I feel like my wits are being used for ruthless practicalities. Cant The Man find it in his heart to pay a girl for a bit of whimsy now and again? Im well aware that the corporate world is not all moon pies and may poles, but for heavens sake, hows about limiting the soul-sucking to eight hours a day so I can get a bit of reading in and perhaps a nice long moon-gazing session on the roof accompanied by a nightcap in hand?
I have a feeling this may come to blows.
I used to spend my nights in training. I would don a pair of six-inch heels and practice walking in them by kickboxing a freestanding punching bag for at least an hour. THOSE are real world skills. THOSE are the nights to write home about.
When I get in these moods (and people and drink seem scarce) the spectre of Phillip Larkin always seems to do a bit of haunting.
I'm crossing my fingers that life will cease from being unspent as soon as possible and that being bald and miserly is not in my future.
I have a feeling this may come to blows.
I used to spend my nights in training. I would don a pair of six-inch heels and practice walking in them by kickboxing a freestanding punching bag for at least an hour. THOSE are real world skills. THOSE are the nights to write home about.
When I get in these moods (and people and drink seem scarce) the spectre of Phillip Larkin always seems to do a bit of haunting.
I'm crossing my fingers that life will cease from being unspent as soon as possible and that being bald and miserly is not in my future.
VIEW 27 of 27 COMMENTS
you?