Operation Mini-Skirt Status: -37.2 lbs.
Mood: I'm feeling a little floopy.
On Being a Woman
Why is it, when I am in Rome,
I'd give an eye to be at home,
But when on native earth I be,
My soul is sick for Italy?
And why with you, my love, my lord,
Am I spectacularly bored,
Yet do you up and leave me-then
I scream to have you back again?
- Dorothy Parker
Yeah, I don't know what it is. I'm feeling emotionally vulnerable today. I feel like reaching out and touching someone - no one in particular, just someone - but my hormones have made it clear that if they don't reach back, I'm liable to break into a thousand pieces and cry until Sunday.
Sometimes, being a female is a horrible, horrible thing to be. I don't know how I feel and I don't know what I want. I alternate between cravings for chocolate or the company of men; a wee bit of caviar or the camaraderie of women. I want to feel better; I start to get worse. Motivation is ill guided, and stagnation is the spice of life. Finally, I start to dwell happily in my misery, content to let life pass me by, until I make the mistake of looking out my window. Whoa Nellie... the 21-year old firm-and-fully-packed boy across the street has decided to wash his car in the driveway. In nothing but a pair of jeans. In November. Just for me. And how am I supposed to stay unhappy after that, I ask you?
Suddenly the sky is a bright, warming hue, the birdsong no longer sounds like Sarah McLaughlin, making me want to scratch my own eyes out. It isn't the end-all cure to the post-holiday-hormonal-annexation-blues, but a ray of sunshine is all I need to get me going until the next slump comes along in a few minutes.....
....aaaannnndddd... it's here....
Dammit. Damn and damned and bugger all. I miss London. I miss being on holiday. I miss the way they dress; the boys in suits and the girls in stilettos that don't get caught in the cobblestones. I miss the black cabs that make me feel royal. I miss those damn accents! I want my friends to come from wherever they're hidden around the world... I just don't see them enough... Miss Parker from Iowa and Bubbles from Arizona, The Lighter in Oz and The Amazon in Vancouver... Cardiff and California... Omaha and Edinburgh... so that I can pour countless glasses of wine and pretend I'm not on a diet from hell, and we can go on a magic carpet ride, laughing and dancing and...
Ooh dancing! (I told you. I'm in hormone hell. Up and down like a freakin' yo-yo.) Anyway... Ooh ooh ooh! I'm going dancing Saturday night! La la la! A colleague of Sleyefox is turning 31, and is inviting all and sundry to help make it joyous. So off I go to cut a rug, paint the town red, do a little dance, make a little love, havin' the time of my life...
I need drugs.
And when I get them, you can bet your bottom dollar that I'm gonna love you all to bits and pieces...
But now, get away from me before I tear your heart out with my teeth.
Adam ate the freakiní apple, and this is what I get for it.
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