VIRGO: Your gardener's heart feels a little annoyed at the weeds growing around you. Some weeds can be pulled; some can't. With your considerable skill, you'll keep the more noxious elements at bay.
[heavy sigh]
beth orton and m. ward - buckets of rain
I like the line 'you do what you must and you do it well'; I'd prefer to relate to 'I like the way you love' me but who worries about the performance quality of their love anymore? watching the world is like watching a hockey game that's killing you to see mangled. everybody breaking their arms patting themselves on the back for getting the puck, it never even occurs them to do something with it, pass it, shoot it, anything. Someone at the studio is into me, says Mark, hint hint out of nowhere when I'm sitting there minding my own business thinking about how sore my ass muscles are from moving a ton of free brick (long boring gardening story, I'll spare you) yesterday, and suddenly I'm faced with the prospect of having to date one of his buttgillion brothers (presumably), who all look just like him only unhealthy. I get busy looking at a month-old newspaper, say "I don't really do that anymore." What? See anybody? "Yup." AT ALL? "Yup." Ever? "Nope." For how long? "O, a year . . . two years, really, sorta" Holy shit, you're hot as hell, I'd totally . . . (at this point his 8-months-pregnant wife, whose listening, cracks up) "You'd fuck me, yes I know, I hear that a lot." Sometimes my bitterness surprises me, my cynicism I guess would be a better word, as it sucks all the air out of a room like that. But really, it's even worse cz "I'd fuck you!" turns out to not even be true, actually, in the clincher it really is patpatpat pretty much, so all this fuss over my milf appeal slash yoga body amounts to "hey, I have a puck!" and, um, like, good for you . . . [heavy sigh] . . . I went back to the newspaper, get-offa-me forcefield at maximum. Then I taught the mid-day class for them all, his wife and in-laws and one of the interchangeable blucky bros, and I did it well.