The GR has resurrected herself. Bang on cue. Just in time for Easter. It’s Day 1 of the “holidays” and her timing is impeccable once again. Her little-black-cloak has been dry-cleaned, in honour of the numerous jollifications planned and her scythe has been sharpened, ready to strike anyone or anything that, quite frankly, has the audacity to Gd’dam breathe. Approach at your own risk.
It’s 10.36 on a Saturday night
And I’m in bed.
I’m in bed with a reputation that is starting to precede me.
Dinner-party done, table tidied, guests gone.
It’s only 10.36 pm and already I’m tucked up, amid crisp white layers of laundry-fresh bedded bliss.
Delicious it may sound, from time to time, either alone or with a significant [or not so significant] other. But don’t be fooled, this is no luxury. The Ten O’Clock Rule is a self-inflicted, self-regulated body-clock bootcamp. One that, might I add, is far from being relegated to school-nights only. No. The Ten O’Clock Rule has long since daily ruled this roost.
And it’s beginning to rule my life. Continue reading “The Ten O’clock Rule”
Tonight I need to immerse myself in shit.
Not shit of the wallowing kind
just the usual trash
I thought I should make it clear
because I sense that you’re struggling
to let go. Continue reading “Tune in, cop out”