Simple is what I call my Yoko Ono period. White on white. I have been finding that at this stage of the championship, I need less, want less. I no longer crave the titles and the long hours. I would rather be recognized for my fabulous flower arrangements than my spreadsheets. I loathe the word "execute." I know so many women that will end up with fifty cats, old power suits in a dank apartment with frayed 90's furniture. I Thank God for my redundancy's and my search for re-invention. I still want to be a pirate and write the great novel. I imagine that it took all this time and all the bullshite that one must go through to arrive at the conclusion that cardboard boxes are better than Ikea.
"The best things in life are the nearest: Breath in your nostrils, light in your eyes, flowers at your feet, duties at your hand, the path of right just before you. Then do not grasp at the stars, but do life's plain, common work as it comes, certain that daily duties and daily bread are the sweetest things in life. Robert Louis Stevenson.
PD: And if that shit fails, a nice blend of Xanax and Bacardi will do nicely. Fuck Yoga.
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