I'm staring mainly at the location of my next tattoo, lower left peck. But it seems like such an effort to book an appointment. And I don't want to talk to anyone I don't know. Not right now. That's my thing this month. Reservation. Brogues.
And I've thought it for a while now, the comparability of myself and Clay,Hayden. And my mother calls, asking what I want for Christmas, and I tell her nothing.
'Nothing' I say
'Vouchers? Clothes? '
' I don't really want anything...someone to pay of my credit card? Nothing really.'
'Vouchers? Clothes? '
' I don't really want anything...someone to pay of my credit card? Nothing really.'
My spirit animal is Wolf. I remember a painting my mother commissioned of her spirit guide. She used to say we looked a like. But I don't think I could even guide myself. What is the snow fall like in Alaska? I want life, real life, outside of institution. And a wage. I want to be a capitalist, not a survivor nor parasite. Leather gloves. New outer coat.
1 comment:
There aren't too many that would give me gifts for Christmas anyways. Those that mattered have passed on years ago. Well, most have passed on. There is the odd soul I'd gladly accept a gift from but I'd give something modest, after all, isn't it the thought that counts?
So, do you often look at yourself in the mirror naked? Reflecting when doing this???
Hope all is well! - V
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