4I move my cursor to the top right of my screen…”write“, it says. I click on it as it’s too enticing not to.

It’s Sunday and for the first time in months, I haven’t got any work to do. It’s weird. I love my job. I am writer. It sounds so lovely to say even lovelier to say out loud. I work seven days a week. I told myself today would be all about reading poetry and relaxing, but in all honesty—I am so fucking bored.

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Am I Happier Here?

Earth Hour and I am sitting in the dark. I have Norah Jones (my usual writing music) on to drown out the sound of an incessant barking dog. It seems the Gods of Internet in South Africa dislike WordPress and it’s been really difficult to load. I feel like my wanting to write has just been building up and building up. As my old flame said “That’s what a pen and paper is for.” 

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