Monday, January 25, 2016

Bottoms of my trousers

People want to reach for the stars, be famous, write novels, break down (metaphorical AND literal) barriers.

Me? I just want to get back home, cuddle my cats, read a book, and maybe have some cake. Cakes and cats versus all-encompassing ambition and white hot brilliance. Cakes and cats always win. Always.

I like my friends. I like to socialise. I like to dress up and put on my party face. But mostly, I like to get back home and watch some TV. Cook some mutton. Read some books.

I spent most of last Saturday under my quilt, drinking coffee in bed, and watching Jessica Jones.  It was the most perfect fucking Saturday I've spent in a long long while.

Does that make me boring? Average? Passé? All of the above?

I grow old, I grow old. Are the bottoms of my trousers rolled?