draft

There are some patterns forming and I wish I could be strong and strange like the roots of a tree, bumping into the concrete. I wonder whether it is like giving the footpath a massage.

Sometimes you can become too aware of everything that is wrong or out of alignment, all of a sudden you are ridden with discomfort, grisly muscles or sore nipples. It leads to a furrow of the brow.

I am not as nervous as I used to be, an exhibitionist these days.
Attention monger. I may as well carry around a stethoscope, to monitor how fast all your hearts beat around me, whether you perspire?

Have I told you that my spelling has got a lot better recently? Maybe it is because I am reading more, or maybe Microsoft word is flattering; like the lighting in my bathroom or a pair of baggy track suit pants.

This is a draft. This will never get sent. This is self indulgent.