this change (which I only now chatted with him about) was  that by reading about eeeeevery “terrorist” attack, eeeeeeevery “lone guman” (same thing as the fucking former), even though I’m as safe as I was before reading the article, I’m VEEEEEERY much more fearful and freaked out. THAT FEAR IS WHAT FUELS ISIS (he said). If no one paid attention/cared, ISIS would potentially disband, because there would no one fueling the fear-fire.


He’s not suggesting we ignore news about our government and the political situation around the world or ignore systematic intolerance/mutilation etc, but…considering shootings happen in the states (especially) EVERY DAY, it’s ok to turn of your phone and go for a walk in the sunshine (preferably, while enjoying an ice cream cone).

It’s also OK to make intentional changes in your life to be a better version of yourself and thus be more capable of enriching the lives of others.

(Tick, Tick…)Boom! 



If we can still act like children, we can still learn important lessons from books, tv shows, and films

When I was 4 or 5, my grandmother (“Nanny”), asked me and my sister whether we wanted to stay children or become adults.  My sister (2 years older than me) said she wanted to become an adult, but I said I wanted to stay little. Laurie was given a big teddy bear and I was given a little one and I was PISSED OFF about it! Why can’t I have the BIG teddy?

From then on, I thought becoming an adult was the “better” option for me (hopefully someone would give me a bigger teddy bear for this decision). Well…

nothing that good has come from me wanting to be more adult-like. And

whilst I do think having the cognitive versatility of a typical adult (one whose frontal lobe is fully/close-to-fully developed) is helpful, being rigid like the archetypical “adult” can be super-duper debilitating.

it can even result in developing a personality disorder…



I write theatre sometimes

I wrote this in 2012 for a dramatic writing class at the University of Sussex. I wanted to turn it into a play but…didn’t have the confidence back then. If you like it (or have constructive criticism to impart upon me), let me know. If you hate it and have nothing nice/kind to say, please fuck off :0)

In the local Yo Sushi restaurant. Early evening. AGATHA and IMOGEN, both in their late 20s, are seated at a candlelit table.

AGATHA looks exhausted. IMOGEN is unenthusiastic about being there but manages to maintain her noticeably happy disposition.

AGATHA. (Using the table to support herself) Ugh…I had such a long day today, Immy. (Whilst squirming) I don’t think even these straight back, ugh, fucking uncomfortable chairs will be able to hold me up. (Looks around) Where is he?

IMOGEN. (A bit agitated) Agatha, I need to start thinking about heading home. John has a bit of a —

AGATHA. (Not paying any attention) I still can’t believe he insisted we meet here. What kind of credible dining establishment serves food on a conveyer belt? I feel like I’m in an episode of I Love Lucy…(Thought) minus the attractive Hispanic boyfriend and the laugh track (Looks down in shame at the table and notices a pair of chopsticks)

IMOGEN. I know you’re having a tough time in the men-department,/ but I don’t need to be dragged—

AGATHA. Where in hell is the fucking silverware! (Realisation) Why am I even doing this to myself? (IMOGEN rolls her eyes.) Oh, don’t even start, Im. You’re happily married. Husband, daughter, loft in Soho, well-organized CD collection…. What more could you fucking want? You don’t have to give me shit about my dating techniques. Help me out. (IMOGEN gives a knowing stare that may come off patronising. Pause; slightly uncomfortable. The silence lasts long enough that AGATHA begins to dose off; eyes closing and then the head drops. AGATHA then realizes what’s going on) Fuck. I just can’t go through with this Im. (A moment) What kind of guy picks Yo! Sushi for a first—no, not only a first. /A fucking blind date!

IMOGEN. (Motherly) Agath—

AGATHA. Yes, I know Imogen. I have to stop saying the “F-word.

IMOGEN. I don’t care what you/ say. Let’s go for coff—

AGATHA. (Not even listening) You know what, you prude? From now on I’ll say..um…Peanut instead of cuss words. (Giggles softly to herself) Yea, yea peanut. Peanut equals (Excited at first. Decides to back off)…eh…(dry) peanut. Why didn’t I move in with that f-peanuting peanuter? He was attractive, good in bed, blue eyes. He fit my…bill. Perfectly. (Pause) Whatever. He had a horrible sense of humour. Racist, sexist. (A Beat) An all-in-all heartless peanut. If I said I loved…(Trails off. Intentionally a bit ambiguous in what she means), I wouldn’t be in this peanuting situation: tired, hungry and my only prayer at satiation presenting itself in the form of a cylinder-shaped, uncooked-sardine or whatever. Where the peanut—I mean fuck, is he? (IMOGEN does not really care) Thanks for staying with me Imo—

IMOGEN. (Fed up) Give me a bre—

AGATHA. (Indignantly) No! I mean it this time. You’re like my uh, blind-date wingman or something. I know I give you “sass” but…I’m just so…so—oh God. (Sees JAMES fixing himself) Mr. Yo-Sushi is coming this way. Just—uh—just pretend you bumped into me and being the old friend you are…(thinks) just, uh decided to sit down for a bit! (muttering To herself) Oh shit oh shit oh shit ok ok you can do this you can you can do this. (AGATHA fixes herself. IMOGEN hesitates to get up. JAMESs makes a B-line towards her and she instinctively rises to shake his hand)

JAMES. (Nervously over-enthusiastic; Addresses IMOGEN) Agatha! It’s so nice to finally meet you. You look lovely! (AGATHA just sits there. Dumbfounded, IMOGEN, confused, conveys a heightened emotion similar to that of a first date).


