You’re not made for the hamster wheel. You and I are in a certain quadrant, a certain type of people… Learn to enjoy it. Don’t try to fit a square peg in a round hole. You’ll hurt yourself. You need space, you need to be happy. Go home. You’ve got work to do.
Tears on the bus, and I’m not sure why. Everything’s fine, really.
Two or three hours sleep last night, and I arrive home to a boy who earnestly wants to have sex.
Warm hand gently cups breast.
I don’t have time for this.
They wanted to scrape the nuttelex into the rammikin. Who does that? If I pay 9.50 for two pieces of toast, I’d want to see a dollop.
They wanted me to nod and say yes. I can’t nod and say yes, that’s not me. (I want to know why).
He wants to drink beer on the porch, he wants to talk relentlessly and fuck casually.
I can’t do that. No matter how intelligent, or well-toned and willing your yellow-green cats eyes may be, that’s not me. Sailing boat and mountain van, guitar and organic garden, well-formed opinions that can bench press my 55 kilos. For that, I want to compromise myself. There are things in this world that I want to compromise myself for. Achingly.
No mother, I cannot adequately explain this to you, and dad might not understand either.
Well I guess it would be nice, if I could work in a cafe
I’d cook vegan food all day, and I’d eat it too
I need some time off, for my devotion
time to pick the food up off the floor
If I dish comes out and it’s from the ocean
Well it takes a strong heart baby, but I’m walking out the door
I gotta have faith faith faith, tahini paste.