uggh (not like the boots)
I’m too tired to make sense. Too tired to be creative and talk in a voice that isn’t mine. I’m back in the belly of the Corporate Beast (Let’s kill all the lawyers*) and my brain is already cooked to a tinder.
A few things I’ve been reminded of this week.
One. Some people have more money than sense. Learjets. Med Yachts paid for through client smoozing. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollar company cars. They keep their cots packed away in file cabinets. Their toiletry bags under their desks. Their families on hold. Sometimes they fly between the two. They’re happy with their decision. When they’re not…they jump out the window.
Two. Oxford Street sticks to your face. In a bad way.
Three. Transit workers don’t love me like they use to. I’ve not been able to get a free ride all week.
Four. The Prada boutique will cure what ails you. If it doesn’t, the Hidden Gem will.
Five. Nothings ever urgent until you put your coat on.
Six. International Commercial Arbitration bites.
Seven. I hate reprographics and public transport.
Eight. Chianti is gooooood.
Nine. Handling $490 million just makes you feel poor.
Ten. I’d rather be a writer than anything ‘sits in the office’ related…oh God please make it so.
Poor. Not quality. I know. Forgive me. I’m tired.
Next week I’m between Manchester and London. Bureaucracy. Red tape. The US Embassy. My brain will fry. Then I’ll think of Hezekiah Bishop from Puckett Ridge Road and how he’s gotta be good for a story or two.
Yep. Come back in a few. And I’ll tell you about ole Hez.