JAMES. (Acknowledges AGATHA; Still to IMOGEN) You know, the girls I usually attract from match.com are usually, well, rather-uh-morose. (Thought; Plays with flower in his lapel) You know, I don’t think Yo Sushi is the most appropriate place for a first date. (Gives IMOGEN the flower) Would you mind switching gears and heading over to somewhere a little fancier?


Rethinking Facebook. And “social media,” in general

I’ve been doing A LOT of thinking about Facebook, social medial, capitalism, death. You know, normal stuff.

Basically, I’m sorry Mark, but a lot of aspects of FB sucks ass.

Why do we even go on FB all the time?

Because, we are addicted.

OMG Molly, how did you come to this novel, genius conclusion?

Because there’s loads of research TELLING US. Also, because I’m tooooootally addicted myself.

I had trouble admitting this to myself, because it’s socially acceptable, like drinking (in the UK…and in the US).

The frustrating thing is that I grew up on FB (since I was 15). There were points in my life when I had 2,000+ friends on FB.  It was a type of social currency. A way to convey to others just how cool and totally awesome I am.


Fuck. that. shit.

I grew up on Musical Theatre. It was my first drug (and I’m neeeeever giving it up!) so I’ve always had “a flair for the dramatic.”

Thus, sharing my shit on FB was a great way for me to come across as the cool successful actress I always wanted to be. The thing is, aging doesn’t always coincide with growing up. You don’t just “grow out” of an addition, because you’re 26 and not 16.

Now, I’m not going to delete FB, because, that in itself is dramatic. Instead, I’ve deleted about 1/3 of my “Friends” over the last month.

And blocked a bunch of people too.

Now, in addition to posting less and giving less of my time over to Mark, I’m only sharing my life with the people that matter to me.

Dear Mark Zukerbeg,

Fuck you! 

PS “Social Media” is 100% based on psychological trickery. How do I know this? Because I know plenty of people in my cohort at school (I study Psychology) who started working in the “private sector.” Don’t get me wrong, making money is fantastic!

But, using your hard-earned degree to manipulate people into reading your content? Not so much.



Molly’s thoughts on Crazy Ex-Girlfriend – Episode 13 (Season 2)

Dudes, I just finished watching the season finale of CEG for the second time and randomly cried, AGAIN. This time at the bit when she’s in a hospital ward outside and the nurse describes her as the “girl who sings to herself and we don’t know why.”

Some context: As a very nerdy, musical theatre dork, it was always challenging for me to maintain self-confidence in my teens. I wore pink leggings and a turquoise swimming skirt to MY AP CLASSES (a friend even dressed up like me for halloween). I had -0 fashion sense (but  A+ for effort!).

On the day of silence in solidarity with the LGBTQ community, me and my friend would pass notes back and forth with quotes from show tunes. I once got called to my guidance counsellor’s office because a teacher found a note that read, “It takes a lot of men to make a gun” (from Assassins) . Basically, I was fucking ridiculous and very emotionally charged.

The girl in the patio of a mental ward is where I imagine myself ending up when I’m not doing well. And if I ever do end up there, fuck yes I’ll be singing ALL the show-tunes to myself.

Basically, I wanted to say to myself as much as to anyone else who reads my blog: there is absolutely NOTHING wrong with being perceived as crazy or feeling crazy (as long as you don’t kill or hurt anyone…intentionally!)


Mic drop.


What do the movie, Blue Jasmine, the movie and musical, Waitress and the fucking White House all have in common?

They all have white, all American abusers in them.

Why do you think people weren’t surprised that Donald Trump got elected president of the United States? Because we, the world, are too used to everyday emotional, psychological and verbal abuse. It does not phase us but that doesn’t mean we know how to identify it.

Why do you think that is?

We are afraid. Well, I can only speak for myself…I’m afraid. I’m afraid of a large group of heteronormative, english-speaking white men. 1,000,000 times more so than any other group of people. Now, my boyfriend is a white male so obviously I’m not afraid of ALL white men.

So, what do i mean?

White, English speaking heteronormative men are the most privileged people in the entire world. Thus, some of them think the world fucking owes them something.

For example, I’m sitting on a train right now and a dude was staring at me “flirtatiously” and I was not in the mood for a leery white guy so I called my boyfriend and described his behavior to embarrass him. Now, he’s staring at me with dagger eyes. Why? Well, I can only guess what he’s thinking. My guess? “Who does this girl think she is? What gives her the RIGHT to talk about ME on a public train like that? I wasn’t dong anything. Ugh, if I get her alone, I will give her a piece of my mind.” Now, the last part is what terrifies me. “Piece of my mind” could mean 100 different things. It could mean verbal abuse but it could also mean rape. Now, this guy could just have a resting bitch face. That’s another possibility, but I have to assume he is thinking the former for my own protection, because I live in a world where the President of the United States is an abuser and the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom is his bitch.

Abuse is everyday.

Every. fucking. day.

If you don’t agree then you’re most likely ignoring the signs. If you don’t think YOU’VE ever been at least a bit abusive towards someone, you’re probably wrong. And not thinking you’re capable of abuse is more dangerous than not noticing it…because if you think you’re a saint, you may actually be a gas-lighting narcissist, manipulating those closest to you.