i have two left feet and this is probably the most improbable thing that i ought to suggest. but blame it on the hopeless romantic in me (and a walk to remember, or was it the notebook)--wouldnt it be lover-ly to dance in the most deserted of streets illuminated by nothing but a dim streetlamp?:) it's sweet, not so much the dance (which will be a clumsy clambering really, at least for me), but the fact that two can dance to tones and a rhythm, known to no one else but the two of them. their song.:)
every morning an endless battle ensues within me. the gravitational force that's tugging at me back into bed and the equally strong urgency derived from a pile of never ending work that's making me move towards my breakfast drawer. usually the one that requires me to travel the shortest distance ends up victorious. the bed of cos, which goes without saying. unless the force on the other end is simply too great a draw- a growling stomach maybe, but almost all the time, it's about work that's loading as if each piece were under the influence of gravity and the only way it could go is down onto me. sometimes i wish both forces work in the same direction.
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