missus promiscuous, where art thou?

[image: terry richardson; tom ford spring/summer 2008]

putting together my kit feels lacklustre these days.
the smell of taut leather and cold steel on marble floor -
i've grown tired of smelling the same sour sweat of nameless men.
my turn to become faceless, removed -
my turn to try on the venetian mask

ballroom dancing.
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I am so exhausted. Between trying to save gas, tutor kids, finish school and take care of others, I can't wait to have a break for myself. I want to sleep a nice long sleep. Eat a nice balanced meal. Read a book. Draw a picture. Write a line.

i can't sleep right. i wake up covered in sweat. I hate it when that happens.