preemptively, i thought i had organized the coming weeks into sizeable pieces, realistic chunks of stress i could manage. i thought too soon.
all of my beautiful silk blouses are marred by sweat stains that make me sad. 9,10,11,12 hours... i've stopped watching the clock because all the minutes turn into hours and days too quickly.
the holidays have become nothing but a blur of numbers. who has time for romantic holiday notions? who has time to tie little hand written place cards to pine cones?
while i'm hustling to secure a future, i'm simultaneously silencing the sweetest parts of my soul.
i'll hang hand made garland in my dreams and bake you cookies while i'm at it.
in the morning, i'll slap on some lipstick, sip a cup of strong coffee and head out by dawn to do it all over again.
(daydream)
(reality)
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