Black sweet blood mouthfuls,
Hauls me through air—
Flakes from my heels.
Godiva, I unpeel—
Dead hands, dead stringencies.
— Sylvia Plath
Still, I have little to nothing to say. Things that come to mind: I’m wearing rag&bone from top to bottom. I love my outfit today. Though I mean… it’s taken on a lesser meaning. One of my coworkers has a profound love for fashion, too, I can tell. The other two that work alongside me are more into (fashion) photography in a generic sort of way. And while I adore them completely I just don’t feel I’m breathing fashion right now. Which is disheartening. But my job is fairly easy. And… I hate easy.
I feel like I’m living some beyond ordinary life right now and it’s sickeningly stifling. I miss produce. Though I’m so “in the know” with fashion that it comes easily to me. Maybe too easily. Which is why I’ve always proclaimed to never want to work in an industry I am passionate about in my spare time. It’s just not conducive to happiness at work.
On the other hand, I continue to play house with the lover. I’m not really sure what to say on the matter. I’m not used to the presence of another human being in my life. It’s sometimes overbearing and other times confusing. My ultimate preference of course is being alone. A fact confirmed by being not alone suddenly. But the lover equally plays both nice and naughty. So I’m not complaining… just making note. Though certainly I think perhaps spending more time apart would help. But it can’t be helped. Because situations. And before I gallop straight into vaguesville, I’ll stop. But my ultimate hesitation just breaks hearts.