(no subject)
Somewhere, out there amongst the sunshine and the snow, in a humid metropolis or snowy town; somewhere, some woman has stolen my life.
She wears pretty clothes to work at a fulfilling job; in her spare time she travels and people pay her to write about where she goes; she is engaged to be married to the love of her life; she has dining room chairs that match and internet that works. She does not worry, when her check engine light comes on, that if it is anything more serious than a tiny wire loose it could spell disaster because there is not enough money to repair it. The herbs she plants in small pots and place on windowsills do not insist on dying, though they are given plenty of water and sunlight; spiders do not make homes under her washing machine, only to scuttle out over her toes as she takes out a load of laundry, nor do they crawl on her face in the middle of the night. She does not overcook, undercook, over salt, under season or in anyway ruin meals she cooks.
I'm not quite sure how this woman got my life, or if she is enjoying it as she should. She probably didn't have to take as many stabs at getting it as I have over the past 6 months. But maybe that means I'll appreciate it more when I get there, too. Or, when I track her down, kidnap her, and assume her identity. One of the two...
She wears pretty clothes to work at a fulfilling job; in her spare time she travels and people pay her to write about where she goes; she is engaged to be married to the love of her life; she has dining room chairs that match and internet that works. She does not worry, when her check engine light comes on, that if it is anything more serious than a tiny wire loose it could spell disaster because there is not enough money to repair it. The herbs she plants in small pots and place on windowsills do not insist on dying, though they are given plenty of water and sunlight; spiders do not make homes under her washing machine, only to scuttle out over her toes as she takes out a load of laundry, nor do they crawl on her face in the middle of the night. She does not overcook, undercook, over salt, under season or in anyway ruin meals she cooks.
I'm not quite sure how this woman got my life, or if she is enjoying it as she should. She probably didn't have to take as many stabs at getting it as I have over the past 6 months. But maybe that means I'll appreciate it more when I get there, too. Or, when I track her down, kidnap her, and assume her identity. One of the two...