Long, long work week. By Thursday, I feel the stress of case after case weighing down on my shoulders like a ten pound grey cement cylinder. By Friday I feel lighter knowing that the the weekend welcomes my over stimulated brain, body, and whatever. I’m just too tired to add a third descriptor. I arrive home and execute the usual tasks. I begin to thumb through the mundane letters that The mailman leaves. His signature MO usually takes form via bills, junk mail, and an occasional letter that actually should have been delivered to someone unknown to my home. I drop my keys and purse onto my mirrored marbled entry way table. This is really hideous. How could I have allowed myself to succumb to the rants of the more than excited salesman who raved over this piece of pretentious furniture? I suppose he took me off guard. I’m generally the one in control. The little bastard took advantage of my over worked self and happily abused my Visa. Good for him!
I make my way to my bathroom sink. Such a normal environment. I slowly rub my Clinique cleanser on my face. I wash the day off my face. Slowly but firmly. Looking in the mirror, I gently dip two fingers into the jar of my night moisturizer and rub the creaminess across my face. Soooo good. I brush my brown highlighted hair and neatly place a tight ponytail high on my head. I love the tightness. Why does this nightly routine make me so hot and wet? Of course I know. The phone rings and my best gal friend wants to chat over a glass of wine at the local wine spot. I agree.
To be continued....