Scullery Mode


It’s a curious thing how you don’t post personal stuff for a while, a need, an urgency builds.  You just want to reaffirm your humanity, your presence, you want to wipe away all doubts.  Both mine and yours.

The diet continues, but it needs me to have more money and focus.  I can give it the latter and pray for the former and just not eat so much. I’ve been under the line every day, doing more exercise than zero exercise, and yet, I know there’s a better way to go about this.  I just don’t think kicking my ass over the good I am doing is going to suddenly knock out the shitty parts – like having half a sandwich for lunch and the other for dinner because that sandwich is that calorific. Vegetables, come on.

I am meeting with my cousin/the business coach on Saturday.  I am hoping to figure out some sort of plan from there…if there even needs…well, it’s just hard to say what has to be done and what could be done and what is just this angst that OMG WHERE DO WE FIND $$$? (Don’t say the Dollar Store.)

I did read an excellent article on The School of Life about relating to your job and ways to contemplate where you should be and why it’s natural and okay to get het up about these things.   A cursory tour of Monster just depresses the hell out of me.  I don’t want to do anything, but write – or be a cog somewhere where everything is steady and I could just be invisible.  But I don’t want that either.  I need a bit of purpose, a bit of fame, a bit of support.  I want, perhaps, what my job was meant to be rather than holding a tiger by the tail.

Ah.   Tomorrow, we will dance about.  We will not sleep in.  We will get our roots bleached.   There will be a bit of magic growing in the middle distances. We will sip at it.  We will dance for it.  We will sing its praises.  We will take it with no regrets.

I had a dream about you the other day.  It doesn’t matter, you don’t matter (insofar that I am fixedly aware that you are far away, you don’t know me, you are surely attached elsewhere, and whatever heartbreak this gives me is no fresh fissure.  I’ll live, darling, no matter how deeply you stab me), and one dream matters little more than another.  However, this dream did involve us hunting down a topless, radioactive monster in the shape of Helen Mirren in a Beetlejuice suit.   She had that snake neck he had in the end.  We were in some sort of haunted mansion and were somehow coerced out of the one safe place, the bed…to protect it from her Stygian powers.  I believed you could do anything.  It was a warm one.  I could feel you through your t-shirt.  I could believe it further than is right for someone that matters not at all.

Come by again tonight.  I’ll turn down the covers, leave a mint, and set your wakeup call so you’ll be gone well before I open my eyes.

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