A road was paved with good intentions... or was that yellow bricks?
Did you note, my invisible friends, that yesterday I was uncharacteristically quiet and serious? Did you pay attention at this note of deep mourning in my words about mumps? Could you see a sad expression of my, used to be jeering, physiognomy? -- Oh yes, you're right, I decided to start a sober and serious life. It does not behove a lady of your age, to act in this manner, --said my inner voice when I cast about for some excuse for not going to turn up at a Saturday birthday party. (It's so sad to mention it but i'm going to attend a volley match instead.) My determination to be sad and serious still hardened this morning after I heard on the news that University campus and the Main Tower burned down last night. Well, not exactly down... but one store was smoked black and another store was then drowned by the firemen with their foam.
Unfortunately, my sober idea survived only till lunch. Probably our climate is deadly for the sober ideas.
You ask me, what drove my thoughts in that righteous direction? Why, a reason is very simple: crisis of the middle age. Or avitaminosis. Or both. Anyway, my poor self for this week became an arena for the strangest boxing match. In the red corner is a clear understanding that my working life came to a dead-lock and that my interests need a serious revision. And fighting out of the blue corner is foolish loyalties of the various sorts. All those shells that get stuck to a ship and hamper its motion. The gloves are on, and the battle begins! The opponents exchange blows; they're dancing, jabbing, hooking, sweating and doing whatever I don't know about boxing --they're professionals... The worst of a situation is that all their punches land on me! Oh guys, you have no idea.
And now I want to ask you, my dearest soul,why can't you do something to stop them? You, my Scythian inheritance, constantly disturb me with the wandering mood in the least suitable moments. You make me run from the dirty megapolis on every occasion. You pull me, walking by hours behind you, on my way home. What's wrong now that you're so anxsious even to think of the possible changes? Are you afraid of irrational, like a kid scared of the dark? You are irrational, so what's wrong? Please, define your position and let me know of it as soon as possible.
Fuck you very much, your L.
Unfortunately, my sober idea survived only till lunch. Probably our climate is deadly for the sober ideas.
You ask me, what drove my thoughts in that righteous direction? Why, a reason is very simple: crisis of the middle age. Or avitaminosis. Or both. Anyway, my poor self for this week became an arena for the strangest boxing match. In the red corner is a clear understanding that my working life came to a dead-lock and that my interests need a serious revision. And fighting out of the blue corner is foolish loyalties of the various sorts. All those shells that get stuck to a ship and hamper its motion. The gloves are on, and the battle begins! The opponents exchange blows; they're dancing, jabbing, hooking, sweating and doing whatever I don't know about boxing --they're professionals... The worst of a situation is that all their punches land on me! Oh guys, you have no idea.
And now I want to ask you, my dearest soul,why can't you do something to stop them? You, my Scythian inheritance, constantly disturb me with the wandering mood in the least suitable moments. You make me run from the dirty megapolis on every occasion. You pull me, walking by hours behind you, on my way home. What's wrong now that you're so anxsious even to think of the possible changes? Are you afraid of irrational, like a kid scared of the dark? You are irrational, so what's wrong? Please, define your position and let me know of it as soon as possible.
Fuck you very much, your L.