The artful juggler
Everything in your life was colour-coded and filed and organised. The drawers were tidy, even the secret random ones. You were nailing work, your personal life seemed to be fully-functioning, you made things like meringues and chicken pie. You walked out of the house looking clean and sane every single day. Your bra fitted. What an amazing week that was.
One day you were there, at the parties, the work drinks, all the social things, the library protests, the everythings, the festivals. Then one day you vanished, stopped going out, stopped returning calls, went another way. “I thought you were dead,” said someone *jokingly* at a party the other day. Maybe you were a bit.
The appalling decision maker
Remember the time when you lost your radar and your instinct and your gut feeling and developed idiot brain and every single decision you made was wrong. You took that job and ended up miserable: exhausted from the commute and the boss you knew was a terror. You dumped the nice safe guy and went out with an emotional savage who was terrible in bed. You moved in with someone and regretted it immediately. You wore weird clothes. Your mother hated your hair. You hated yourself. You were trapped in your seriously poor judgment for at least a year. It haunts you. It could happen again.
You fucked who you wanted, drank what you wanted, including all the coffee and all the booze in the world. You didn’t give a shit about laundry or socks, you danced all night and got on aeroplanes half cut. You smoked with abandon, your clothes were random, you were fantastic. Gaaaaaarhhhhh. It was one summer. One great summer. *buys a pair of pirate boots* *doesn’t feel the same* *cries*