kinda feel like I need to go outside and be absorbed by fog or somethin. become one with the creatures in the mist. become the physical manifestation of the sound the highway makes in the distance. be my own liminal space. self care, yknow
so i’m currently working at a law firm and the other day one of the attorneys was talking to me and he mentioned that he’s “not very confrontational” and i was like you are?? a lawyer???
and he said “yeah but in court there are rules. i can argue with some shmuck in a suit in front of a judge no problem, but when i leave the courthouse and go home i’m not gonna argue with my wife about dinner. there are no rules in our kitchen. i would die.”
Hey, do you know that feeling of hitching up a long skirt so you don’t fall on your face when walking upstairs, and then you immediately become a wretched yet resolute Jane Austen character? It’s a universal thing, right?
It’s like resting a laundry basket against your hip and suddenly you’re a long-suffering peasant woman, wondering if you’ll survive the winter.