I am in season. I am busy. So busy that I have made no excuse for my daily pasta and wine consumption for the past week. Now I have come back to the office after a client meeting and find myself alone and not busy, so here I am saying hi. I realized I might be a great multi-tasker in my job, but not so much in my life in general. I cannot work so much and have a social life and do yoga and write. Or even any of the two. I even put off a date request for … well, let’s just call it simply the dessert part of any date. I basically refused sex handed on a silver platter. Sex in front of the door as Marie would call it. I know, I know…but honestly I just couldn’t be bothered with the effort to shave my legs or change my sheets.
With season I am not only lacking time, but quite frankly also inspiration to entertain you. Since I can’t even be bothered with a simple date, literally the most excitement I had last week was a dream. A dream I had about a male model who came to one of my castings. He looked a bit like Ryan Philippe and was in an appropriate age bracket for me i.e. above 25 and also not completely stupid, so I may have taken my time with him and laughed just a little bit too much at his jokes. So that night I had a dream that I married him. In a white dress, with a religious ceremony (huh?), and while my uncle was sneaking sips of red wine out of a coffee mug during the ceremony. I am not sure if the traditional tendencies in me this dream displayed should concern me or just the fact how excited it made me to marry a cute blonde surfer guy. Any Freudian feedback? I’m off to have the usual in season after work G&T and maybe do my nails, just because…tonight, I can.